CnC 1 Ghost of a Chance

  Susan stepped aside and I watched as he teetered on the edge, flailing for support. The railing cracked, and Joshua went hurtling over the edge. He screamed all the way down, and I heard a nasty thud. I gathered up my courage and cautiously crept to the edge. Joshua Addison lay crumpled on the glittering snow below.

  I took a deep breath as Susan frantically pointed to the kitchen, then vanished. I wasn’t out of danger yet—the fire had spread and was tonguing the doorway leading to my precarious perch. The jump to the ground below was too far; I’d never make it without major damage. It was either chance the porch steps or become a crispy critter. Having just survived a madman’s attack, I wasn’t ready to lose my life as the treat on the end of a marshmallow stick. I edged my way over to the steps, laid on my stomach, and, feet first, began to inch my way down. Testing the wood with my toes for strength, I thought though it felt soggy, it might support me. As I held onto the rungs for extra balance, I slithered onto the steps.

  The sirens were shrieking now. It sounded like they were in the front yard and I began to scream for help, my voice raw from the smoke and overuse. I was about a third of the way down the stairs when an explosion rattled the kitchen. A fireball raced out of the door and billowed into the air, hovering over the backyard. The flames must have reached the discarded bottles of liquor. I grabbed hold of the step above me and hid my face as the staircase first rocked, then began to crumble away.

  I was hanging only by my fingertips, dangling in midair, unable to see what was down below. More iron spikes? Gardens covered with snow?

  The fire spread to the stilts supporting the back porch; it was about to go down and take me with it. As I clung to my shaking world, someone began yelling at me from below. “Emerald! Emerald! Let go! We’ll catch you!”

  I couldn’t see who was there, but I could place the voice—Joe Files, captain of the Medic Rescue Unit. Time had run out. I had to have faith, to trust. I took a deep breath and let myself fall.

  * * * *

  The police finished taking my statement as the medics worked me up to go to the hospital. The fire crews were busy extinguishing the flames. It looked as though they might save most of the house—a surprise, since I’d expected the mansion to go up like a tinderbox. The heavy snowfalls had saturated the roof and some of the walls with moisture, so most of the wood was safe except for the kitchen, which had been packed with garbage.

  The cops puzzled over my accounts of Susan’s ghost, but they recovered Joshua’s suitcases. I only hoped there would be enough evidence there to piece things together. I pulled the letter and photograph out of my pocket, enough in themselves to tell part of the tale. Murray was on the scene; she would see to it that they paid attention to what I told them.

  “How did you find me?”

  She patted me on the shoulder as Joe held an oxygen mask up to my face. “Harlow called the station, and the station called me. By the time we got here, a neighbor had seen the smoke and already notified the fire department. You were near enough to the swimming pool that you could have broken your neck if you had dropped without the boys below to catch you.”

  I leaned back and found myself snuggling against Joe. I started to pull away but then thought, what the hell, and rested my head on his shoulder. He felt strong—safe and secure. Whatever happened, I would never forget that he saved my life. When the paramedics insisted on taking me to the hospital, I didn’t put up a fuss. Every place on my body hurt, and I was ready for a good rest.

  Andrew was waiting at the hospital, and Joe backed away when he saw him. I felt a momentary stab of guilt but then pushed it aside. Andrew kissed me on the forehead and held my hand as they wheeled me into the ER.

  “Didn’t we do this with Harlow last week? What is this? Some new chick trend?”

  I laughed and he squeezed my hand, and then the nurse chased him out. When they cut away my soot-stained skirt, the doctor shook his head. “You have a grudge against that knee of yours? I’m afraid this is a little more serious than a bruise. I can already tell that you’ve probably got a fracture in your leg, and you’ll be lucky if you didn’t shatter your kneecap. You’re going to be in a cast for a month or two. What do you have to say to that?”

  I gave him a big smile. “It sounds absolutely wonderful.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Hours later, Andrew carried me up the porch steps and into the house while Murray brought in my crutches. The nurse at the hospital had given me a bath since I was covered with soot, so at least I felt clean, but the gown was atrocious, and I longed for a little lipstick.

  Andrew set me in the recliner and then parked himself on the sofa. “That fire guy? Files? He said he’d come over tomorrow and help me build a nonskid ramp for you so you can get in and out of the house. Those stairs are far too icy and dangerous for crutches. That way you can get down to your shop.”

  Joe? Joe and Andrew were going to build a ramp together? That should prove interesting. “Thank you, both.” I gave him a bright smile and then flashed a look of panic at Murray, who stifled a laugh.

  She peeked out the window. “Harlow and James are here.” James had been at the hospital to pick up Harl when the ambulance brought me in. The two insisted on following us back to my house. Andrew went to help James carry Harlow’s chair up the stairs, and then they wheeled her into the living room.

  Harlow shook her head. “Woman, you take the cake. Burning down a house? Nailing a psycho? What’s next?”

  Murray’s cell phone went off, and she stepped into the kitchen to answer it. When she returned, she settled herself in the rocker. “Looks like we have what we’ll need to prove that Joshua was behind both deaths, at least circumstantially. Valium, credit card receipts from a gas station here in town that match up with the date of Susan’s death, a key to the Mitchell house—probably a copy of Susan’s. We also found his car. He told police in Seattle that it had been stolen, but we found it out in back of the Addison place in the garage. There’s a bloody handprint on the driver’s side—the forensics guys are checking, but I’ll bet you anything it turns out to be Diana’s blood.”

  “And Walter?” I prayed that Walt wasn’t guilty of molesting Diana. After experiencing the sadistic side of Joshua, I didn’t think I could handle another pervert.

  “Walter’s off the hook. We have your statement that Joshua confessed to planting the knife in his house, and this morning detectives found a trucker who remembers seeing Walter and his car in the parking lot on Thursday. Guy drives a regular route and always stops at the Rest-over Truck Stop on his way in and out of town. There aren’t too many black Porsches around Chiqetaw, so it stuck in his mind. We’re still going over the suitcases, but it’s my guess that Susan was telling the truth. Her husband killed her. Her ex-husband. And then he killed Diana.”

  Harlow shook her head, a look of wonder crossing her face. “I’ll be damned.” She looked over at me, wincing gingerly as she turned. “Do you realize you just proved a man’s innocence?”

  I shivered. I might have proved Walter’s innocence, but I couldn’t stop thinking of how Joshua plunged to his death. Images of those final moments darted through my thoughts with blinding clarity—the flash of his knife, the crackle of flames, the stairway groaning as it gave way. His death was the only key to my survival. Susan had saved me by frightening him over the edge. I was glad he died—if he’d been caught alive, I’d always be afraid that he’d escape and come back to finish what he’d started.

  Harlow broke into my thoughts. “What was Walt’s alibi, anyway?”

  Murray answered her. “He got a call Wednesday night from a man claiming to have proof that one of Walt’s affairs had been with a minor. That alone could destroy his reputation. The guy said he would sell the proof to the newspapers unless Walt came up with some money. Walter panicked and agreed to meet him. He waited alone at the Restover for hours Thursday morning—during which time, Joshua murdered Diana. Then Joshua planted the knife in Walter’s house on Saturday ni
ght while everybody was at the memorial and showed up to make his accusations.”

  I closed my eyes, and Joshua’s piercing gaze once again shattered my composure. I began to shake. “What about Diana’s letter to the cops accusing Walter of molesting her?” For some reason, that thought bothered me more than almost anything else in this whole damned mess.

  Murray knelt in front of me and took my hands. She brushed the hair back from my face, and as I looked into her eyes, I knew that I would be calling on her friendship more than ever during the coming weeks as I dealt with the aftermath. “Joshua, again. We found the original. Diana thought Walter killed her mother—she wrote a letter to the cops, asking them to look into it. Joshua probably panicked, thinking it would stir up trouble. I suppose that’s when he decided to kill her and frame Walter by forging the letter about the abuse,” she said. “We combed through her diaries. There’s no indication Walter ever laid a hand on the girl.”

  “Joshua was a cruel man and he enjoyed the pain he inflicted on others.” I hung my head and cleared my throat, still in shock. I was grateful for the numbness. I wasn’t ready to face what had happened to me.

  Andrew rested his hand on my shoulder lightly, as if he were afraid he might startle me. “What about Susan? Why on earth did she agree to see him?”

  Murray shrugged. “Blackmail, or at least that’s what he used to gain entrance. We’re still trying to sort every-thing out. Mrs. Addison says there’s an aunt on his father’s side who always favored Joshua. Maybe he kept contact with her to find out what was going on in the family. We do know that he was released from the institution thanks to a reduction in operating funds. Since they thought he could function on his own, they let him out.”

  I didn’t say anything, but I could see exactly what had happened; it played out as clearly as if I were watching a show on TV. Joshua had come to visit Susan. They had a drink, and he spiked her wine with Valium. Eager to get the meeting over with, she hadn’t suspected that he actually meant to kill her. After the drug took effect, he gave her a hefty shot of insulin.

  Nobody was there to see him come and go. He waited until she slipped into a seizure, and then left, knowing it would be hours before the maid came home. Susan would have ensured their privacy, not wanting a scene with Walter. Joshua went back to Seattle, and a week later he killed Diana. The whole plan had been so coldhearted, so methodical and brilliant, that it made me sick. Yes, evil existed, both in this world and in the spirit world, and I had come face-to-face with it on both levels, battled it, and survived. But I would never be the same.

  The doorbell rang, and Andrew went to answer. He returned, a cautionary look on his face. Following behind him, Walter Mitchell strode into my living room with a dozen red roses. He came over and gently placed them in my lap.

  “Emerald O’Brien… our paths seem meant to cross.” He knelt beside me, ignoring everybody else. “I can never apologize enough for what my stepbrother did to you. There’s nothing I can say that probably hasn’t already gone through your mind. I’m just grateful you’re going to be okay. You proved my innocence. I’m in your debt.” He stood and offered his hand. I’d thought he’d been imposing enough at the memorial. Now I felt completely dwarfed. I gingerly accepted his gesture. He squeezed a little too tightly, and I pulled away.

  “Actually, I prefer to think that I helped Susan find some sort of peace.” His eyes twinkled. I knew he heard my subtext. “How’s your mother?”

  He cocked one eyebrow. “My mother is feeling much better, now that I’m out of jail. She wanted me to apologize to you. She’s not a woman who says ‘I’m sorry’ easily, so please accept it as it is meant.”

  I nodded in silence, then curiosity got the better of me. “May I ask you something?”

  “Of course. What is it?”

  I glanced around the room. Everyone was waiting, poised to see what I’d say. I cleared my throat, feeling conspicuous. “Why doesn’t your mother do something with that house and its contents? There are some lovely pieces of furniture in there, and I’d think she would want to preserve them.”

  Walter laughed. “Ever the shopkeeper, aren’t you? I’ll tell you why—the house belonged to Joshua. My stepfather willed the money to me, but he left the house and everything in it to Joshua on the stipulation that he not be told about it until Joshua asked about his own inheritance. When he heard I’d inherited the money, he took off. It was a game of power, if you will, between a stubborn man and his even more stubborn son.”

  The irony made my head spin. “So here was Joshua, angry at you because he thought you had inherited everything, when in reality he could have been a wealthy man if he’d swallowed his pride enough to ask.”

  “Yes, something like that. I followed my stepfather’s wishes and kept quiet about it. Since Joshua is dead, the property automatically reverts to my mother and me. She wants to donate the china from it to your shop—you may sell it or keep it as you like. Consider it our way of saying thank you.”

  I gasped. There was thousands of dollars’ worth of beautiful china in that house. Visions of table settings began to dance in my head.

  “Please accept. We want you to have it.”

  Even though Walter was a rat, even though for a time I had really believed he was guilty, even though his mother was a fruitcake… I couldn’t resist such a fortuitous gift. And besides’ I’d earned it. “Thank you, I accept.”

  “Fine, I’ll have it shipped over to you when we take inventory of the house and appraise what’s there. It might be several months, but you have my word. And now, good-bye.” He bobbed his head, even to Harlow, and Andrew showed him out.

  “You realize you’ve just been bought off,” Harlow said. “His way of asking you to keep quiet about his family’s dirty laundry.”

  I gave her a smile. “It doesn’t matter whether I say a word; the press will get wind of it by tomorrow, if they haven’t already. And he really didn’t kill Susan.”

  Harlow and James made their farewells. As they pulled out of the driveway, there was a squeal of laughter from the back door as Kip and Miranda raced into the room. They crowded around me, Kip chanting “Mommy! Mommy!” as Miranda dropped to the floor by my side and grabbed my hand.

  “Cinnamon took us over to Ida’s.” Randa squeezed my fingers so tightly I thought she was going to bruise them.

  “What happened? What’s going on? Why are you in a cast?” Kip darted from one side of my chair to the other in a frenzy of motion. He grabbed me around the neck and planted a big kiss on my cheek.

  As I stared at my children, it hit me just what I would have lost if Joshua had won. I could be sleeping forever in the basement of that old house. Shivering, I brushed my hand across my eyes, glad that I was sitting down. There had been too much death recently, I’d seen too many twisted sides to the soul—both in body and in spirit. I pulled Kip and Miranda close, smelling their hair, holding them safe.

  “Mom? Mom, what’s wrong?” Kip looked at me, worry creasing his forehead. I wanted to speak, to tell him how much I loved him, but I couldn’t find the words. I buried my face in their hair and kissed the top of their heads. Overwhelmed, I cast a glance at Murray. She nodded, reading my expression, and motioned for them to come over to her. “How about if we decorate the tree so your mother has something pretty to look at? She’s had a rough day.”

  They cheered as Andrew helped her carry in the blue spruce. I told Murray where to find the decorations, and she brought them out. They strung the lights first, then the sparkling garlands of beads, and after that the kids took over. As they chattered away, their moods lifted with each glimmering orb they hung on the tree. Andrew retreated to the kitchen and returned carrying a tray of hot cocoa and sugar cookies.

  Murray poured the cocoa. By the time everyone held a cup, I had managed to get my emotions under control. I lifted my mug in salute. “I propose a toast. May all our spirits—and all the spirits—be joyful this Christmas.” I nodded to Kip. “Turn on the lights,
hon.” As he plugged them in, the tree lit up in a shimmering rainbow of colors. The silver and gold globes reflected the dazzling array. I drew in a slow breath.

  Randa ran over to kneel beside my chair, her head resting on my lap. “Thank you, thank you, Mom. It’s so pretty.”

  Murray rested her hands on Kip’s shoulders as he stared up at the glittering tree. “This is prettier than any tree we ever had,” he said, his whisper hushed and reverent.

  He was right. The tree was the prettiest one we ever had. Andrew and Murray excused themselves to make dinner, taking the kids with them. I leaned back in the chair, watching the lights twinkle. Samantha jumped into my lap, nesting in a circle before she curled up to purr. I thought about calling Randa in to tell her that she was going to Space Camp, but decided to put it off until after dinner. She would be okay not knowing for another thirty minutes, and I needed the time to sort out the whirlwind of feelings racing through my heart.

  Snow was falling again, illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlights. I leaned back in the recliner, clinging to the peace that had descended on the house, when I got the sensation that I was being watched. A glance around the room found Susan peeking out from behind the Christmas tree. Behind her stood the pale shade of another woman. It was Diana, with the shyest of smiles.

  Susan’s eyes sparkled, reflecting the lights. We looked at one another—I in my world and she in her shadowy realm—and a tremendous wave of relief washed over me. She would find her peace, and so would her daughter, and I was responsible for helping light their way. Susan held up her hand and they faded from sight.

  Just then, Miranda came racing in from the kitchen. “Mom, this was on the kitchen table—it’s got your name on it.” She handed me a gift-wrapped package. I frowned, wondering who it was from as I unwrapped it. The paper fell away to reveal a thick volume—a copy of Susan’s last novel. I opened the volume. Blinking back tears, I stared at the title page. In bold, looping letters, it read: