Cusp of night, p.11
Cusp of Night, page 11
“They say some mediums have gone to the extreme of painting their skin blue to be taken seriously.” Emma scanned the foyer as she spoke, her bird-like gaze skimming the globed chandelier, red damask wallpaper, and ornate detailing on the cherry staircase. Working long fingers into the eye-and-hook fastener at her throat, she unbuttoned her cloak. “Will my room be on the first level or the second?”
“The second.” Flustered, Lucinda hung the damp garment on a wooden coat tree inside the door. She was mistress of the house, yet this woman with her brusque manner and longstanding connection to Simon made her feel backward and childish. “Simon is in the parlor.”
“You have told me that already. Do you always repeat yourself?”
Heat flooded Lucinda’s cheeks. Her back stiffened with anger. “My husband did not mention you would be so cantankerous.”
“You choose a word best suited for a man.”
“I choose a word that fits.”
Emma’s stern expression eased with a smile. Clapping her hands, she tossed her head back and laughed. “Oh, but you are a delightful one.”
Lucinda’s antagonism gave way to bewilderment. Before she could say a word, Simon strode into the room.
“Emma! How wonderful to see you.” Wrapping her in his arms, he twirled her in the air, her feet pirouetting a few inches from the floor. “I see you have met my wife.”
Emma tossed a glance over her shoulder at Lucinda. “A beauty, but one who would benefit from a tougher shell.”
Simon frowned. “You didn’t toy with her?”
“I judge the mettle of others on first impression.”
“And how did she do?”
Lucinda could stand it no longer. “Would you please stop talking about me as if I’m not here?”
Emma disentangled herself from Simon. “I am sorry, my dear. It is unfair of two friends who go back so far. We have not seen each other in years.” She gathered Lucinda’s hands into hers, her mouth turning up at the corners. “Simon has written to me all about you. I looked after him and Josette many years ago. It would be my honor to look after you with the same loyalty and dedication.”
“I—” No words would come.
Smiling, Emma slipped an arm around her waist. “Let us, you and I, take tea alone. Simon can occupy himself by sending for my bags and seeing my room prepared. Two women who co-exist in the same house should not have distance between them.”
Lucinda allowed herself to be guided to the parlor. When Simon had first floated the idea of sending for Emma, Lucinda had been uncertain. They already had house servants, but Simon said it was time to dismiss them. Lucinda’s fame had grown to the extent she had become a pet of the PSR and a target of jealousy among other mediums. Servants without loyalty could easily be bribed into snooping, thus revealing secrets. A single manservant remained but would finish his employment once Emma was settled. Simon had paid the staff well, giving each enough to sustain them for a month, extra insurance they would speak highly of their time in the Glass residence.
“Does it bother you what Simon and I do?” Lucinda asked Emma when they were seated across from each other, teacups cradled in their laps. The light streaming through the windows was gray, a cast that deepened the dark gold and crimson of the wallpaper and made the fire in the hearth inviting. “He says you will be able to keep our secrets.”
“Of course.” Emma sipped her tea. “I don’t care to learn how you conjure the dead, and I certainly will not be bribed by anyone seeking to learn the same. I am a housekeeper, plain and simple, but I am loyal to a fault. I looked after Simon before he married Josette and remained for a time after her death.”
Lucinda lowered her gaze. “I’m sure she was quite lovely.”
“Stunning, but you have nothing to fear, my dear. Her memory is an old one. She has been gone over ten years now, and he has clearly moved on.” She returned her teacup to its saucer, then set them both on a mahogany table. “This parlor is welcoming, even on a dreary day such as this. I look forward to seeing the whole house. Would you like to take me on a tour?”
“Of course.” Lucinda was caught off guard by the abrupt request. “But Simon—”
“I will tell you all about him as you show me around.” Standing, she smoothed her skirts with a practiced sweep of her hand. “I bet you didn’t know he has a birthday coming up shortly.”
“A birthday?” That was news indeed. Simon told her so little about himself. “When?”
“On the fourteenth. You still have plenty of time to find him a gift.”
Lucinda’s stomach plummeted. What could she possibly give Simon that he didn’t already have?
Emma took note of her crestfallen expression. “Do not fret over physical baubles, my dear. If he has his health, that is all that is important.”
The observation brought Lucinda quickly to her feet. “Is there something wrong with his health?” She recalled the persistent cough that sometimes woke him in the middle of the night or came over him at the dinner table.
Emma hesitated only briefly. “Of course not. You can see for yourself how fit he is.” She curled her fingers around Emma’s arm. “Now, come—I believe you owe me a tour.”
Lucinda rummaged up a wan smile. Her world was perfect. She had a husband she loved, a beautiful home, and a vocation that brought her renown. Why, then, did she feel that it was all about to end?
* * * *
Present Day
Maya paced in the kitchen, listening to the drone of the small TV on the counter. Christy Catterman’s report was a repeat of news she’d heard earlier that day—the body of a girl had been found, washed from the river onto the grounds of Amethyst Hall. Speculation said the remains were those of Tina Sanford, but authorities were waiting on a positive ID.
There was a live feed of Catterman standing outside the Hode’s Hill hospital, followed by a video of Mr. and Mrs. Sanford crying in front of a microphone. Mr. Sanford had his arm around his wife, the deep grooves in his face indicating long hours without sleep. “We just want this nightmare to end,” he said to the camera. “We want our baby to come home.”
The report cut to an earlier clip of Mayor Rossi, standing at the entrance to City Hall, the seal of Hode’s Hill visible in the doorway behind her. Her short update promised that authorities were working diligently to get to the bottom of the tragedy and were actively engaged in continuing the search for Graham Kingston.
“Mayor Rossi.” Among the reporters who’d gathered for the announcement, Catterman shoved her microphone forward. “Do you think Kingston is a suspect in what happened to Tina Sanford?”
Angela Rossi’s expression remained cool and professional. “At this point, we don’t know what happened to Tina Sanford. Her death may have been accidental.”
“Then you’ve ruled out homicide?”
“We haven’t ruled out anything. As soon as we have more details, the public will receive them.”
“Could this be connected to the attack on Leland Hode?” Catterman extended her microphone again, shouting over other reporters to be heard. “Tina Sanford’s body was found on Hode ground.”
A flicker of impatience crossed the mayor’s face. “The girl’s body was carried there by the current. There is no connection to the Hodes or Hode Development that I’ve been made aware of. As I already stated, further details will be forthcoming when we have them. Thank you.” Turning brusquely, she headed back inside, putting an abrupt end to the questioning. Camera flashes and shouted questions trailed in her wake.
The report cut back to Catterman at the entrance of Hode’s Hill hospital. “There has been no update at this hour, though speculation remains. Could Tina Sanford have been the victim of foul play, or even the Fiend? This is Christy Catterman of Channel 42, bringing you the news that matters. Back to you, Anita.”
The microwave dinged. Maya switched off the TV just as anchorwoman Anita Bolinger’s face filled the screen. More tired than hungry, Maya went through the motions of spooning leftover chicken and rice onto a plate, then carried it to the dinette table. The window behind her overlooked back stoops and parking slots, the place where she’d spent the night sequestered in her car. Her muscles were still sore from trying to sleep hunched in her Ford Escape, one eye cracked for ghostly activity.
Earlier, Collin had phoned to say he’d been sidetracked by several unexpected events and couldn’t make it until eight. She’d heard he’d been the one to find Tina’s body and had felt guilty imposing. But there was simply no way she wanted to go through another night like the last one. As long as daylight remained, she felt safe indoors. Possibly, even up until 2:22 when the strange occurrences started each night. She was halfway through her meal when a familiar chill settled over her.
Maya held her breath, conscious of something in the room. She closed her eyes.
Please go away.
The loud blare of a car horn shattered the stillness and the unnatural cold vanished in a snap. Shaken, she lurched to her feet and turned to the window. Outside, Len Kovack pulled into his parking slot. A bicyclist pedaled down the street, casting an unfriendly glance over his shoulder. Kovack must have been annoyed he’d had to wait a few seconds longer to pull into his slot. He killed the ignition on a brown Silverado.
Without thinking, Maya dashed into the kitchen, then out the back door and down the fire escape. “Mr. Kovack.” She waved an arm as he climbed from the truck. “Mr. Kovack.”
He scowled in her direction, his face marked by suspicion.
She couldn’t blame him. It wasn’t every day a stranger hailed you by name. Smiling, she offered her hand as she approached. “I just wanted to say hello.” Her friendliness was forced, wilting under the combativeness of his eyes, but she held the smile in place. “I’m Maya Sinclair, your new neighbor.”
Kovack made no move to return her greeting. “What do you want?”
Up close, his hair was more copper than red, thinning around a high forehead. He wasn’t a tall man but carried a loose-jointed quality that hinted of agility and speed. The back of his truck was loaded with paint cans and ladders.
Maya lowered her hand. “I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m trying to meet all of my neighbors.” And see if you really are the jerk everyone claims you are.
“Well, you’ve met me.” He started to turn away, but stopped abruptly. His eyes narrowed in a concentrated stare. “Hey, you wouldn’t be the one who saw me going into my townhome the other night?”
Maya’s heart lurched. Detective Gregg must have followed up and questioned him again. “I-I don’t know what you mean.” She stumbled over the words, praying they sounded convincing.
“Yeah?” Kovack poked his tongue into his cheek while he studied her. “Probably good you keep it that way. You want to get chatty, talk with the old lady beside you or that blonde, Jillian. The one with the dog.” He jerked his head to indicate the direction. “I got no use for neighbors.”
Maya struggled not to gape as he left her standing by the truck. How did a man like that run a business? It was no wonder Leland Hode had fired him. She wasn’t even sure why she’d bothered to introduce herself, other than wanting to know it was really him she’d spied entering his brownstone in the early hours of the morning.
Back inside, she covered the remains of her dinner with plastic wrap then stored the plate in the refrigerator. The cold spots that plagued her earlier had vanished, and sunlight slanted through the windows. She still had over an hour before Collin would arrive and decided to use the time to unpack the remaining boxes in the dining room.
As she sat on the floor, unwrapping glassware and knickknacks, her thoughts returned to the discussion she’d had with Imelda Bonnifer. If the Blue Lady had conducted séances in the house, could something malevolent have become trapped inside? Had it honed in on her because of her time in the Aether?
“Some people are just plain superstitious,” Imelda had said.
Maya rarely dredged up memories of the gray realm where she’d languished. Of the whispering voices that still had the power to haunt, especially in the bleak hours of deepest night. Acknowledging those murmurs meant embracing her death for two minutes and twenty-two seconds, a grim reality that flayed her to the bone. Maybe it was time to talk to someone about the experience. If not a therapist, then a priest, or someone versed in the spiritual world.
Time ticked as she worked.
After a while, she stood and stretched, the unpacking finished. Unwrapping a wine glass, she let the protective paper flutter to the floor.
The air temperature plummeted, winter-cold.
Maya froze, the glass clutched to her chest. Closing her eyes, she prayed the chilly intrusion was nothing more than an errant draft. “Go away. Whoever you are, go away.”
Heart pounding, breath a raspy hiss in her ears, she turned to look behind her.
The light in the room had faded to pearl, the sun blotted behind clouds. Her gaze dropped to the wine flute and the cold became glacial.
“Oh, dear God.” The reflection of a woman lay imprisoned in the glass. She wore an old-fashioned gown, dark hair spilling over her shoulders. Her skin was blue.
Maya screamed. Flinging the glass to the floor, she bolted for the front door.
She was halfway down the steps when she collided with Collin Hode.
* * * *
The glass hadn’t shattered when Maya dropped it. From the skepticism on Collin’s face, he didn’t believe an image had been trapped inside.
“You have black hair,” he pointed out, tilting the flute to catch the light. “And the tint on the glass is blue. You could have seen your own reflection.”
“No.” Of that she was certain. “This woman had long hair. Mine is only shoulder-length. And what about the way she was dressed? She was wearing something out of the 1800s.” Was it mere coincidence that was also when the Blue Lady had lived?
Collin set the glass on the coffee table. After some initial histrionics on Maya’s part—babbling she now regretted—she’d calmed down enough to explain what had frightened her. Collin inspected the dining room while she poured a Diet Coke. He declined anything to drink but sat with her in the parlor as she explained everything that had happened since she’d been in the home. By the time she’d finished, the sun had receded to a tangerine orb. Beyond the front windows, cars cruised down River Road, headlights pale yellow beams in the dusk.
Maya switched on a table lamp. “You don’t have to believe me. Think what you will, but I want you to look at the front bedroom. Something is causing the rapping sounds I told you about.”
Reclining slightly, Collin laced his hands over his stomach. “There are no pipes in that wall.”
“I know. Or at least, I didn’t think there were.”
“Maybe your mind is playing tricks. You told me you had a discussion with Imelda Bonnifer about the Blue Lady.”
“That was after I heard the rapping sounds. After the…” She didn’t know what to call them. “Manifestations.” It was hard holding her irritation in check, but she had no one to blame but herself. If she hadn’t run from the house, frightened out of her wits, he might have taken her more seriously.
The corner of his mouth turned up slightly. “I’ll admit, this is a new one.”
“What?”
“If you want out of your lease, there are easier ways to go about it.”
She stared, dumbstruck. “Is that what you think this is about?” Indignation forced her to her feet. “Mr. Hode, if I wanted out of my lease, I would take it up with your office. I didn’t ask you here to renegotiate terms, or—”
“All right. Sorry.” He held up a hand to stop the rant he obviously sensed coming. Blowing out a breath, he rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s been an unusual day. Bodies, ghosts…” Dry humor flavored the observation. “I’m better at handling blueprints and schematics.”
Crossness fading, Maya sank into her seat. “I heard the news about Tina Sanford. The girl they think is Tina.” She couldn’t imagine finding a body or what the aftermath must have entailed. “It must have been horrible coming across…” Once again, she fumbled for the right words. “Her remains.” Quickly, she looked away, her glance flitting out the window. She prayed Graham Kingston was safe. “I’m sorry to dump this on you right now. If you want me to talk to someone else at Hode Development—”
“No. I’m here, so I might as well address it.” He stood and rifled a hand through his hair. The dying light in the room layered it with ash. “Just so you know, Hode Development has managed the lease on this property for eight years, and we’ve never had a complaint like this.”
Her back stiffened. “Are you saying I’m imagining things?”
“I’m not saying anything.” He looked toward the hallway and the staircase leading to the second level. “Let’s check it out.”
* * * *
Maya’s muscles tightened as she stepped into the empty bedroom behind Collin. A vivid memory of being sealed inside, battered by ghostly music and chimes made her hug her arms to her chest. Shadows glommed onto the corners, the twilight seeping through the front windows, barely strong enough to dust the floor. Draped in pewter and charcoal, the room felt small and confining.
“Do you have a lamp?” Collin asked.
“I’ll grab one.” It gave her something to do, an excuse to leave the silent room, if only for a few moments.
“And a flashlight,” Collin called after her.
Several minutes later, he plugged the lamp into an outlet and Maya flipped the wall switch. Bright yellow light flooded the space, but even then she didn’t feel comfortable.
The room looked much like the others on the second level, finished with thick crown molding, Victorian-inspired wallpaper, and two casement windows framed in cherry. Because the home had been built in a time when freestanding wardrobes prevailed, there was no closet. Maya guessed the original use had probably favored an upstairs seating area or library.
