Scraps of Paper (16 page)

“I remember that night very well. How sweet Jenny’s mom was to me before she left on her date. She asked if we needed anything else for the sleep over and made us a supper of cheese macaroni and oven-baked fried shrimp, the frozen kind you get from a box. She was so happy Jenny had a friend staying over. She was so pretty for a mom, I remember thinking. Wore make up and looked like a movie star with her blond teased hair and the jewelry. Her perfume smelled heavenly.

“I also remember how much fighting was going on in the house between their Aunt Edna and their mother before their mother left for the night. I was a child and didn’t take notice of what they were arguing about…something to do with a man…with the house. But it was terrible, the hatred between the women. I was glad to be out on the porch and relieved when the yelling stopped and Jenny’s mom left. We didn’t have that at our house. Our parents were happy and rarely raised their voices at us or anyone.

“That’s one of the reasons I didn’t stay friends with Jenny and Chris. Their Aunt Edna was a mean spirited witch. She had this malice towards her niece and nephew that was so strong you could feel it. Jenny told me she found glass in her breakfast cereal one morning and was sure her Aunt Edna did it. She saw it before she put the spoon to her lips and tossed the whole bowl away. There were other times her Aunt tried to hurt her and Chris, she said, but I guess when she saw the look on my face about the glass in the cereal, she kept those to herself. I never knew whether to believe Jenny or not. She was always making up stories.”

Louisa looked at her brother. “And those two kids made me feel guilty because I had so much and they had so little. The clothes Jenny and Chris used to wear were used and frayed. Her mother got them from the church donation boxes. Jenny didn’t mind. But can you imagine a kid now days not caring how they looked? Kids now days want designer labels, their own cell phones and computers.

“At midnight after Aunt Edna and Chris were asleep Jenny dared me to go into the basement and talk with her dead grandma. I didn’t believe in ghosts so I went. I thought it would be fun to show her up. That and I didn’t want her to think I was a scaredy-cat.”

Martha was unable to stand the suspense when Louisa paused. “Well, did you see the ghost?”

Louisa’s profile was faintly outlined in the fading light. “I’ll never know if I did or not. That’s the weird thing. Jenny and I went into the basement and she had this candle. Said her grandma always liked candles. It was eerie down there, so dark. You know how scary basements are when you’re a kid. And there
was
something down there…a pulsating shadow…that I never could quite get a focus on. A presence. I heard a voice, not mine and not Jenny’s, and it called Jenny’s name. Then something, like fingers, gently stroked my cheek. I started shaking so badly I ran out of that basement like it was full of snakes. Later, of course, back up on the porch, I told myself I’d imagined it.

“Here’s the clincher. Jenny claimed her grandma’s ghost was sad because her daughter Edna poisoned her and her husband. It gave me the creeps. I never went back there and avoided Jenny afterwards and it was a short time after that they left. Or so we believed. The stories in the newspaper brought the memories back. Sad to think they’ve been dead all these years, not away.” She shook her head. “Sorry, Abigail, I know it’s your house now. But I think it’s haunted.”

“It could be,” Abigail replied good-naturedly, “but I don’t believe in ghosts.”

Frank announced the meat was done and Martha was standing. “Now that I’m thoroughly creeped out, let’s go eat. We can have more ghost stories later when it’s dark so we can really get the full effect. I’ll even run out and hide in the yard and make spooky noises.”

After dinner everyone sat in the kitchen and played cards. Abigail talked Kyle into joining them and she thought, all in all, he had a good time. Later in the evening everyone ended back on the porch rocking and talking, except Michael and Kyle, who rocked and listened.

The night was soft dry velvet, the moon above a huge white medallion that cast an ivory glow over the porch and yard and there was a faint breeze as Frank exposed the plot, the story, of his novel.

Louisa rocked her chair slowly, thinking. “Sounds intriguing. It’ll sell, Brother. Soon we’ll be seeing your novels in the book stores and you on the talk shows acting the big shot writer.”

Frank’s laugh was spontaneous and humble at the same time. “Spoken like a baby sister.”

“I like the title,” Michael surprised everyone by blurting out loud and people laughed.

Michael and Louisa left first, then Martha and Ryan. Abigail, Kyle and Frank remained on the porch dissecting their favorite horror movies. Kyle had let down his defenses, behaving like a normal human being as he entertained them with tales of his college classes and his teachers. The evening had been so much fun Abigail didn’t want it to end.

“Thought I’d warn you early, Abby,” Frank said as she was leaving. “Next week there’s another town picnic. No crafts, but homemade chili and ice cream. Rides. And a bonfire later.”

Leave it to her to relocate to a town that celebrated every other week of the year.

But as she steered her car home, her mind wasn’t on the upcoming festivities, it was on Emily and the kids and what had happened to them, on the bodies’ forensic results, and what Brown and then Louisa had said about them.

And whether there really was a ghost in her basement.

Chapter 13

Early Monday morning Abigail arrived at the newspaper’s office. All day Sunday, as she’d kept busy and finished Frank’s watercolor, she hadn’t been able to stop speculating about that letter Samantha had for her and obsessing about the possible ghost in her basement. She hadn’t ventured into the basement once and was miffed at herself for being a silly nitwit.
No such things as spooks.

 “Morning, Abigail.” Samantha was poised at her desk, camera and purse dangling from her shoulder. “Caught me on my way to a story. I can’t chat. Here’s the letter.” She thrust an envelope at Abigail and dashed for the door where she paused, turned, and spoke as fast as she’d moved, “I didn’t open the letter. Let me know later what it says. I’m d-y-i-n-g of curiosity. See you later.” And she was rushing out the door and gone.

“Nice to see you, too, Sam!” Abigail yelled after her. No answer but the slamming door.

Abigail plopped down at Samantha’s desk and read what was on the outside of the envelope:
Urgent and personal for Abigail Sutton!
  She tore it open and began to read.

Dear Abigail Sutton,

I live in Orchard, about twenty-five miles from Spookie, and I was a friend of Norma Mason, who lived here in Orchard the last few years since her divorce. We were neighbors. Norma used to live in Spookie and was married to the John Mason who runs the general store. Recently she was sent copies of your newspaper stories about the missing Summers family by an old friend who still lives in Spookie. I’m writing you because Norma had something very important to tell you about the Summers. But three days ago she died, under circumstances I believe were suspicious, before she could contact you. As she confided in me before her death, I feel it’s my duty, to tell you what she told me. If you’re interested call at the telephone number below and we’ll arrange a visit face to face. Alone, please. I think that’s best.

Yours truly,

Lorna Henreid

Abigail didn’t think Samantha would mind if she used the newspaper’s telephone and she dialed the number at the bottom of the letter. A few minutes later she was on her way to Orchard to meet the letter lady.

Lorna’s house was a small brick, but well kept, the grounds immaculate and landscaped with bushes and flowering plants. Abigail walked up to a white lattice trimmed porch intertwined with miniature roses. White wicker furniture on the right and a glider swing on the left. An attractive woman about sixty in an apricot pants suit opened the door. “Abigail,” she breathed. “Come in.”

Abigail stepped inside. “Thank you for letting me talk to you like this. For sending the letter.” The living room was a pale pink and filled with expensive looking oak furniture. The plump woman in front of her had dark cropped hair and warm gray eyes.

“Ah, honey. I was Norma’s friend. I have to do something.” She gave Abigail’s shoulder a motherly pat and smiled. “Come on in the kitchen. I made us rolls and tea.”

“You didn’t have to do that for me. But thank you.”

In her sunny kitchen Lorna poured a cup of tea for Abigail and offered her a roll from a porcelain plate. Pretty rose pattern. “Since Norma passed away it’s been lonely. She used to come for breakfast most mornings and we’d go to neighborhood yard sales, to the mall or putter around in our gardens together. I’m going to miss her so much. She was a good friend.”

“I’m sorry.” Abigail took a bite of a roll. “When did she die?”

“When I wrote the letter it was three days after Norma’s death. We’d just buried her. Let’s see, that was…four days ago. She’s been dead seven days. The coroner said she fell down her basement steps. An accident. I wrote you that letter because I don’t think it was an accident.”

If it wasn’t an accident, then what was it?
Her inner voice brooded. “Why would you think that?” Abigail added sugar to her tea and finished her roll as she
admired the cozy kitchen. So clean and organized. So different from Brown’s dingy place.

“Because Norma had become afraid of someone from her past. She wouldn’t tell me who. Ever since her old friend sent her those newspaper articles, especially after the one where you found the graves, Norma was behaving strangely. One night before she died she knocked on my door and asked if she could speak to me; had something to get off her chest, she said. She was frightened and kept jerking every time there was a noise outside.

“She spoke about her old life with John Mason. Those stories, she said, had revived unpleasant memories about Emily Summers and the affair John Mason had had with the woman thirty years ago, when he was engaged to Norma. Norma hated Emily Summers with a passion. Said she nearly killed Emily herself, she was so worried over losing John to her. Norma was obsessed with John in those days. You have to understand, as Norma put it, thirty years ago Mason was a dreamboat. He had a wit and a smile that thawed any woman’s heart. He was sensitive, smart, and had this smoldering animal magnetism that was so sexy. He had, when he was young, great potential; a passion for life.  Women threw themselves at John all the time–when he wasn’t drinking. Ha, that was the catch, Norma said. When he drank he was a brute, a monster.

“Anyway, Norma and John were supposed to be married in October but she’d felt him slipping away more every day that summer. Rumors were John had a woman on the side. Emily. And he was in love with her, but since he was to get the store from Norma’s father, and a lot of money–Norma had a good-sized trust fund that kicked in when she finally married–John lied to Norma about Emily and kept seeing both. Emily was poor, had two kids John never warmed up to. But John wouldn’t let Emily go. Greedy, he played his women against each other to get what he wanted. And, by what Norma said, it all ended badly.

“She never knew how badly until she learned you’d found Emily and the children’s graves. She’d always believed…like everyone else, they’d just moved away…and the pieces fell into place for her. She figured out, she thought, what might have happened and guilt was eating at her. Mostly about what she’d done to Emily.”

“Norma was Emily’s stalker, wasn’t she?” The second Abigail said it, she knew it was true.

“I think it was Norma. Norma hinted she was but never really admitted it.” Lorna sighed. “The stalker was alluded to in the last newspaper installment, but no one knew who it was. The Norma I knew was a quiet simple woman. Thirty years with that womanizing ex-husband of hers wore her down. A miracle she had the courage to leave him. She was much happier divorced and living here alone. She must have been a firecracker when she was younger, though. She told me she’d loathed Emily Summers for trying to steal her man, blamed her for everything, but she never actually hurt the woman or her kids. Just tried to scare her off.”

“She left the hate notes in the mailbox?” Abigail wanted it clarified. “Killed their cat, burnt down their shed, and injured Christopher with her car?”
And killed Emily
–because a spurned woman’s jealousy could be deadly? Abigail wanted to ask, but didn’t.

“She practically confessed to most of that, and she wasn’t proud of it, but Norma adamantly denied being the person who ran Christopher over. She’d never hurt a child. Only wanted to scare them so they’d leave town. And she swore she had nothing to do with any of their deaths.”

That didn’t mean Norma hadn’t killed one or all of them, Abigail mulled the possibility over, merely that she’d lied about it. As Frank said, most murderers were liars.

“Norma regretted her treatment of Emily and the children more than anything else in her life, except marrying John Mason, especially when she found out years later John had had other girlfriends on the side at the same time, not just Emily.”

Oh, now that was interesting. “That cad. But back to the other thing, why was Norma afraid?”

“She never actually said, but she was afraid of something or someone. The last time I saw Norma she told me the story of the night she threatened to call off the wedding and she and John had an awful fight. He went off to see someone afterwards but the following day he came begging Norma to take him back. Had scratches on his face, behaved oddly; told her he’d had an accident in his car. He drank in those days and sometimes was violent and had blackouts. So Norma thought little of it. He swore to her he was done with other women forever and said that Emily was planning on leaving town. Good riddance to her. Two months later Norma and John were married. Their marriage was awful, to hear Norma tell it, with his controlling nature, tight fingers on her money, drinking and running around on her. Years later she wished he had taken off with Emily Summers–or any one of the other women. She would have been better off.

“Anyway, Norma had that and more information on John’s relationship with Emily and was going to send it in a letter to you. She’d been getting threatening phone calls and was afraid someone was targeting her. She ranted about vengeful ghosts and being haunted if she didn’t tell what she knew. Not like Norma at all, who didn’t believe in such things. She was so frightened those last days and when I found out she’d died by falling down the stairs, it got me thinking: Something’s not right. She was always careful going up and down those steps. She had terrible arthritis in her legs. Held the banister and took her time. She wouldn’t have fallen. I know it.

“So I sent the letter to you. If someone pushed Norma down those stairs, and it was partly because of your stories, you needed to know. That someone is still out there.” Lorna’s face was serious.

“You’re saying someone could have killed Norma, might want to hurt me and I should be careful?”

“That’s the sum of it. I’m positive Norma wrote you a letter the night before she died, but didn’t, I don’t think, have time to mail it. Wish there were some way we could find it. It’s probably in her house somewhere.”

The plan formed before Abigail could stop it. “Norma lived next store in the white house on the left? Is it empty now?”

“Just sitting there empty. Norma and John have a son and a daughter. They’re putting it up for sale, but haven’t cleaned it out yet. No one’s been there since the funeral and they asked me to keep an eye on it for them.” There was slyness in the woman’s eyes as her lips curved upwards. “I kept an eye on the place for Norma, too, and have an extra key, so I can’t see the harm in going in and looking for that letter. If it’s addressed to you, it’s rightfully yours. Right?”

Abigail kept a straight face. “Right. It’s lawfully mine.” Then she grinned. “And if you have legal access to the house….”

Lorna took a key off a wall hook, Abigail followed her outside to the back door of Norma’s house, and Lorna unlocked it. Once inside they stood in shock gawking at the piles of debris strewn everywhere. The floors were covered. The cabinet doors were open and their contents had been tossed on the floor. The place was a mess.

“My, my,” Lorna whispered. “I don’t think the police or her kids did this. The kids are neat freaks like their mother was. Someone’s broken in here.”

Deja vu,
Abigail reflected, looking around. Was a curse following her or what?

“I imagine,” Lorna moaned in a meek voice, “we need to report this to the police.”

“We will. After we find my letter. Unless someone beat us to it. Any idea where it might be?” Abigail didn’t want to spend any more time in Norma’s house than necessary. “And let’s not leave any fingerprints if we can help it. Don’t want the police to think we did this.”

“Good idea. Norma had a couple of secret hiding places for money and such. Let’s look in them first. Maybe your letter wasn’t found. One place was behind her bathroom medicine cabinet and another was in a secret compartment in her desk. I’ll show you.”

The medicine cabinet was on the floor, ripped from the wall and empty. Well, scratch that hiding place. She hoped the letter hadn’t been hidden there. They made their way through the wreckage to the bedroom and checked the desk.

“Got it!” Lorna exclaimed as she pulled an envelope with a stamp and Abigail’s name on it out of a crevice of the desk and handed it to Abigail. “I knew she wrote you a letter.”

Opening it, Abigail scanned the sentences, her breath an ice cube in her throat. She finished and recapped for Lorna, “Norma suspected John strangled Emily during a lover’s quarrel the night they had their big fight. He got drunk one night years later and blabbed some things to her that made her think that. Confessing Emily had wanted to leave him, wanted to sell the house and escape town to be with another man–not her ex-husband. Mason was so enraged he attacked her in a fit of passion. Unfortunately John passed out and stopped talking before he could actually incriminate himself. But after that Norma feared he’d killed Emily and that he spent the next three decades covering up his crime. To Norma it made sense. That’s why, after he’d broken up with her that summer, he’d come begging to get her back. He’d killed Emily, saw his life and freedom slipping away, and, in the end, didn’t want to lose the good life marrying Norma would have brought him as well. Damage control. Norma believed he did it, but had no proof. Not even verbal.”