The Murder in Skoghall (Illustrated) (The Skoghall Mystery Series Book 1) (20 page)

She placed a new sheet of paper into the typewriter and fed it around the roller. She hit the keys, making a conscious effort with each strike.

I am a writer.

It was no use. Why was she kidding herself? She went to the bedroom and paused in the doorway to peer into each corner before crossing the threshold. She grabbed a duffle bag from the back of her closet and tossed in some clothing, then her toiletries. The back of her neck tingled with nervous anticipation. She kept looking over her shoulder, and when she was packed, Jess fled the room. She couldn’t help herself. She ran down the stairs in a panic.

Excited by the running game, Shakti leapt at Jess when she reached the hallway. The dog threw her off balance and Jess cried out in pain as her back torqued in a funny direction. She glanced up the stairs, expecting to see the ghost. Nothing. Jess patted Shakti on the head to calm both of them. “I’m freaking out, Bear.” Jess grabbed her Macbook and a journal from the music room. “Let’s get out of here.” She set her bag on the porch and turned, reaching into the vestibule to grab the door and close it.

Chk. Chk. Chk. Chk…Chk. Chk. Chk.

The sound was coming from upstairs, both carrying down the staircase and through the roof over Jess’s head. It was a sound she knew very well—the sound of the Underwood’s keys striking the page.

As the typist found her rhythm, the keys struck faster. The sound became insistent.
Chk. Chk. Chk. Chk!…Chk. Chk. Chk!
Jess slammed the door and with a shaking hand got the key in the lock and turned it.

She ran to the car with Shakti beside her. She slammed their doors and got the car headed down the driveway. When she reached the barn, Jess stopped. She kept her foot on the brake, the car in drive, but turned on her seat to look through the rear windshield. It was something she had to do, to prove to herself she wasn’t defeated. Jess found the office window and peered up at it. She had not hung any curtains in that room, but a dark blue curtain hung there now. She knew on the inside of the room, the curtain hung over a little boy’s bed with moons and rocket ships. The curtain moved and the red-haired woman appeared in the gap between the panels. Jess felt the longing of one with unfinished business. Her foot slipped off the brake and the car lurched forward. She punched the brake reflexively, jolting them. Shakti fell forward and back on the front seat with a yip. Jess gripped the wheel in clenched fists and forced herself to raise her foot from the brake slowly and then shift it to the gas pedal and continue on her way like a sane person, not like a rabbit just flushed from a bush. As she turned onto Haug Drive, she glanced back toward the house. The curtains were gone from the window. The yard was beautifully lit. It was again the most appealing house Jess had ever seen.

She found Beckett in the studio, busy cleaning so it would look nice when the Memorial Day tourists came through, eager to go home with a piece of art. A day off work makes people want to spend money, he had told Jess. He got more orders for sets of dishes on holiday weekends than at any other time of the year. “How’d it go?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Terrible. I was terrified to be in my own house.” Beckett came over and gave Jess a sort of hug, keeping his clay-covered hands off of her. She told him about the typewriter and the window.

Shakti sniffed a piece of clay at their feet and decided it was worth further exploration. She began with a nibble, her little teeth nipping off a corner of the clay. Since that was agreeable, she snarfed up the rest of it and sat down to chew.

“What’s that going to do to her poop?” Beckett asked.

“Who knows. And I forgot to get her food from the pantry.” Jess sighed, frustrated for the first time at the lack of amenities in Skoghall. “You know what it’s like?” Beckett shook his head and waited for her to continue. “It’s like getting a divorce. This place that’s your home starts to feel like it no longer belongs to you. I mean, our house was mine as much as it was Mitch’s, but I wanted to get away from him and he wanted to dig in. So…” She sighed again. “He staked his claim to the house, doing stupid shit to annoy me and make it clear I couldn’t get rid of him any too easily. You know? Every day it felt more and more like his house and like I was some kind of intruder in my own home.”

Beckett put a hand under Jess’s chin and lifted her face to his. Those bright blue eyes just about killed Jess every time she looked into them. If these windows to the soul were honest, then Beckett’s soul was kind, gentle, and generous. “This is different,” he said.

“How so?”

“You were ready to leave that house. It was time to move on. Now it’s time to stay. So, dig in. You can be the one who stakes your claim. Just don’t let her win.”

“That’s easy to say. My ex was scary, but nothing like this.” Jess smiled. It was ludicrous, comparing her ex-husband to her ghost. “Just don’t let her win,” she repeated.

She sensed Beckett leaning in. His movement was barely perceptible, a slight angle of his head toward hers, a lowering of his eyelids so that his thick lashes came into focus. Jess studied the shape of his goatee and how it framed his mouth. She softened her mouth, preparing…and then he straightened up.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“For what?”

He picked up a towel from his worktable and wiped Jess’s chin. “I got slip on you.”

“Oh, I didn’t even notice.” She winced as the towel tugged at the skin of her cheek, pulling against the bruise and cut under her eye.

“Sorry.” He put the towel in Jess’s hands. “How does your face feel?”

“It hurts. So does my back. But…” Jess’s voice trailed off as something occurred to her.

“What is it?”

She looked at Beckett. “I just realized something. The house was built in 1921, right? So the red-haired woman died between 1921 and the last owner, Lora’s friend. She’s wearing a nightgown. It’s not exactly high fashion, so not much of a clue, but it’s summery. And the nursery is decorated with spaceships. That must be after the lunar landing, right?” Beckett nodded his agreement. “And she used Tyler. She made him attack me.” Beckett continued to nod, waiting for Jess’s conclusion. “He called me a gook. The red-haired woman died during or right after Vietnam.”

“That makes sense.”

“Yes, it does. And she wants me to find him.” Jess met Beckett’s eyes with an imploring gaze. “What if she’s not trying to hurt me or scare me off? What if she has a job she needs me to do?”

“Find him? Who’s him?”

“I don’t know yet, but I have a starting point now. I need to know who owned my house in the 1960s and ‘70s.”

Beckett smiled at her, his eyes bright with approval. “I’m glad to see you charged up, Jess. And that you aren’t giving up on Skoghall.”

“Me, too.” Jess wanted to touch his face, to have that kiss they had seemed on the verge of having only a minute before. She kept her hands down, hoping he would initiate another touch, wishing she could kiss him, but for the time being, she was dependent on his charity and couldn’t risk things being awkward between them. He finally turned away and scooped up a pile of clay scraps to drop into his bucket. Jess was glad his back was turned in case her disappointment showed. “Can I help you around here?”

“No, thanks.” He faced her again and kissed her forehead, more of a friendly gesture than a romantic one, but it was something. “You deal with your ghost. I’ll deal with my studio.”

The Mississippi River flowed by, the dark waters sparkling under the high midday sun. Jess and Shakti liked spending time in the park at the river’s edge. Very few tourists made it down here, probably not realizing there was a clearing behind the old livery and other buildings on this side of the River Road. Jess wanted to avoid Main Street over the holiday weekend. She knew she was the subject of curiosity—the biggest thing to happen in Skoghall for years, according to Beckett. Nobody knew what had happened to Tyler, and his employees had shown up to a closed business. Jess imagined the food inside going bad and the thought of him losing his business because of the red-haired woman added to Jess’s determination to take back her home.

It had been easy enough to find public records on her house. John and Bonnie Sykes had owned it from 1969 to 1973. After that the house was vacant for two years. It seemed the house couldn’t keep a resident. Someone would settle in and then be gone within a year or two, followed by another period of vacancy. The last owner, Cathy Fenton, had made it through three years. They were pretty good years from the look of things. There were records of the building permits she’d pulled. The garage was there thanks to her. She had a permit to pave the driveway, too, but hadn’t gotten that far. The master bedroom’s closet and dressing area was supposed to be fancier than it turned out. If Jess had to guess, Cathy Fenton finished the job early, settling for what she could do fast and cheap so she could put the house on the market. It didn’t sell soon enough and the bank foreclosed. Jess wanted to talk to Cathy and fill in a few blanks. She also wanted to know more about Bonnie Sykes.

Jess began to run. Shakti tripped over her big paws as she got going, chasing Jess around the grassy park. Jess ran in circles and loops, evading Shakti. The puppy’s ears flapped as she ran, her mouth curved into that happy smile retrievers wear so well. The wind lifted her fur, making her look even more like a ball of pale down than usual. Shakti’s snout was lengthening along with her legs and she already looked more like a toddler than a baby. She acted like one, too, wanting to always be close to Jess, whining when she wasn’t getting her way, and, like a toddler, teething. Anything was fair game—from Jess’s hand to the hem of her skirt. It got on Jess’s nerves and she’d snapped and scolded more than once.

She doubled back and ran past Shakti, then spun around and dropped to her knees. She held her arms open as Shakti ran full speed into her. The puppy leapt and hit Jess in the chest, knocking her back into the grass. As Jess laughed, Shakti crawled over her to cover her face with kisses. Jess put a hand up to protect her bruise and rolled over. Shakti found her hand with her teeth. “Ow! Dammit, Shakti.” Jess had to pry the dog’s mouth open to free her hand. She shook it out while Shakti sat in the grass with her tail wagging. “I’m not a dog. You can’t chomp on me.”

“Do you think she understands you?”

Jess turned, surprised to find Beckett walking through the trees into the park. She hadn’t seen her roommate all day. He’d been busy at the studio with the tourist crowd, while Dave manned the hardware store. “Hi,” she said, “shouldn’t you be selling pottery?”

“There was a lull. I put a sign on the door. Took a break.” He joined her in the grass and Shakti attacked. Beckett wrestled with her. Jess couldn’t decide who was having more fun, until Shakti bit down. Beckett rolled her over and pinned her. She squirmed against him, but he was firm and held her jaw shut with one hand while the other kept her shoulders on the ground. “No.”

“You’re good at that.”

“I grew up with dogs. If you don’t maintain pack order, they’ll take advantage of you for the rest of their lives. And this little girl wants to be an alpha.”

“I noticed.” Jess looked up at the sky and caught sight of an eagle. “Look,” she pointed. She and Beckett lay back in the grass and watched as the raptor soared beyond the trees then looped back over their clearing toward the river. Jess stared at the white head and gold beak, the massive wings spread for gliding. “What is it about them that’s so magnificent?”

“I love seeing eagles,” Beckett said. Their hands brushed each other, a light, accidental touch, but it excited Jess all the same. “You and Shakti should come by the studio this afternoon.”

“Oh?”

“You can work in one of the booths if you like. I’ve got Wi-Fi. And people like puppies. Shakti can help me sell pots.”

“All right.” It would be good to get out of his tiny apartment. Jess was spending a lot of time there with Shakti, wishing she were home or at the library, thoughts that made her feel a bit resentful of her whole situation. “I have to run an errand first, then we’ll come by.” 

Jess took Shakti back to the apartment and left her there so she could walk up Main Street. The road was crowded with people happy to be out stretching their legs, exploring the small river towns, and searching for treasures in the shops. She passed a family of four on her way up the hill. The girl noticed Jess’s face and nudged her brother. The scoop of ice cream perched atop the cone in her hand wobbled dangerously. Jess felt her cheeks coloring as the boy joined his sister in staring at the welt under her eye. As she passed the adults, she overheard the mother saying, “I can’t believe it’s closed. I was hoping to eat at the Water Wheel,” and Jess felt a new twinge of guilt.

Jess had only been inside the antique store once before—to deliver the party invitation—and hadn’t gone past the front counter. Lora was charming a customer who turned a piece of vintage jewelry over in her hands. Jess decided to look around.

Lora had done a nice job converting the old house to a store, arranging the flow of merchandise in a pleasing way. The dining room contained shelves of china, compote dishes, teapots, salt cellars, and all the things one would expect to find around food. The buffet’s cabinets were locked with more expensive pieces behind the glass doors, while its drawers were left open to display neatly folded table linens. Jess imagined Lora endlessly tidying up after her customers. A tight staircase led to second floor.

In two small bedrooms, Lora had all sorts of miscellany. The closets were hung with a vintage wardrobe, each piece with a price tag carefully pinned to a cuff. One of the rooms had a wall of bookshelves. Jess was drawn inside to examine the spines of old books. It was a dangerous pastime, collecting anything. Jess thought of the old man with the shed crammed to bursting. She had tried to write about him again when she had had enough of ghost hunting. It proved easier away from her house, and the old man was taking shape on the page. She opened the lid on a wooden box and found it full of moveable type. It appeared a mix of various alphabets. She shifted them around, enjoying the clatter of the metal and wood cubes against each other. Jess let herself browse for quite a while, sometimes sharing the room with other shoppers and sometimes having it to herself. Finally, she decided to select a book for purchase, a well-deserved treat.