The Skeleton Haunts a House (10 page)

S
id minded. If the flurry of increasingly annoyed texts I received over the next couple of hours hadn't clued me in, then the stony silence with which he greeted me when I got home and climbed up to his attic would have. Instead of speaking to me, he pretended he hadn't heard me come in, which might have been more convincing if I hadn't heard him scrambling around to get to his computer so he could act busy.

“Hi, Sid.”

He kept typing.

“Come on, Sid, I didn't have time to call you.”

No reply.

“Or e-mail you.”

Nothing.

“Okay, I could have texted you.”

“No, that's okay,” he said with a sniff. “It's not like I'm your partner—I'm just a human search engine.”

Had he been less cranky, I might have pointed out that calling him human would be a stretch. “You know I see you
as a partner, but you also know my time isn't always my own. Somebody in this family has to bring in a paycheck so we can afford some of the new graphic novels coming down the pike.”

“I suppose.” He paused. “What graphic novels?”

“The list of really good ones that my friend Caroline gave me. She's got some free copies she scored at a conference, too, and was going to send them along, but if you're not interested . . .”

“Okay, okay, you're forgiven.”

“Thank you.”

“But comics later. What did you find out about Kendall?”

“Not a lot.” I told him what I'd learned. “So she had freshman syndrome, but got over it long before she was killed. I don't think she was killed for turning over a new leaf.”

“What about the boyfriend?” Sid asked. “If she was changing herself for him, maybe it was a
Fifty Shades of Grey
thing, and he was making her over in his own image. Eventually she started to resent it and wanted to break away. So he killed her rather than lose her.”

“That's ugly, but possible. How did he get into the haunt without her knowing it?”

“He was the ninja, of course.”

“That would explain why the ninja hasn't resurfaced. But isn't the boyfriend the first person the police would check alibis for?”

“He could have rented a ninja.”

We looked at each other, and couldn't help giggling. It was in terrible taste, of course, but a rent-a-ninja was too funny not to laugh.

Once we'd recovered enough to be able to fake maturity, I said, “You know the police must have investigated the guy already.”

“Not as well as I can,” Sid said.

“Granted. But unless you find something, I think we have to look elsewhere.”

“Kendall's family? Maybe she didn't get along with her parents, or had serious sibling rivalry.”

“That's still something the police would look at.” I held up a hand to forestall him. “I know, it goes without saying that you'll do a better job of digging into that, but I'm trying to come up with something I can do.”

Sid and I both drummed our fingers, but the resulting duet neither caused brain flashes nor masked the sounds of loud footsteps from downstairs.

“Madison must be mad about something,” I said.

“That's not Madison.” A moment later, Sid was proven right when there was a knock at his door. Before he could answer, Deborah stomped in.

“I figured I'd find you two up here.”

“Welcome!” Sid said, as delighted to see her as I was surprised. I couldn't remember the last time Deborah had come to Sid's room.

“What's up?” I said.

“I got a call today from the McQuaid Scholars Committee, namely Beatrice McQuaid. She was not pleased that I hadn't been calling her each and every day. The fact that nothing has changed since Saturday night makes zero difference to her. Bear in mind that Beatrice hasn't done a solitary thing since recruiting me—she hasn't even bothered to come down to the haunt. None of the committee have. The cast and I do the work, and they brag about how much money they make for scholarships.”

“How did you get the job anyway?” I asked.

“I heard they needed somebody. The guy who ran it last year moved out of town, and since I've worked tech at haunts before, I got in touch. That's the last time I volunteer for anything.”

“You did put together a good haunt.”

“As if you'd know. If we reopen, are you going to come in?”

“It's kind of ruined for me now,” I said, dodging. “With what happened and all.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, not believing me. “Speaking of scary things, Beatrice and the rest of the Quintet want to meet with me tonight.”

“I wonder if they're going to tell you not to reopen the haunt.”

“Why would they do that? No haunt means nothing for them to brag about.”

“But it could mean a lot of money.” I reminded her of what I'd told Louis about the McQuaid bequest being dependent on McQuaid Hall staying in use.

“So you think the McQuaid Quintet killed a girl to get the building and land back? Not that I'm saying they wouldn't, but if they had, why would they be bothering me about reopening?”

“They could be faking it to hide their real motive,” Sid said.

“I guess,” Deborah said, “but I can't see any of them getting their hands dirty.”

“They could have hired somebody,” I said, reminding myself to make no rent-a-ninja comments or else Sid and I would start laughing again, and Deborah would lose all faith in our deductive abilities.

She said, “If they're going to try to mess around with my haunt, they're going to have a fight on their hands.”

“Go get 'em, and call me after the meeting.”

“I thought you might want to come along, since you're nosing around.”

I wasn't sure exactly what good I'd do other than lend moral support, but it was definitely something I could do that the police couldn't, so I was about to agree. Sid beat me to it.

“Good idea, Deborah,” he said. “That would be a great place to continue our investigation.”

“Yeah, no. You're not coming,” Deborah said.

“You asked both of us to help. Georgia, tell her you need me as backup.”

They both turned to me. I sighed, but after some negotiation, we came up with a compromise that made nobody happy. Including me, because I realized that I'd never agreed to go to the meeting.

We headed downstairs and told everybody what we were up to, and though Deborah made noises about heading home for a sandwich, Phil insisted on her staying for the stir-fry he was whipping up.

Over dinner, Mom pointed out that it might be better to dress upscale to meet with the McQuaids, so after we finished, I went to find something more suitable while Deborah made a quick trip to her place to change. By the time she got back, I was wearing my navy blue interview suit with heels, and had even put on makeup. I have a nice red briefcase I usually carry on such occasions, but this time I had to settle for a worn tote designed to look like an old-time doctor's bag. Even tying a scarf around the handles didn't disguise the scarred leather, but it was the only handbag I had that was big enough to squeeze Sid's skull into.

That had been part of the compromise. Since Sid's memory or soul or whatever it is that keeps him moving travels with his skull, as long as we had that, he was technically accompanying us. It was stretching a point to call him backup since about all he would be able to do in our defense was roll at people and bite them like a carnivorous bowling ball, but he was an excellent listener and might pick up something Deborah and I missed.

Of course he still grumbled. “This thing is too tight,” he said from inside. “Great, now your cell is inside my skull.”

I reached inside and pulled out the phone, then put it into a zipper section on the side of the bag. “There. Now keep your jaw shut or my wallet will be in there, too.”

“You need to get a bigger bag, something with a see-through panel.”

“I'm sure I can find a perfect skull touring bag on sale at Macy's, but until I do, you'll have to deal with this one. Unless you want to stay home, that is.”

“No way! Sherlock Bones is on the case. And yes, you have to be Watson. You're the doctor, right?”

“Fine, I'll be Watson. Just remember, Watson is the one with a gun.”

“Oh, please, everybody knows Holmes is the better shot.”

“Sure, lying on the couch, but it's always Watson who's carrying the trusty revolver.”

Sid and I continued our literary discussion until Deborah drove up and leaned on the horn to get our attention.

Like me, Deborah had a single good suit for those times when she needed one, but hers was a little sharper because she typically dealt with dress-to-impress businesspeople, not conservative academics. It was a rich burgundy, and since her legs were one of her best features, the skirt was shorter than mine. I comforted myself with the fact that my pumps were prettier than hers.

“Bone Boy in the bag?” she asked once I'd climbed into the car.

“You bet!” Sid chirped. “Hey, you two want me to wave at you from the attic window?”

“No!” we both said. Though Sid's ability to manipulate his bones at a distance was impressive, it might draw unwanted attention.

“Oh, come on,” he said. “If anybody else sees me, they'll think I'm a Halloween decoration.”

“That's why you shouldn't do it,” I said. “Save it for Halloween night and you'll get a bigger reaction.”

“Oh, good point.”

Deborah shook her head in resignation. Just because she was used to the two of us, it didn't mean that she understood us.

“Where's the meeting going to be?” I asked as Deborah drove.

“At the McQuaid mansion.”

“Of course. The better to cow us with.”

“You know Beatrice didn't even give me the address. She just assumed I'd know where it is.”

“She was right, wasn't she? Everybody knows where it is.” At least everybody who'd lived in Pennycross for any length of time knew. I don't suppose the McQuaid family was all that rich or prestigious compared to folks in Boston or Long Island, but they were definitely the leading family in our little northwestern Massachusetts town. Not only had the college been named for them, but they were active in local politics and what passed for a social calendar. “I've always been curious about what that place is like inside.”

“Me, too,” Sid said. He might not get out of the house often, but that didn't keep him from taking fierce interest in Pennycross gossip. “Georgia, are you sure you can't keep the bag open for me to peek?”

Even if I'd been tempted, seeing the look on Deborah's face was enough to make me say, “Sorry, Sid. We can't take the risk of anybody noticing you. I'm a gate-crasher as it is. A gate-crasher with a skull in a bag wouldn't make the right impression.”

“Spoilsport,” he muttered.

Deborah pulled into the long, circular driveway in front of the McQuaid mansion and parked near the front door. There were five other cars waiting: two Mercedes sedans,
a gleaming blue Lexus, a black Escalade, and a vintage seventies-era red-and-white Cadillac that was bigger than some of the apartments I'd lived in.

“Great, the whole McQuaid Quintet showed up. I mostly dealt with Beatrice, but I've met all the cousins.”

“I thought they were sisters.”

“A common misconception,” Sid said. “Beatrice is an only child, but has four first cousins: Paige, Vivienne, and the twins, Edwina and Erika. Beatrice is the oldest, and the daughter of the oldest from the previous generation, which is why she inherited the mansion and the lion's share of oomph in town.”

“How do you know this?” Deborah asked.

“From reading years' worth of faculty newsletters and Pennycross papers, added to lots and lots of eavesdropping. I know the names of their parents, husbands, ex-husbands, and kids, should you need them.”

Deborah looked mildly impressed. “Maybe you're going to be more than just comic relief after all.” She opened the car door before he got a chance to snark back at her. It was a dirty trick, but well timed.

I'd hoped for a butler or at least an aproned maid to answer the door, but instead it was Beatrice herself who greeted us.

“Ms. Thackery, thank you for coming,” she said, then looked questioningly at me.

“My sister, Dr. Georgia Thackery,” Deborah said.

“A pleasure,” she said. “Won't you both come inside?”

We followed her across the black-and-white tiled foyer, past the dark wood accent table that would have seated five for dinner and still have had room for the exotic fresh flower arrangement that was all it was used for, and into an honest-to-gosh study, complete with leather upholstered furniture,
a massive mahogany desk, an Oriental carpet, and built-in, glass-fronted bookcases. I was almost certain the room was as big as the one the adjuncts shared at McQuaid, even without the added space from the bay windows.

Four other women were waiting, all of them so meticulously groomed that I couldn't imagine how long it had taken them to get ready for the meeting.

“My cousins,” Beatrice said. “Paige. Vivienne. Edwina and Erika.” Paige was dark-haired, tall, and slim, while Vivienne was shorter and curvier. The twins were cute blondes, and looked considerably younger than I knew them to be. And Beatrice was elegantly slender, with her ash-blond hair cut in an asymmetric style that must have required weekly touch-ups to maintain its proportions. “You all remember Deborah Thackery. This is her sister, Dr. Georgia Thackery.”

There were nods and pleasantries as Beatrice waved Deborah and me to armchairs, then joined two of her cousins on a long sofa while the twins took the loveseat.

“I'm sorry,” Vivienne said in a tone that didn't sound particularly sorry, “but I'm confused as to why you're here, Dr. Thackery. You haven't been working at McHades Hall, have you? Are you representing the university or . . . ?”