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“The accident,” Tom told him, brow furrowing. “Brant Thoreau fell down the stairs. End of story.”
For a moment, Chief Lewis didn’t answer. Then his mouth lifted in a thin smile. “Fell…or was pushed. Either’s equally likely at the moment.” He inclined his head and added, “I’ll go ahead and let myself out. You folks have a good day.”
After he was gone, we all sat there for a moment, looking blankly at each other. At length, Tom cleared his throat and said, “He doesn’t actually think we had anything to do with Brant Thoreau’s death, does he?”
“Deep down, no,” I replied. “At least, that’s what my gut is telling me. But he’s not what you’d call a fan of mine, and so I think he’s probably entertaining the notion for no other reason than to make some extra trouble for people who’re connected to me.”
My mother’s mouth thinned. “That doesn’t seem very fair.”
“It’s not,” I said wearily. “But that’s just the way it is. Luckily, Chief Lewis is in the minority around here. Most people are glad I opened the store, because it gives tourists a little extra incentive to stick around downtown when they’re coming through.”
She and Tom both nodded in a thoughtful way. I could tell from their expressions they were relieved I had allies in the town, and that I wasn’t on my own when it came to dealing with Henry Lewis.
“Anyway,” I went on, “why don’t you come with me to see the store? It’ll get you out of the house for a while, and there are some other cute little places to check out while you’re down there.”
The two of them exchanged a glance. “We’ll do that,” my mother replied. “And we also thought we’d go for a drive and get more of a feel for the area. After that….”
She stopped there, a small breath escaping her lips. Her gaze moved from the chair where I sat to the foyer, where the base of the staircase was just barely visible.
“I know it’s rough,” I said quietly. “But if it’s any consolation, you don’t need to worry about Brant sticking around the place where he died. I’m not getting any sense that he’s here.”
“You’d be able to tell?” Tom asked. Neither his tone nor his expression was overtly skeptical; I got the feeling he’d been exposed to enough strange goings-on by that point that he was willing to be a bit more accepting.
“Probably,” I replied. “I’m not saying I’m infallible when it comes to detecting ghosts or anything like that, but I had to deal with a ghost fairly recently, and he definitely made his presence known.”
And too bad that Brant hadn’t stuck around. He might have been able to give me some clues as to what exactly had happened to him.
Unfortunately, it seemed as though I was going to be on my own with this one. True, Henry Lewis was investigating, but because he seemed as though he’d be all too happy to pin Brant Thoreau’s murder on my mother and Tom, I didn’t think I could rely on him to do the right thing.
Both of them seemed to relax. It had to be a horrible thing to know that someone had died in your house, and so being told that person’s spirit didn’t seem inclined to hang around must have been a relief.
“That’s good,” my mother said. Once again, her gaze flickered toward the stairwell, but she didn’t look nearly as tense. “I know you need to get to work, so we’ll swing by a little later when we’re ready.”
“Sounds good,” I said. “If you come by around lunch, we could all go over to Cloud Coffee. They have awesome sandwiches.”
Tom brightened at that suggestion. “Sandwiches are always a good thing. So sure — we’ll try to be over around noon or a little after.”
With that agreed upon, I told them both goodbye and headed out to my car. The pale blue sides of my Beetle were freshly splashed with mud, as if Chief Lewis had done his best to spin some up as he maneuvered his squad car around the convertible.
I pulled in a breath, telling myself to count to three. It wasn’t worth getting worked up over something so petty. Besides, I’d been meaning to take the car to the little self-wash at the edge of town for a while now. The muck would just spur me to get the errand done sooner rather than later.
As I drove away, however, I vowed to myself that I would find a way to vindicate Tom and my mother, and prove Brant Thoreau’s death had been an accident and nothing more. Doing so would absolve them…and it would also annoy the living heck out of Henry Lewis.
Smiling, I reached for the button to pop the top and let the sun in. After all, it was going to be a beautiful day.
7
History Lesson
I’d barely unlocked the front door to the shop when Josie came hurrying in, hands already fluttering in agitation.
“Selena! I just heard!”
No point in asking her what exactly she’d just heard. News traveled fast in Globe, and Josie always managed to hear it before anyone else.
“Yes, it’s kind of a mess,” I responded as I went behind the display counter where the cash register was located. These days, more than ninety percent of my transactions were by credit card, but I still dutifully counted out my bills and coins and stocked the register each morning. I looked up at Josie, who’d paused in front of the counter, expression inquisitive. “Were you aware of any kind of odd supernatural activity in the Bigelow mansion?” I asked.
“Only what Hank and Nora told me,” she said. “And what I already told you — a cold spot here and there, objects that would get moved around. Nothing terribly disruptive.” That was pretty much the same information she’d passed along when we met at the house for the first time, but I figured it couldn’t hurt to ask again. She went on, “That house has been a landmark for more than a hundred years, but there’s never been any rumor that it had demons, for goodness’ sake. Hank and Nora would’ve had to disclose those sorts of activities to me when they put it on the market. Besides, I was in and out of the house plenty of times and never noticed anything out of the ordinary.”
