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I might not have known much about home repairs, but even I knew that you didn’t go to all that work unless there was something massive you wanted to hide. This felt like a lot more than just trying to conceal bad plumbing or termite damage.
For a second or two, I stood there, hefting the tire iron in my hand, wondering if I actually had the guts to start hacking at the walls of my mother and Tom’s historic house. Wouldn’t it be better to come back with someone who actually knew what they were doing?
Obviously, Hazel sensed my hesitation, because she said, “Maybe you should call Brett. I’m sure he would look at this for you.”
Yes, Brett the handyman, Josie’s nephew, was probably much better suited for this kind of task than I was. However, because he was so good at what he did, he was much in demand and generally not the sort of person you could call to drop everything and show up to demo a wall.
“He would,” I agreed. “But I doubt he’s available.”
Before I could lose my nerve, I lifted the tire iron and swung it into the wall. Hazel made a muffled exclamation, but she didn’t try to stop me, only stepped out of the way so she wouldn’t get hit by any flying bits of plaster.
Strangely, it felt good to be hacking at the wall with the tire iron, as if each blow was my way at getting back at the demons who’d killed Brant Thoreau, terrorized my mother and Tom, and sent me tumbling down the stairs. After the fifth or sixth blow, an entire section of plaster gave way, leaving a gaping hole in the wall.
Inside was…well, I had to stare at it for a minute before my brain could start to put the pieces together.
“Is that a boombox?” Hazel asked incredulously.
It was. I hadn’t seen one in years, but that was definitely a big black portable stereo inside the wall, placed on a small stool. A black cord snaked away from the device and was plugged into a naked outlet. Just beyond the boombox — and partially toppled over by collapsing plaster — was an odd-looking contraption like something out a Bugs Bunny cartoon. It consisted of several articulated arms with mallet heads at the end. As far as I could tell, it had been set up so the mallets would hit the wall at varying intervals, although with it knocked out of place, I couldn’t be completely sure. Both items were connected to another device I didn’t recognize, but which I guessed turned them off and on somehow. Maybe RF signals, like a radio-controlled toy car?
Spurred by a sudden thought, I leaned into the gap in the wall and reached out to touch the Play button on the boombox.
“Don’t!” Hazel said, and I glanced back at her, startled, finger still suspended above the boombox’s controls. Looking sheepish, she added, “I mean, you don’t want to disturb any fingerprints that might be on there. That’s all.”
Right. I doubted anyone who’d put the boombox in the wall had done so out of the goodness of their heart. I got a tissue out of my purse and shielded my finger with it as I pressed Play.
At once, a horrible shrieking and moaning and giggling erupted out of the boombox. Hazel gasped, and I took a step backward in fright before I realized exactly what all those noises were.
The demons.
Or rather, what someone had wanted us to believe were demons. I stared down at the odd contraption with the mallets, and guessed it had been designed to create the awful pounding that made it sound as if something was trapped inside the wall, trying to get out.
No wonder I’d never gotten a feeling of evil here, even though all my physical senses had been telling me that something was very wrong with this house. And no wonder Brant had held back from definitely commenting on the subject, had kept doing his best to gather more evidence. There hadn’t been any demons at all…only someone who’d desperately wanted us to believe there were.
Someone who was willing to kill to keep up the charade.
From behind me, Hazel said, “So…it was all a fake?”
“Looks like it,” I replied. I returned the tissue to my purse and pulled out my iPhone. Feeling grim, I took photos of the items we’d located inside the wall, and shot some video as well, making sure I caught a good chunk of the faux demonic moans and groans.
“But…why?”
“To drive Tom and my mother out, as far as I can tell,” I said. “They did a pretty good job of it, too.”
But who would be willing to resort to this kind of subterfuge…and why?
“You’d better call Chief Lewis,” Hazel said next.
Right. If this had been a simple case of mischief, I wouldn’t have wanted to get the police involved. But whatever was going on here, apparently it was important enough to the person or persons behind the scam that they were willing to commit murder to make it work.
“Okay,” I said, and tried not to let out a sigh. I knew I had to do the right thing, but I really, really hated having to deal with Henry Lewis.
The police chief stuck his head inside the wall. Even though I couldn’t see his face, I got the impression that he was frowning a mile a minute. A second later, demonic howls and shrieks erupted from the boombox.
“Well, damn,” he said, then shut it off with a press of one gloved finger.
“You see?” I replied. “Someone was deliberately trying to scare my parents out of this place.”
“Who?” he asked, and I shot him a disbelieving look.
