A Haunting Is Brewing: A Haunted Home Renovation and a Witchcraft Mystery Novella (7 page)

I grabbed the sepia-toned family portrait off the wall so we could compare the dolls to the faces in the photo.

“Who opened that door?” I asked Lily, the back of my neck tingling as I noted the hatch to the attic was open. The animals were clearly up there—we could hear them overhead.

“I . . . I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about,” said Lily, sounding evasive. I studied her as she climbed the attic stairs. Could she have somehow opened the door with witchcraft. . . . ?
Get a grip, Mel
.
First you aren’t sure you believe her at all, and now you think she’s capable of opening doors long-distance?

“Maybe . . . maybe someone left it open.”

Lily looked at me over her shoulder as though she could read my mind. “It could have been my pig. He’s . . . remarkably capable.”

“Your—?”

I was cut off by the sight of our pets gazing at the mannequins. Dog was doing that strange growling/mewling sound he sometimes did when confronted with spirits. Oscar-the-pig was trotting back and forth excitedly, his little hooves tapping loudly, as though he could barely contain himself.

Lily nodded. “It’s as we thought. Definitely something about these poppets. . . . Not those two,” she said, pointing to one man and one woman, “but these here.” She grouped the suspect dolls: one male, three females.

We consulted the photo.

“The two on the end are empty—they must have been Thaddeus’s sister and her husband. These here are Thaddeus, Miriam, Betsy, and Charity,” said Lily. “Can you communicate with them?”

I grounded myself as I’d been taught, doing a body scan and establishing myself as part of this earth, this time period. Next I began rubbing the gold ring at my neck. Closing my eyes and regulating my breathing. Clearing my mind to allow for errant vibrations or energies. Calling out psychically.

I opened one eye. The four Spooner family members were staring at me, heads cocked, glassy eyes wide.

They weren’t talking.

“No luck, sorry. If they don’t want to communicate, I can’t force them. Like I said . . . I’m really not much good at this.”

Lily shrugged. “None of this is easy or straightforward. My training is all about how to affect reality while maintaining control, but I’ve been studying most of my life and I still can’t always get the results I was hoping for. Keep working at it; you’ll get better.”

“I suppose,” I said without much enthusiasm.

“It’s a privilege to have contact with those beyond the veil, Mel,” said Lily. “A rare gift.”

“I’d rather win the lottery,” I said. “So anyway, as I told you, Reginald’s doll is missing. Given what Herve told us, I’m thinking we should check his trunk for magic tricks.”

“Good idea,” Lily said.

I turned toward the corner where the old steamer trunk sat. Scratch that:
used
to sit. Now there was a dust-free rectangle marking the spot.

The trunk was gone.

“What have you got so far?” Annette asked the two of us over mochas at Coffee to the People, a café in the Haight that was a holdover from the famous Summer of Love. We had stashed the animals at Aunt Cora’s Closet, where Bronwyn was cosseting them shamelessly.

“According to the records we found, most of the Spooner family died in 1918,” I said. “That was the year of the great flu epidemic, so it wasn’t that unusual for whole families to die within days of each other. But there was a bit of a scandal because the surviving family members, especially Thaddeus Spooner’s sister Hazel and her husband, Frederick, accused their nephew Reginald of something nefarious—they said he wouldn’t let anyone visit when his family was sick. He also sent the servants away.”

“And everyone died except Reginald?” Annette asked.

“Yes, he survived his family. He worked as a stage magician and was fairly successful on the local circuit. He continued for a while longer, but according to what I could glean from a newspaper article from the time, his act had become rather maudlin. The reporter speculated it was because of what happened to his family, and mentioned the accusations made by Reginald’s aunt and uncle. Anyway, his shows lost popularity, and nine months after his family passed, he hung himself in the house.”

“Hung himself, like Adam?”

I nodded. “From the same chandelier, on Halloween night.”

Annette gazed at me, then at Lily.

“Okay. I get that the dolls are creepy, but why are you two so interested in them?”

“Dolls, especially when they have a close likeness to someone, may be used as poppets,” said Lily. “In the hands of a practitioner, they are capable of holding a bit of one’s soul.”

Annette raised one eyebrow. This usually was more than enough to quell the likes of me, but Lily seemed undeterred.

“It’s possible Reginald used those dolls to trap the spirits of his family members.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I don’t actually deal with poppets that much. They give me the willies. But I’ve got a voodoo guy if you’d like to learn about the details.”

“A voodoo guy?”

Lily nodded and sipped her drink, a chocolate mocha concoction.

“Let’s set aside the voodoo guy for the moment and move on,” said Annette with a wry twist of her lips. “So you’re saying this Reginald character may have used the dolls in some way to trap the spirits of his whole family after their deaths?”

“His father, mother, and sisters.”

“Uh-huh. And why would he do such a thing?”

“Maybe he didn’t like them? Or maybe he wanted to get rid of his family so he could inherit everything. The Spooners had a lot of money.”

“Then why not just let them die?”

“Maybe they were getting better? It’s hard to say. . . . It might tell us something if we could find Reginald’s poppet. I was hoping Mel could communicate with it,” Lily told Annette.

“When did it go missing?”

“We don’t know if it was ever there; no one’s seen it,” I said. “But we know Thaddeus Spooner carved a doll for each of his family members, so it stands to reason there’s one of Reginald floating around. I was thinking it might be in his magic trunk in the attic, but now the trunk is missing, too. And the attic was left open.”

“Why would someone steal his magic trunk?”

“I don’t know that, either,” I said, discouraged. “I’ve been in that attic a couple of times since Adam died, but I can’t remember whether it was there or not, so I’m not even sure
when
it went missing.”

“Not very helpful.”

“No. All I’m certain of right now is that Adam didn’t kill himself.”

“What makes you so sure?” Annette asked.

“Because he told me.”

“I’d have to check the state statutes, but I’m reasonably sure that won’t hold up in a court of law,” Annette replied.

“Think about this: If Adam
didn’t
kill himself, there’s a murderer running around.”

“A sobering thought,” Lily said.

“But what I can’t figure out is
why
anyone would kill Adam,” I said. “Annette, have you found anything?”

“We’re following up on leads.”

“Would anyone have anything to gain by his death?”

She hesitated. Annette was too much of a by-the-book inspector to reveal confidential police information, even to a sort-of friend.

“It’s possible.”

“Did he have a life insurance policy?”

She didn’t respond.

“Isn’t he awfully young to have a life insurance policy? Who’s the beneficiary?”

“I’m not at liberty to say,” she said with a significant glance toward Lily. I had the sense that had it been just the two of us, she might have given me a hint, but she didn’t know Lily well enough to trust her. “But watch your back. Especially around relatives. Family can be a real killer.”

***

“Are you thinking Uncle Preston?” Lily asked later.

We were walking down Haight toward her shop, and she kept stopping and snipping pieces of flowers and herbs from gardens as we passed, and tucking them in the deep pockets of her vintage sundress. For her witchy brews, I presumed.

I nodded. “He’s been off-putting from the start. But then again, I can’t accuse the man of murder just because I don’t like him. In fact, the students were saying something that made me wonder. . . . I guess I should have mentioned it to Annette. I’ll call her, just in case.”

“What is it?”

“They were saying that Spooner House is in need of money, and Duff mentioned Adam’s death would probably spur ticket sales for a haunted ball.”

“That’s pretty far-fetched, isn’t it? To think someone would orchestrate something like that in order to sell tickets?”

I nodded. “Far-fetched, but . . . I’ve seen people do outrageous things for some pretty petty reasons. Homicide usually comes down to greed, or jealousy . . .”

“Or revenge, or to cover up a secret,” finished Lily, as though ticking them off on a mental list.

“Adam’s just a kid. What sort of secrets could he have?”

Lily sighed. “You’ve been lucky, Mel. You’ve led a sheltered life. Trust me, when it comes to the things humans are capable of doing, Adam wasn’t that young.”

“I guess you’re right. But why there, in Spooner House?”

“All places have vibrations, because they absorb the energies of those who dwell within. I’m sure I don’t have to tell
you
that.”

I nodded. I remember when my mother, from whom I’d inherited my ability to sense the presence of those who had passed, refused to let my father buy and renovate a run-down house despite its investment potential. She had felt a foreboding sensation in the house.
“Absolutely not, Bill,”
she had said.
“I won’t allow you or the girls to set foot in that place. That home is dangerous
.
”
My father had, uncharacteristically, accepted her decision without arguing.

“If a place has seen evil or violence, the vibrations may be enough to influence someone who’s already on edge,” Lily continued. “Knock them off the fence, so to speak.”

“So, could you tell anything further from seeing the dolls?”

“I’ll ruminate, consult with my pig, and get back to you.”

When I looked at her, she was smiling, and I couldn’t tell if she was kidding or not. “Okay. I’d better get back to work as well.”

“Mel . . . you’re not going back to Spooner House alone, are you?”

“No, I have a few other projects to check on. I do renovations for a living. Chasing down ghosts and murder suspects is just a sideline.”

She laughed. “Me too. It’s been a pleasure, Mel. We’ll talk soon.”

That evening, just as I was thinking of calling it a day, Lily called me.

“Riley came to see us at Aunt Cora’s Closet.”

“Oh, really? She doing okay?”

“She was a little shaky.”

“I’m not surprised. Those poor kids.”

“Listen, Mel, I’m not a big telephone person. Could you possibly drop by the store?”

“Sure. I’m in the Castro—I’ll swing by in fifteen.”

As soon as I hung up, the phone beeped again. There were times I wished I could be, like Lily, “not a telephone person,” but the truth was a contractor lived by her telephone. It was the only way to juggle several jobsites, communicate with clients, order supplies, push permits through the building department, and foster new projects—all while unclogging a toilet or balancing spreadsheets.

This time it wasn’t work, though; it was Annette Crawford returning my call. I told her about the rumor that Spooner House was having financial difficulties, and I proposed the rather absurd theory that someone might have killed Adam to increase ticket sales. Of course the moment it came out of my mouth I regretted suggesting it: It was ludicrous.

“You always tell me I should tell you everything, no matter how ridiculous,” I said in an attempt to justify sharing my suspicions.

“That I do, and this certainly does sound ridiculous. But I’m glad you told me, nonetheless. Listen, what do you know about the girl named Riley?”

“Nothing, really . . .” I wondered what Lily was going to tell me about Riley’s visit to Aunt Cora’s Closet. “Why?”

“Just checking folks out.”

“One of the guys mentioned she had a connection to the youth center, but other than that . . . nothing really stands out.”

“Okay, thanks.”

We hung up, and I drove toward the Haight.

***

Lily’s shop was officially closed when I arrived, the cheerful yellow painted sign in the window inviting me to check back tomorrow at ten.

But Lily was standing behind the register, apparently sorting through receipts. She smiled when she saw me and hurried to open the door.

“Sorry about that—if I leave it open, people keep coming it. I never want to complain about success, but it can be a bit overwhelming.”

“I’m sure. I guess that’s better than the opposite problem, though, right?”

“That’s for sure. I’ve considered staying open later, like Herve does, but I’m loath to give up my evenings. Tea?”

“I’m okay, thanks. My dad expects me home for dinner.”

“You live with your dad? Really? You’re so lucky!”

Her reaction surprised me. Most people took that news with a healthy dose of either skepticism—
What’s wrong with you that you still live with Daddy?—
or flat-out pity.

“I moved in a couple of years ago, after I got divorced and my mom passed away. I imagine I’ll move out eventually, but for the meantime it works.”

“I have a . . . complicated relationship with my parents. My father . . . well, we’re not close.”

I had the distinct sense there was a whole lot more to that story, but she moved on.

“Anyway, the reason I asked you to come by was to ask you: How well do you know Riley?”

“Not well at all. Why?”

“She came by with a dress she said belonged to one of the other girls—Tess, I think? It had some grass stains on the backside, and Riley asked if we knew the best way to get them out. I don’t have to tell you that being a vintage clothes dealer means becoming an expert in laundry.”

“I’ll bet.”

“The only thing is . . . she started to cry, and then Bronwyn was rubbing her back and offering her tea, and between all of us, well, she told us that she spent time in juvenile detention and that she slept with Adam.”

“She . . . what? Juvenile detention? And she
slept
with Adam?”

“I feel like a snake even repeating any of this, but I thought it might be pertinent. I thought Tess had plans to run away with Adam.”

“That’s what she said. And Adam referred to being in love, but I guess I just assumed he meant Tess. Maybe I should go talk with him again. . . .”

“Even if he meant he was in love with Riley, though, it hardly means, what, that Tess got so jealous she
killed
him? And how? If it wasn’t suicide, the killer had to be strong enough to hoist Adam over the rail, right?”

I nodded. “Frankly, I really don’t know what it all means. Annette was asking me about Riley—I bet she dug up her juvenile record.”

“And here’s the other part: This dress she brought in, it has some strange vibrations.”

“Strange how?”

She got up and ducked into the back room for a moment, then returned with a yellow calico dress I remembered seeing Tess wearing on the porch at Spooner House, when they were sitting by the shrine. Lily handed it to me. It smelled of mothballs.

“It’s hard to say, really, but the vibrations don’t quite seem human.”

I dropped the dress.

“I don’t mean a demon or anything like that,” Lily hastened to say as she lifted up the gown. Her nose wrinkled slightly. “I mean . . . I think it feels like one of the dummies. The dolls. And you can smell it, right? This garment hasn’t been properly laundered since it was taken out of storage.”

“Are you saying . . . ?”

“I’m wondering if maybe Tess has Reginald’s magic trunk.”

***

I called my dad and told him I wouldn’t be home for dinner after all. Then, not wanting to call Tess directly for fear of tipping our hand, I phoned Mrs. Gutierrez and, through a mixture of cajoling and bullying, got her to look up Tess’s home address. When I hung up, I noticed Lily watching me, eyebrows raised.

“Wow, I’m impressed.”

“It’s a gift,” I said, then smiled. “Actually, it’s a hard-won skill honed by years of dealing with building inspectors and subcontractors.”

“Want me to drive?” Lily offered. “I have a cherry red vintage Mustang.”

“I’m surprised you even have to ask.”

Tess lived with her “impossible” mother in the basement apartment of a house not far from the performing arts school, near Russian Hill. Though the house itself looked well kept, the entrance to the basement apartment was dreary; it was a utilitarian cement stair descending belowground to a nondescript door.

Lily marched right down the steps but hesitated a moment before rapping smartly on the door.

She looked over her shoulder at me. “I hate knocking on doors.”

“Why? Is this like the phone thing?”

“Oh no, the phone thing’s about electronics. The door thing’s about being shunned.” She drew her shoulders up toward her ears and shivered. “I hate that.”

“What—”

I cut myself off when the door opened halfway. Tess’s eyes were swollen and red with tears; her beautiful black hair was caught up in a sloppy topknot. She wore a big T-shirt, gray sweats, and fuzzy socks.

“What are you guys doing here?”

“We were wondering if we could come in and ask you some questions,” I said.

“It’s not really a good time.”

“It’s pretty important.”

“I don’t think—”

Lily reached out and placed one hand on Tess’s arm. In her other hand, I saw, Lily carried a black silk bundle. She seemed to be muttering something unintelligible.

“Okay,” Tess said with obvious reluctance, but she stood back and opened the door wide.

Inside, the apartment was even worse than I’d feared. Tiny narrow slats just under the ceiling let in the only natural light, and half of these were covered in half-dead vegetation. Fluorescent lights buzzed. The air smelled of stale cigarette smoke and mildew.

Reginald’s doll was sitting on a threadbare brown and beige plaid couch. The magic trunk was next to it.

“I know we shouldn’t have taken it,” Tess admitted to us. “The thing is, Adam was, like, obsessed with this trunk. No one else wanted it; it’s been up in that attic for decades. He even asked Mrs. Gutierrez and Lurch about it, but they refused to let him have it.”

“When did you take it?”

“That night. He was like, if he could jimmy open that trunk he could maybe get some good stuff. He was sort of an amateur magician. He kept saying if he had really good stuff he could do even more tricks.”

“But then he decided to spend the night?”

She nodded. “I guess. We came back here, but first he was pissed ’cause Reginald’s cape wasn’t in the trunk. And then we had a fight. He was screwing around on me, but he wouldn’t tell me with who. Can you
believe
that? Preston’s totally right; he says I shouldn’t put up with that sort of thing.”

“So you brought the trunk back here, but then he left again?”

She nodded. “He went back to look for the cape. He kept playing with that doll, and all this other stuff. I don’t even want it here, but I couldn’t figure out how to get rid of it. I was gonna try to bring it back when we were decorating, but it’s too big. Take it, please. I don’t want it.”

Tess sat down on a ripped armchair and lit a cigarette while Lily and I packed up Reginald’s dummy and the few other vintage magic items.

“Adam was my ticket out of this hellhole. What am I gonna do now? Preston says—”

“Tess, listen to me,” Lily said, putting one hand on Tess’s arm. “You don’t need to attach yourself to Adam, or Preston, or anyone else. You are in control of your own fate. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

She shrugged and continued to smoke while Lily and I closed Reginald in the trunk and each took hold of a leather strap. We had to stop and catch our breath a couple of times, but between the two of us we were able to haul it out of the apartment, up the steps, and place it in the backseat of the Mustang.

“Could Reginald’s doll have . . . I don’t know, possessed her or something?” I asked as we climbed into the car.

“I don’t think so,” said Lily. “I held him, and I didn’t feel anything like what I felt from the rest of his family dolls.”

“You’re saying he’s not . . .” I searched for the word she had once used. “. . . ‘occupied’?”

“Not in the same way. Which, if you think about it, makes sense: If he cast over his family, he wouldn’t have included himself.”

I nodded. “So it can’t tell us anything?”

“Well now, I didn’t say that, exactly,” she smiled. “I’d still like you to try to communicate with him. Even if doesn’t seem active now, that might all change on Halloween.”

“Because that’s when he killed himself?”

She nodded. “And because that’s the night when the veil between our worlds is thinnest.”

“And here I thought it was all about candy corn and costumes.”

“Not hardly, my friend. Not to cast any aspersions against candy corn . . . but Halloween’s a darn sight more portentous than that.”