Dead Spell (19 page)

“But the ghost is real, Adam. He’s after me, too.”

“Brea, come on.”

“I’m telling the truth. It was with me at the house and look, here.” She handed him the dried blood-covered obituary. “Gerald Thomas Shippee, Tom, died in that house. Why do you think Charity keeps going back there? I found that in Harmony’s journal in the bag of stuff from  the funeral home.”

“I don’t know, I mean…”

“1996, Harmony would have been two-years-old. No way would she remember this. She was trying to track him down. I think that’s why he killed her.”

“It was an overdose of pills, Brea. What murdering ghost does that? You know Harmony was sick. She tried before. She was paranoid…”

“That doesn’t make her wrong and if we don’t figure this thing out, I’m next.”

“Let’s just suspend disbelief for a minute here and say that this ghost, Tom, really exists. If he wanted you dead, he would have done it, right? If he somehow forced Harmony to take a lethal dose of pills, he could have done the same to you or worse. Let me ask you this, has he ever once tried to hurt you?”

There was the time with Jaxon at dinner, but what if that wasn’t Tom? Harmony hated Jaxon. It was more likely her than him and she had lashed out at Brea before. Looking back, that explanation made more sense. “I don’t think so, no.”

“What if he doesn’t want you hurt at all? What if he’s trying to tell you something?”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

* * * * *

The Registry of Deeds office was located a mile from the Reston town line and it took Brea and Adam the better part of a half hour to get there.

Brea rang the silver bell on the desk and an old, portly woman with large pores and a reddish complexion answered.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes, ma’am. We’re doing some research on a family property for my grandmother. See, my grandfather’s sick and…” Brea couldn’t help but stare at her thick, nicotine-stained nails.

“Is the property located in town?” She wiped her bulbous nose with a soiled, cotton handkerchief.

“Yes. Yes it is.”

The woman stuffed the used cloth in her pocket and Adam shuddered. “I’ll need the address, please.”

“6 Maple Street,” Adam said.

“Maple Street. It’s a shame what they’re doing out there, buying up the old houses for cheap cause the people are poor. Lot of old farm families still out there. Lot of history.”

“Who’s buying up the houses?” Brea asked.

“You know that big developer guy. Ah, shoot. Winslow,” she said. “Winslow Construction. I knew it would come to me.”

Adam rolled his eyes at Brea.

“6 Maple Street,” Brea reminded the woman.

“Oh, right. I’ll be right back with those books.”

 Adam waited until the old woman stepped away. “How long you think she’s worked here?”

“A hundred or so years, give or take.” Brea stopped laughing when the old woman came back with a stack of books.

“This could take a while.” Adam took the books from the counter.

The woman pointed them to a cubicle on the far wall. “Feel free to have a seat over there. The sales are listed by property and date.”

“That really narrows it down.” Brea followed Adam to the three-walled desk like the kind in the in-school suspension room and pulled up two chairs.

“If it wasn’t a family property, they probably bought it around the time they got married. If Harmony was two, I’m guessing early 90’s or so?”

“I don’t know what kind of calendar these people use, but this isn’t any chronological order I’m familiar with.” Adam worked his way through two books to Brea’s one and was the first to find any record of sale. It was to a Calvin Hirschman and his wife Evelyn in 1952. “It’s a start.”

Brea found the next and the next after that. There were three sales in five years and the activity slowed after that.

“Bingo.” Adam handed Brea the open book and pointed to the place on the page. 6 Maple was sold to Gerald Thomas and Charity Shippee on May 5, 1989.

“Shippee? Both of their last names are Wolcott. Do you think Charity changed them?”

Adam shrugged. “With her, anything is possible.”

“There’s no sold date listed. It looks like Charity still owns it.”

“That explains a lot.”

“I can’t imagine her married, with a house, keeping up payments.” Brea shook her head. “And all this time she would have had to pay taxes…it’s just…she can’t even keep the power on at her trailer. Why wouldn’t she have sold it?”

They brought the books back to the clerk for reshelving and thanked her.

 “Anytime, dears.”

Adam tried not to stare at her mouth. “You feel up to another cup of coffee or something to eat?”

“After seeing her teeth?” Brea smiled. “I don’t think it’s a great idea. If someone sees me with you, all hell’s going to break loose. I don’t want to see anyone who knows my mother.”

They went out into the parking lot and Brea saw Rachael, Amanda, and Becky standing around in a circle like they were waiting for someone. Rachael shot Brea a dirty look mumbled something.

Adam gave her a look. “Friends of yours?”

Brea shook her head. “I wouldn’t say
friend.
They’re probably waiting for a ride from the game.” She pointed at Tompkins field across the road.

“Are they part of the ‘anybodies’ you didn’t want seeing us?”

Jaxon pulled up in his Audi and she felt her stomach drop. “No, but he is.”

“Brea, where have you been? You’re mother’s been calling all over looking for you?” He was wearing his football uniform and a shiner from his last run-in with Adam.

Brea put her hands on her hips. “And did you cover for me this time?”

“Of course not. I had no idea where you were.”

“What are you doing here, Jaxon?”

Amanda and Becky got in the back seat and Jaxon shot Rachael a nasty look.

Rachael stood in the open passenger’s side door like an impatient girlfriend. “Jaxon, are you coming?”

Brea scoffed. “I guess she was right about you.”

“She who? What are you talking about?”

“Jaxon, come on.” Rachael tapped her foot, squinting because of the sun.

“I said hold on.” Jaxon looked at Amanda. “What’s
she
even doing here? You said you needed a ride, you and Becky. Rachael wasn’t part of the deal.”

Brea shook her head. “Just go, Jaxon. It’s not worth arguing about.”

“What isn’t worth arguing about? And which
she
said what? Brea, I was scared shitless after what happened at your house, then you won’t even answer my calls?”

“Harmony told me what you said about your father and my mother in cahoots, using you to keep me away from her in exchange for …oh, look, a new car.”

“That’s ridiculous. That Harmony girl was crazy.”

Adam lunged and Jaxon moved away before he could grab him.

 “Stop it! Both of you, freaks…” Rachael got between Adam and Jaxon and Brea felt her blood boil. “You ask me, Harmony killing herself did us all a favor.”

Brea snapped. She pushed Jaxon aside and went at Rachael’s gut, knocking her off-center and dropping her to the crumbling pavement.

“Brea, what are you doing?” Adam tried to pull her off Rachael, but she was swinging, hard. So hard that her fists went numb. “Brea, stop.”

Rachael got in a few slaps and hair pulls, but quickly switched to defense. She held her arms over her face like a shield and was screaming for help when the police cruiser pulled up.

Brea’s Uncle Jim flew out of the driver’s side and yanked her off Rachael before she knew what was happening.

“You bitch,” Brea screamed and kicked and tried to get loose, but Jim had her in a full nelson.

“Knock it off.” Brea just realized he had grabbed her and went silent and still. “Can I let go of you now?” He choked up on his grip, a kind of warning.

Brea had never seen him so angry.

Rachael’s friends helped her up and she was crying. Her white cheer sweater was crimson spattered, the blood matching the maroon and gold Indian that was the Reston High mascot.

“Are you all right?” Jim asked Rachael as he held on to Brea. “Do I need to call an ambulance?”

Rachael sniffled and bled harder. “No, thank you.” She pinched her nose and tilted her head back. Her blonde ponytail was three-quarters out of its tie and her make-up ran down her face.

Jaxon stood out of the way, leaning on the trunk of his car while Jim stuffed Brea in the back of the cruiser.

A dark blue minivan, driven by one of the girl’s mothers, pulled in to pick them up. One of them must’ve called her.

The woman took Rachael in her arms and tried to console her.

Brea watched her uncle give the woman his card. He helped Rachael into the van and went around to the trunk of the cruiser.

Adam got in his truck and waited.

Uncle Jim opened her door and threw something on the seat—an instant ice pack.

“Put that on your hand,” he said. He was holding his cell phone between his ear and his shoulder. “Yeah, I have her. We’re on our way.”

32
.

Brea held the ice pack to her knuckles and stared out the window. Her ears perked at the mention of Dr. Frankel.

“Oh, this is just great,” Brea said when they pulled into the parking lot. “Will you let me out of here?” There was no way out from inside the back seat.

Jim opened her door and escorted her. “Don’t you even think about running, Brea, I swear.”

“Or what? What are you really going to do?”

They walked across the expansive two-story foyer and climbed the glass and metal staircase to the adolescent wing. A woman with her small boy in hand stared.

“It’s not what you think. He’s my uncle, okay?”

The woman turned away embarrassed.

Jim pointed at an empty chair in the waiting room, “Sit. And keep your mouth shut.”

A mid-twenties receptionist was talking on her cell phone and laughing. Jim stepped up to the cubicle and his towering presence silenced her. Uncle Jim, at 6’3 and built, exuded “bad cop” when he wanted to. She eyed his holstered gun and closed the cell.

“Brea Miller for Dr. Frankel,” he said.

She picked up the regular phone. “Dr. Frankel, Brea Miller is here. Okay. Thank you. You’re all set. They’re waiting for her. Go on back. Third door on the right.”

Jim took Brea by the bicep. “Let’s go.”

Dr. Frankel’s office was rearranged since the last time she’d seen him over ten years ago. He also grew a salt and pepper beard which seemed out of place with his bald head.