Reckoning (33 page)

“They’re friends?”

“Not sure, but wow. I like that idea a lot. A whole community college fraternity full of them.” She fanned her face with napkins from the dispenser on the table.

Wind rattled the door and I jumped.

Change was in the air, thick and foreboding as black thunderclouds before a storm. Fall in the Midwest was a beautiful, but tragic season. Trees prepared for a long winter’s rest by releasing the very appendages they’d spawned and nurtured for so long, like mother birds shoving babies from the nest, except the babies lived. Leaves flew and clung to whatever would hold them until they crumbled into dust. Orphans. Amber and scarlet leaves splattered patterns over sidewalks and roads through town. Every bluster sent more leaves coiling down, bursting free from the giant oaks who had nourished them. Mums lined wraparound porches and flagstone garden paths to historical front doors. Apple trees dropped pink blossoms onto long country driveways. Fall was beautiful, true, but for many things it meant death, dormancy, and otherwise ceasing to exist.

Weariness weighted my chest. Senior year meant change, tough decisions, and the end of an era. Ten months from now, I’d be on a college campus someplace brand new to me. I could start fresh. Be anything I wanted. My possibilities were endless. Until then, I needed to get out of my head.

Gnarled branches of ancient trees swayed outside the deli window while two enormous crows pecked the ground and ruffled their wings. Moonlight cast an eerie glow on the scene. One round eye of each bird settled on the store window, and I froze. The sensation the crows watched me and not the other way around sent goose bumps down my arms.

I took a step toward the window. “Do you see those huge crows?”

A blast of green lightning illuminated the world without warning and I jumped back.

Breath caught in my throat. “Did you see that?” I turned in a circle. Allison was gone. Her laugh trickled from the kitchen.

Wind whistled around the door frame and pelted the glass with rain-wetted leaves. Ominous clouds crept like thieves across the dark horizon. The crows were gone. Relief flooded through me. I had to pull it together. Crows weren’t spying on me, and lightning wasn’t green. Tint on the deli window must’ve given it a funky look. I rested my elbows on the counter and my chin in both hands.

Allison bustled out from the kitchen. “Do you hear this wind? I wish it would rain already. My car needs a wash.”

“I don’t think it works that way.” I checked again for the crows. Lightning probably scared them away. Uneasiness fluttered in my chest. The storm had threatened and hovered all day without committing. Commitment was an issue in this town.

The sharp ding of the order bell startled me and I jumped again.

“Chicken salad and pastrami.” Buddy tapped a rhythm against the wall.

I carried the plates to a couple sitting side by side in a back booth. How could people talk sitting shoulder to shoulder? I preferred lots of eye contact. Eyes gave away our lies. That’s how Mom knew Dad was cheating. Also, why we lived in an ancient farmhouse in Zoar, Ohio, population next-to-nothing, instead of in the nice, upper middle-class Victorian we had a year ago on the neighboring golf course. I could’ve stayed in the better house, but I’d rather live in squalor with an honest person than in a castle with a liar. Besides, a few creaks and leaks aside, the farmhouse wasn’t bad. Plus, we got Chester in the split.

“Welcome to Roll With It. What can I get you?”

I spun at the sound of Allison’s irritation. I hadn’t even heard the bell.

“If I can get you anything else, let me know.” I slid the plates across the table to the blonde and her boyfriend and went to help Allison.

Allison leaned over the counter on her elbows. “No way.”

“Moving trucks were there all day.” Mrs. Printz, fellow citizen and deli frequenter, loved gossip as much as egg salad. Her small frame and black duck head cane gave her the perfect mix of innocence and menace, like the twist villain at the end of a movie.

An older gentleman I didn’t recognize in a tweed jacket stood beside her. “First the cleaning crew, then the semi. Heaven only knows what they pumped into the house out of a semi.”

“That was last week, Lloyd.” Mrs. Printz stamped her cane. “Keep up.”

“Where?” My mind ran through the homes I passed daily with Realtor signs in the lawns. A drawback of small town living was a lack of commerce. You either commuted or made your money from home. Dad commuted an hour every morning to the city, but most people who moved to Zoar left within five years. I’d had dozens of friends in my lifetime. Their families were only passing through. Allison was a lifer like me, third generation Zoarite.

“Hale Manor.” Allison used her best campfire voice. She tented her eyebrows and formed a little o with her lips.

“Ah, man.” Buddy rolled out of the kitchen with a wide, eager expression. “The Hale place is completely haunted. Some broad hung herself from the chandelier in the nineteen thirties. It’s in all the
Haunted Ohio
books.”

Mrs. Printz’s face twisted into a snarl. Pale creases gathered over the blue veins of her forehead. “Mary-Catherine Hale was a good woman and my mother’s best friend. The Great Depression was a lot tougher than your history books can tell you, Baxter DuPree.”

Allison covered her mouth. Buddy’s real name was Baxter? She wouldn’t let that go anytime soon. I, on the other hand, wasn’t surprised.

I bit my lip. “You knew her?” I didn’t intend to ask. I intended to use one of the neon colored computers to look up Mary-Catherine Hale when Mrs. Printz left. “I’m sorry.”

Mrs. Printz nodded in acceptance. She turned her milky eyes on Allison. “We’ll take a quart of veggie soup and two sourdough rolls.” She elbowed the man beside her and he jumped to attention, digging inside his coat for a wallet.

I filled a soup container to the brim and stuffed a couple extra rolls in a to-go bag.

Mrs. Printz turned her cane with soft, wrinkled fingers. “Mary-Catherine was nice, but she was troubled. The whole family’s troubled. Always has been. They only summered here in those days. The Hales never lived here. After Mary-Catherine’s death, they boarded the place up. The town’s historical society has tried to buy it for thirty years. The family wouldn’t sell. Hale Manor would make a great addition to our circuit of historical buildings, and the grounds are exquisite. I spent many carefree days there as a child. My mother worked for the Hales.” Sadness changed her tone, cutting off what I suspected was the prelude to a longer story. She shook her head and hooked the cane over one forearm, wrapping her heavily jeweled fingers around the man’s elbow instead.

Buddy held the door for them as they shuffled out into the windy cold.

“I still think it’s haunted.” Buddy cocked one hip and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Allison snapped her gum. “Yeah. You would,
Baxter
.”

“Excuse me,” he mocked. “I didn’t attend an Ivy League community college like you.”

“I attend community college part-time as I simultaneously finish high school. I’ll attend Case Western Reserve next fall, and I’ll start there as a junior.” She tapped her chin. “Did you start college as an eighteen-year-old junior, Baxter?”

Buddy gave a droll, unimpressed look. “No need. I’m studying the paranormal activity in Zoar. Ghost hunting is my after work job, and with the Hales back in town, I’m guaranteed to get some media attention for my book on their house of death.”

My jaw dropped. “You wrote a book?” Who writes a book? I didn’t know him at all. The ghost hunting seemed right up his alley, though. Buddy had a way of drawing attention to himself and then looking bored. It kept people guessing. The over twenty and single crowd loved him.

The front door banged open with a blustery squeal and shouting filled the quiet deli. A crowd of peewee football players and their parents spilled inside, filling every empty seat. Buddy hustled to the kitchen, ready to cook. I manned the register and Allison set up trays for the orders. The tiny grey and black uniforms seemed fitting for the night and my mood.

Thirty minutes later, everyone was seated, fed, and gossiping about the Hale family. Salty grease and cheese thickened the air, shattered occasionally by the tang of fresh ketchup and boys’ laughter. Stories spread through the room like wildfire moving from table to table and growing at each stop, consuming all other topics in its path. Allison and I lingered over refills, devouring every word. I held my breath, absorbing every ounce of wild speculation.

“They fled Europe when the courts intervened. The family couldn’t use their money and influence to cover any more wrongdoings, so they were forced out.” The woman made air quotes with her fingers around “wrongdoings.”

A man scoffed. “They’re filthy rich? Why not move someplace better than Ohio?”

The voices lifted into the air, tossing out information faster than I could follow.

“What better place to hide than here?”

“I heard he’s a baron.”

The comments went round and round as adults picked food from mostly empty plates and I marveled. If even half the rumors were true, the Hale family was one to avoid. Not good news for me since I lived next door.

“I hope they have sons. We could use some ruthless players this season.” A barrel-chested man with a whistle necklace mumbled around his mouthful of burger.

“They have two.” A hush fell over the room and the woman blushed.

Allison elbowed me. “Peewee players?”

The woman covered her mouth with a napkin and shook her head, dashing platinum bobbed hair against her cheeks. The other moms broke into laughter.

Another woman smiled ruefully. “Terry jogs past the Hale place every morning. She got a look at the boys moving boxes inside.”

The women laughed again and the men stared.

Terry averted her eyes and dug into her sparse remains of salad with renewed vigor. “They weren’t peewee players.”

“Not peewee players.” Allison raised an eyebrow. “Can I please give you a ride home tonight?”

I smiled.

The crowd kept us busy until Buddy turned the CLOSED sign over in the window and let us out. The night air was brisk and smelled of fresh rain and earth. I pulled in another deep breath. Tendrils of wood smoke lifted from nearby chimneys and gravel crunched under our feet on the way to Allison’s car. A full moon hung low in the sky, and a colony of bats flew past in a beautiful swooping formation. Illogically, I looked for the crows. How many crows constituted a murder? Who chose murder as the term for a group of crows? The classification gave me chills.

I kicked stones. “Do you think any of the gossip’s true?” I didn’t have to explain what I meant. Allison and I had been friends since kindergarten. Sometimes I thought she could read my mind.

“I hope so.”

I gaped. “Which part? The part where they’re insane, their death house is haunted or they fled Europe when they could no longer cover all their crimes?”

Allison beeped the doors of her red hatchback open and I climbed inside.

She slid behind the wheel and gunned the little engine to life. “Hot brothers. Duh. I hope they registered for community college.”

“What if they’re dangerous?”

“What if they’re gorgeous?” Allison flicked her signal on at the second light and turned onto my street. “You think they’re outside?”

“At night in this weather? No.” I made a show of pointing to the streetlights. Replica gas lamps lined the residential roads, illuminating the road in varied shades of grey. “Besides I can barely see the sidewalk.”

“Darn.” Allison idled at the curb. Not a soul in sight. She craned her neck to get a better look, but the effort was futile until morning.

I glanced at the creepy old manor next door. Moonlight bathed the ancient home, giving it a gothic look it didn’t need. Ghost stories and age alone had kept me away from the house in broad daylight. While other kids dared one another to climb the front steps or ring the bell, I stayed across the street, on my bike, one foot on the pedal. I’d never been brave enough to get involved in their game. I definitely wasn’t ringing the bell. When Mom announced she’d rented the old farmhouse next door, I nearly swallowed my tongue. Hale Manor was more than a legend; it was alive and watching.

Maybe having inhabitants would reduce its creep factor.

Allison repositioned her hands on the wheel and shifter. “Text me if they come over to borrow a cup of sugar or something.”

I made my best sarcastic face and crossed my fingers without enthusiasm. “Definitely.” Allison drove away at a turtle’s pace as I climbed our front steps.

Mom rocked slowly in the porch swing beside the front door, bundled in a blanket and sipping hot coffee from her favorite mug. “I guess you heard the news.”

Of all the features I loved at our new home, the wide-planked wraparound porch was my favorite, followed closely by the swing. I was tempted to join her, but if I sat, I might not get up again.

I opened the front door and she followed me inside. “Hasn’t everyone?”

The shaggy mop sprawled on our kitchen floor rolled to life. “Woof.”

“Hey, Chester.” I squatted to pat his fluffy sheep doggie head. “Did you meet the neighbors?”