Rosecliff Manor Haunting (3 page)

Luke placed a container of Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Therapy ice cream in front of Addison, along with a spoon, and sat across from her at the kitchen table.

“What’s this?” Addison asked.

“Ice cream.”

Addison peeled off the lid, digging out a hefty scoop. “Yes, but why?”

“Because it’s your favorite, and because you need it, and because chocolate fixes everything.” 

She raised a brow. “Everything?”

“Okay,
almost
everything. You were quiet on the ride home. Do you want to talk about what happened earlier?”

Addison nodded. “The belt buckle must have belonged to the girls’ father, Cliff Clark. When I touched it, I found myself inside one of his memories. Well, not one of
his
memories exactly, a memory from the night he died.”

It wasn’t the first time touching an object had granted her access to a person’s past. She’d experienced it before, a few times as a child, and more recently at Grayson Manor. The experiences were always unpredictable, never the same—always leaving Addison with more questions than answers. 

“How do you know Cliff Clark is Vivian and Grace’s father?” Luke asked.

“They were there, in my vision. Grace called him Daddy.”

“The two graves next to Cliff’s had the same surname: Clark. They’d been there a lot longer though. I’m guessing they’re his parents.”

“If the girls’ father and grandparents are buried at the local cemetery, there’s a good chance the manor is in the area too.” 

Luke nodded then added, “If the girls are also dead, wouldn’t they be buried near their father?”

“Good question. Here’s another one. In my vision, I saw Cliff die. I literally watched his spirit body detach from his physical body. Seconds before he crossed over, Grace tried to get his attention. He didn’t seem to hear her. Why didn’t he? I mean, if
they’re
dead and
he’s
dead, why couldn’t they communicate with each other?”

Luke tapped a finger on the table, thinking. “He crossed over. They didn’t. He was free to move on, and they might be stuck here. Do you have any idea how he died?”

“He was attached to a machine in the hospital room. He was pale, his face an ashy white like he was sick, not just from dying, like he was afflicted or weak with a disease. When I saw him, he was already dead. He’d just passed away.”

There were too many questions and too few clues. She needed answers, needed to talk to someone who knew the Clarks’ history, someone old enough to tell her what happened to the girls. And she knew the perfect nosey neighbor to ask.  

Helen Bouvier coiled her fingers around the curved wood handle of her Birchwood cane and steadied herself. A couple minutes earlier, she’d jerked the living room curtain back a bit too fast and almost toppled over while trying to catch a glimpse of the approaching visitor walking down the dirt road in front of her house. The unwanted distraction, her neighbor Addison Lockhart, was someone she recognized almost immediately. With shoulder-length ginger locks that made Addison’s hair look like it was on fire when the sun’s rays hit it just right, her young neighbor was impossible to mistake.  

The timing of Addison’s visit was off.

Way off.

Helen didn’t want visitors.

Not now.

The last time they’d seen one another had been a couple of months earlier when Helen popped over to see how Addison was doing. In truth, the inquiry about Addison’s welfare was a precursor to the real reason she’d stopped by—to find out if the rumor going around town about Luke taking up residency at Grayson Manor was true.

When he’d answered the door that morning clad in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts and a T-shirt, the answer was obvious. Luke and Addison
were
living together, out of wedlock, no less. And if Luke’s not-so-subtle hand grazing across Addison’s left butt cheek when he passed her was any indication, they were most likely sharing the same bed too. Probably for quite some time. This revelation didn’t bode well with Helen. So when Luke had finally exited the room, she clamped a hand down on Addison’s wrist, yanked her to the side, and gave her a good scolding.

Addison had just smiled, and said, “These are different times now, Helen. Thanks for your concern, but I know what I’m doing.”

Knew what she was doing?

Women these days.

None
of them seemed to have their heads screwed on right anymore.

“How could you
know
anything?” Helen had asked. “Your mother is dead, and your grandmother is off traveling the country. There’s no one here to guide you when it comes to these things.”

“I don’t need a guide. I’m a thirty-year-old woman, not a child.”

Thirty.

She’d uttered her age with pride, boasting almost, like she thought thirty was the intellectual equivalent of a woman twice her age. She had no ring on her finger, which meant no commitment. No shock there. Rare was the man who would spring for a ring when the cow
and
its milk came free.

…

The doorbell sounded, a kind of a hollow, repetitive gong that Helen had never grown tired of hearing over the years. The sound always made her feel like she lived in a palace in China, instead of a historical village in New York. She waited several seconds post-gong then shooed her long-time friend Milton toward the door.

Addison rounded the corner seconds later. “It’s good to see you again, Helen.”

After their last interaction, Helen questioned her sincerity. “You could have called first.”

“Why? I knew you were here. You’re always home.”

“Whether I’m home or whether I’m not is beside the point. Calling ahead is common courtesy.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’ll call next time. Okay?”

Next time
.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter now. You’re here. Why don’t we both have a seat and you can say whatever it is you came to say.”  

Addison nodded and sat, squeezing her legs and pulling down the hem of her short, bohemian tunic dress to keep from revealing more thigh than she had already.

Helen reached for the tea cup next to her. Intending to put the glass to her lips, she’d lifted it halfway before noticing just how bad her hand was trembling. She set the mug back down.

“Are you, okay?” Addison asked.

“Never you mind. Why did you stop by?”

“Because you’re friends with my grandmother.”

“
Friends
is a strong word. It would imply I have feelings of affection for Marjorie.”

“You
do
have affection for her. You’ve known each other since you were in your twenties.”  

Helen didn’t understand why Addison was stalling, or why she kept fiddling with the hem on her tunic dress. “What does Marjorie have to do with you being here? Is something wrong? Is she all right?”

“I haven’t heard from her in a while. I’m sure she’s fine. She always is.”

“Then why bring her up at all?”

Addison crossed her arms in front of her. “I was wondering … it’s just … you seem to know most people in the area, and …”

“Oh, for goodness sake,” Helen said. “Are you going to make your point while I’m still alive to hear it?”

“What do you know about Cliff Clark?”

“It’s Clifford,” Helen corrected. “Not Cliff.”

“Oh…kay.
Clifford
Clark. What can you tell me about him?”

“He’s dead. What more is there to say?”

“How did he die?”

“What makes you think
I
know anything?”

The two stared at each other for what seemed to Helen like a ridiculous amount of time. Addison leaned back, the look on her face implying she was satisfied for finally uttering what was on her mind. But what a peculiar thing to ask. Why would Addison be interested in Clifford? He didn’t even live in their town, so how did she know him? And why was she prying into his death? It wasn’t significant. It was ordinary. Unfortunate, but ordinary nonetheless.

“I can’t imagine why Clifford interests you,” Helen said. “He didn’t live here, in Rhinebeck. As to your question about how he died, I
might
know a few things.”

“Such as?”

“Last year, he was diagnosed with coronary heart disease. Nasty business.”

“Nasty … how?”

“The vessels in his body became narrow and hard, making it difficult for blood to get through to the heart. His doctor suggested surgery. Clifford refused at first, until he had a heart attack and his body made the decision for him.”

“So, after the heart attack, he agreed to the surgery?”

Helen nodded. “Didn’t make things better though. Only made them worse.”

“In what way?”

“There were some complications. When the surgeon opened him up, he realized there was significant damage to Clifford’s heart tissue. He survived the operation, but his body shut down. He never made it back out of the hospital alive.” Helen tipped her head to the side. “Something tells me you already know that part of the story though, don’t you?”

“I knew he wasn’t alive. I didn’t know the specifics of how it happened.”

“What else do you know?”

“He had two daughters. They both died when they were young, right?”

There it was, at last. The root. The real reason Addison was sitting in her front parlor querying away. It didn’t have to do with Clifford. Not really. It was information on the girls she was after. “Clifford had twin girls. And you’re right, they died when they were children.”

“How old were they?”

“Around twelve or so, if I remember right.” Helen paused. “It was horrible, you know, the way they died. A nightmare no parent should ever have to live through.”

“What happened?”

It was so long ago, Helen only recalled vague details. “Seems like it was a holiday. Easter Sunday, I think. The family had gathered together to celebrate at the manor. Aunts, uncles, cousins—all there. After dinner, some of the guests left. Others remained. The children were told to go play in their room so the adults could—”

“When you say
children
, are you referring to the twins, or were other children there too?”   

“I can only tell you what was told to me. Nothing more. Now stop interrupting.” 

Addison’s mouth clamped shut. Helen continued.

“The adults were watching television. No. Wait a minute. That’s not right. They were having cocktails, listening to music. Yes, yes. It’s coming back to me now. When the record finished playing, I believe it was Clifford who got up to change it. He heard a noise outside, a loud thud, followed by another several seconds later. Some of the others heard it too. Rose opened the door, and—”

“Who’s Rose?”

Helen frowned at Addison’s second infraction.

Addison’s hand flew to her mouth. “Sorry. Won’t happen again. I promise.”

“Rose is Clifford’s wife. She opened the door and thought she saw something. She turned on the porch light and walked outside to get a closer look. There, on the cement in their driveway, were the bruised, broken remains of her daughters.”

“They were
dead
?”

Helen nodded.

“How?” Addison asked. “I thought you said the children were in their bedroom playing?”

“At some point during the night, they slipped out of their room and crept up to the attic. No one knows why, or how they got inside in the first place. Rose said she always kept the door locked.”

“How did they go from playing in the attic to being found dead in front of the house?”

“They fell. When police arrived, they found the window to the attic had been slid open. On the roof was one of Grace’s dolls. Since there was no proof of foul play, and no other logical explanation, they speculated both girls attempted to retrieve the doll.”

“And they fell in the process.”

Helen shrugged. “It’s one of those mysteries of life, right along with the deaths of Marilyn Monroe and Natalie Wood. We’ll never know for sure.”

With no forewarning, Addison bolted from the chair. “I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me.”

Helen lifted her cane, preventing Addison from moving forward by prodding her in the thigh with the flat end like she was branding her with it. “Now wait just one minute, dear. Hold on. You’re not leaving here until you tell me why you’re so interested in the Clarks’ story.”

“I … ahh … was just curious. I came across something in an old dresser drawer in my house. A newspaper clipping. It mentioned the girls, but didn’t say much about how they died. I wondered if you knew the details. That’s why I came over.” 

Helen left the cane where it was, suspicious of Addison’s true motives. The gesture seemed to unnerve Addison. She wrapped a hand around the cane in an attempt to remove it, but the moment she touched it, something else happened. Her body went limp and she collapsed on the floor.

“Addison,” Helen said. “Addison. Can you hear me? Say something. Speak to me. Hello?”   

Addison
could
hear her. She could also feel the palm of Helen’s withered hand slapping against the side of her face repeatedly. Her eyes flashed opened. Helen was poised over her, a glass of water in one hand. Milton stood a couple feet away, phone in hand, ready to dial 9-1-1 if need be.

“Were you planning on pouring water on me?” Addison asked.

“If I had to, yes, I was,” Helen replied.

Addison sat up. “How long was I out?”

“Not more than a minute. What on earth is going on? Have you ever blacked out before?”

“I … I have to go.”

“I think not. You aren’t in any position to walk home right now after what just happened. No way. I’ll not have it.”

Addison boosted herself off the floor, picked her cell phone out of her pocket, and sent Luke a text message. “You know what, Helen? You’re right.”

“What are you doing? Who are you calling?”

“I’m not
calling
anyone. You don’t have to worry. I’ve asked Luke to come get me.”

“You need to sit down, rest for a few minutes.”

In the interest of soothing Helen’s strained nerves, she complied. She lifted herself back onto the chair and leaned her head to the side, taking a quick glance down the hallway to see if they were alone. “Where did Milton go?”   

“I have no idea. Why?”

“How much do you trust him?”

Addison had blurted the question without much forethought as to how her words would be received. Seeing Helen’s hand press to her chest accompanied by her stunned expression, she realized she’d been coarse, too coarse, and it was too late to backpedal now.

“What do you mean, how much do I trust him?”

“I only meant, how well do you know him?”

“Don’t be absurd,” Helen said. “Milton has been my friend and companion for decades. You know this. I trust him with my life. Why would you even ask me such a thing?”

Luke’s truck hummed to a stop outside. Addison stood. “I’m sorry, Helen. I don’t even know Milton. I’m sure he’s very good to you. Forget I asked, okay?”

Addison opened and closed the front door without glancing back, hoping Helen wouldn’t follow her out. A vexatious knot burgeoned inside her.

When her hand grazed Helen’s cane, she’d caught a glimpse into Helen’s future.

A future she wished she hadn’t seen.