Sheila Connolly - Relatively Dead 02 - Seeing the Dead (17 page)

Abby turned slowly, watching, but she didn’t see anybody who wasn’t there.
Abby, that makes no sense!
She rephrased it for herself: she didn’t see anyone other than the living, even with Ned’s help. After completing a full circle she looked at him, but he was staring intently at one corner near the edge of the cemetery. She followed his glance, but she couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary there. Then she remembered the man that Ellie had seen, who she hadn’t been able to see either. Abby kept a firm hold on Ned’s hand, but nothing—or no one—materialized.

He finally broke off the contact. “Did you see something?” Abby asked.

“I’m … not sure. You should probably get back to work,” he said abruptly. Apparently he wasn’t in the mood to discuss whatever he had or hadn’t seen. She’d have to talk to him about it later.

He walked her back to the museum but didn’t come in. “I’m going to walk back and collect my car. I’ve got a lot of stuff to work on at my house, and since this is a holiday I’d better use it.”

“You want to get together tonight?”

“Let me see how much I can get done during daylight today. Or maybe tomorrow?”

“I told Leslie I’d chaperone her daughter Ellie for the day, since school’s out, so I don’t know what my time will be like. Give me a call when you know your schedule.”

“I will.” Ned turned and left, without any good-bye kiss. Well, yes, it was a very public space, and there were lots of tourists around, including a bunch trying to push their way into the museum. But still. And was he waffling about getting together again? She needed to talk to him about what Ellie might have seen—and maybe that was somehow connected to his odd actions in the cemetery today.

With a sigh, Abby turned and went into the museum, where one of the docents grabbed her as soon as she walked in. “We’re swamped, and it’s only going to get worse,” she said. “Cover the back gallery? Please?”

“No problem,” Abby said, and jumped right in.

17

Abby had conveniently forgotten that Ned had given her a ride to work in the morning, so she was stranded at the museum. He apparently hadn’t remembered either and didn’t call her, but she had no trouble begging a ride from a colleague, an assistant curator named Nat, who she knew lived out beyond her house.

“It certainly looks different than it did this morning!” Abby commented as they drove past the bridge, where only a few individuals and small groups strolled late in the day.

“The town’s got a good cleanup crew. Bet you’re glad things will calm down now. You still enjoying the job?”

“Very much. But I’m happy that Patriots’ Day is over and things will go back to normal.”

“Summers are busy too, you know. Concord is one of the main tourist attractions around here, after Boston, between the history and all those authors. And we’re much simpler to get around, and more kid-friendly.”

“This is me,” Abby pointed to the driveway ahead.

“Hey, nice place!” her companion said.

“It’s not mine—I’m just house-sitting. Leslie set it up with a friend. But if you hear of any affordable places for rent around here, let me know, because I’ve got to clear out by the end of next month.”

“‘Affordable’ and ‘here’ are not terms you hear together very often, but I’ll think about it. See you tomorrow!”

“Thanks for the ride, Nat!” Abby watched as Nat pulled out of the driveway, then let herself into the house. She was tired. The weekend with Ned had been lovely, but not necessarily restful, and today had been chaotic, plus she and Ned had done a lot of walking. She was kind of glad to have some alone time.

But at the same time, she wondered if there was something going on with Ned. She had seen nothing out of the ordinary—by their slightly skewed standards—during the weekend, but he’d acted a little odd at the cemetery today. Had he seen something, or rather, someone? He had told her he didn’t often see anyone, but maybe his ability was coming back now since he’d been with her. But why that cemetery? She’d have to do a little more research and find out who was buried there. Still, she hadn’t sensed anyone related to her there—although maybe Ellie had, she reminded herself. She still hadn’t told Ned about Ellie, because she was still puzzling about it, or that’s what she told herself. She’d be seeing Ellie the next day, spending some real time with her, and maybe she could find out more—carefully, of course.

By the end of the evening there was still no message or call from Ned. If she stopped to think about it, he’d been kind of subdued for a while. Maybe talking with his mother had unsettled him. Or maybe they’d entered a new phase of their relationship—after all, they’d been together for six months now. But she and Brad had been together six months when she moved in with him, and that hadn’t turned out so well. She didn’t want to make that mistake again. Not that Ned was anything like Brad, and he certainly wasn’t telling her what to do and how to live her life.

Or was there something more going on? If she stopped to think about it, she realized she didn’t know much about Ned’s work, other than it was scientific and somehow involved DNA. She still hadn’t seen his house, or rather, renovation-in-progress—when they spent the night together, it was always at her place, because he claimed his own bordered on uninhabitable. Should she be asking more questions? If they were together, shouldn’t she know these things? Maybe she was being as selfish with Ned as Brad had been with her. It was a sobering thought.

She had been depending on him to help her sort out her unexpected visions of long-dead relatives, but now it seemed he was struggling with the whole thing—her abilities, his, and what happened when they were together. He understood what was happening to her, but he didn’t seem to know how to handle it in himself. Maybe he’d suppressed it so long that it had atrophied, if that was possible. Was that good or bad? Given a choice, would she rather live with whatever it was or without it? She still wasn’t sure, but it was all still new.

Her brain was too fuzzy to do anything except zone out in front of the television for an hour or two. She went to bed early: she would need her energy for Ellie the next day.

• • •

As Abby drove into town the next morning, it felt like the aftermath of a storm. The townspeople were milling around, moving displays, tidying up, but just a bit more slowly than usual. Still, she reminded herself, it was school break week and the museum would probably be busier than usual, or so she’d been told. She felt guilty, like she wasn’t pulling her weight there, but she was still the new kid and didn’t really know what needed to be done. But she was pleased that she’d weathered her first Patriots’ Day without mishaps.

When Abby walked into her office, Leslie was already there, with a sulky Ellie spinning back and forth in Abby’s desk chair, looking like she’d rather be anywhere else. Leslie said sharply, “Ellie, sit still! Abby, can I talk to you a minute? In the hall?”

“Sure.” Abby followed her into the hall, presumably out of Ellie’s hearing. “What’s up?”

“My darling daughter is in a pissy mood. Doesn’t want to be here, but her daddy can’t stay home and there’s no one else to take her today. I’ve got something figured out for the rest of the week, but I’m afraid I really need your help today. You sure you don’t mind?”

Abby couldn’t think of a good way to say no, even if she wanted to, which she didn’t. “Don’t worry about it. I promised you one day this week, and I’m kind of at loose ends today anyway, since I don’t have any groups coming in. I was planning to catch up on the paperwork and maybe freshen up some of the presentations, but that can wait. What would Ellie like to do? I don’t exactly know her well.”

“Poor kid—she’s seen most of the historic sites around here, since birth, and I have to admit, they kind of bored me when I was her age. So I doubt she’d be too excited about anything historical.”

“Does she like nature?”

“Depends on which day you ask her.”

“How about shopping?”

Leslie laughed. “She’s a classic tomboy, so you can’t woo her with shoes or dresses. She does like books, but she’s got a zillion at home.”

“Maybe she could write her own book …” Abby said slowly. “Does she know how to use a computer or a keyboard?”

Leslie laughed. “Better than me. Don’t all the kids these days? Sure, that sounds like a great idea. And you can show her websites where she can find pictures to download, too. Or let her draw her own and scan them for her. I love it! But try to get her outside for a bit too, will you? Take her out to lunch, on me.”

“We’ll figure something out. I’ll let you know if we leave the building.”

“Thanks. I’ll take her off your hands around three. And I’ll owe you!” Leslie returned to Abby’s office. “Ellie, honey, be kind to Abby here. And don’t try to trick her, please?”

“Why would I do that?” Ellie asked her mother, staring at her without expression. “She’s a nice lady. I’m sure we’ll have a good time.” She sounded scarily self-possessed, and older than seven.

“I hope so,” Leslie said dubiously. “I’ll be in the building if you need me.” Abby wasn’t sure whether that comment was meant for her or Ellie.

When Leslie had gone, Abby turned and went back into her small office. There really wasn’t much space for one person to do anything other than sit at the desk; for two people, especially if one of them was an active child, it was ridiculous. For a brief moment she was tempted to sweep everything off her desk, leaving the surface bare, but she restrained herself. That would set a very bad example for Ellie, wouldn’t it? In the end, Abby sat down in the spindly visitor’s chair and contemplated Ellie, still sitting in the swivel chair behind her desk. Ellie’s expression gave nothing away.

“So, what do you want to do today?” Abby began.

She could swear that Ellie looked disappointed at her lame salvo. Ellie gave the time-honored response, “I dunno.”

The ball was back in Abby’s court. “Your mom says you’re bored with historic stuff around here.”

Ellie shrugged but didn’t deny it.

“And your mom says you know how to use a keyboard?”

“Yeah. Everybody does.”

“Want to write a book?”

There was a brief spark of enthusiasm in Ellie’s eye. “You mean, like a real book? Not just a picture book or a scrap book?”

“Yes. Words on a page. Pictures only if you want ’em.”

“And I can write whatever I want?” Ellie asked, sounding suspicious.

“Well, I might draw the line at disemboweled corpses, but yes, it’s up to you.”

“You just trying to park me with a laptop and keep me quiet?”

“No, not really. I’m trying to find something that you’d enjoy doing. I know I hate being bored.”

“What’re
you
going to do?”

“Consider me your editor. You know what an editor does?”

“She edits.”

“Well, yes, but what does that mean?”

Another shrug from Ellie.

“Okay, an editor can do many things. She can help you put together the basic story—tell you what sounds like a good idea, or what nobody is going to believe. And she can help you with your language, show you how to tell your story more clearly and strongly.”

“Like a teacher?” Ellie was following Abby’s comments closely.

“Yes, but like you’ve got your own teacher—you don’t have to share. And I have been a teacher, too.”

Ellie paused to consider. “But it would still be my book, right? You won’t tell me what I have to write about?”

“An editor is there only to make it better, not to write the whole thing. If she wrote it, then she’d be the writer, and
she’d
need an editor.”

That finally brought a smile from Ellie. “Cool. Do I have to tell you what I’m writing about? Or do you wait until I’ve finished it?”

“That’s up to you.”

“How do I start?”

“Some people like to plan it all out before they start writing. Other people just jump right in and see what happens.”

“I like the second idea.”

“Then go with it. There’s no one right way to do it. And you can always go back and change any parts you don’t like.”

Abby debated about discussing the role pictures might play, but then decided that could wait until she’d seen what Ellie produced. She was figuratively holding her breath: Ellie could put together two pages and get bored by the whole process—she was, after all, only seven—or she could put something feeble together that would force Abby to manufacture false enthusiasm. Or she could come up with some happy surprises.

“You want me to open a file for you on my computer?” Abby asked.

“Yeah. Please.” Ellie added the last word as an afterthought, but at least she had added it at all.

They swapped seats while Abby opened a new file and a directory for Ellie, while Ellie sat on the edge of her seat watching Abby’s every move impatiently. When Abby had finished the setup, she stood and gestured at the swivel chair. “It’s all yours.” Abby pulled the other chair to the side of the room near its only window, and grabbed a stack of folders containing her gallery lessons, which did need some cleaning up.

Ellie eagerly sat down, and then stilled, staring at the still-blank screen. Abby didn’t interrupt her, hoping that Ellie was thinking hard. Finally Ellie said, “Do I need a title first?”

“That’s up to you. You can make up any rules you like—this is your work.”

“Huh.” Ellie stared some more. “I want to call it ‘The Man Who Wasn’t There.’”

Abby felt a small chill. “That’s a really good title. It makes people want to read the story, to find out what it’s about.”

“Good.” Ellie tapped in what Abby assumed was the title, and then her fingers started flying over the keys.

18

Abby had nearly completed her review of her notes when she realized it was almost noon, and Ellie was still seated in front of the computer pecking away. Abby had been listening with one ear as Ellie worked: her keyboard abilities were far better than two-fingered but not extremely fast, and she paused often to think about what she was going to say next. And occasionally there was a string of clicks that Abby assumed meant she was deleting something. But all in all, Ellie had showed remarkable concentration for a long period for someone of her age.