Red House Blues Page 20

  “Look who’s talking,” said Claire. “When I left you two last night you were at each other’s bruised throats. What’s going on?”

  “Suzan and I have decided to attack the citadel today. We are girding our loins to go into battle. Onward, the soldiers. Kick the tires, light the fires.”

  “What did you do, Suzan, over-medicate the boy?” said Claire, frowning.

  “Something like that.” I wished I could stop smiling like an idiot. Claire is sure to pick up on the afterglow. Oh well, what the hell, thought Suzan, knowing how fleeting that feeling can be, how rare, how priceless.

  “What is this about attacking the citadel?”

  “Nick and I have decided since no one of us can retrieve the notebooks alone, and we don’t have time to wait until we’re healed, the three of us are going to go over to the house today, like an invading army.”

  “At least if we can convince you to go with us,” said Nick. “We figure if we run into Ferlin, we can say you’re helping me pack up my things.”

  “What if he decides to shoot first and ask questions later?”

  “How likely is that? I mean, really? If we catch him off guard we have a good chance. He thinks we’re both out of commission.”

  “Well, you are! Neither of you can walk across the room unassisted, remember?”

  “We are doing better today,” said Suzan. “And we have to do this before Ferlin notices that the notebooks are not where he put them. If he hasn’t already. He is sure to figure out that Nick swiped the packet from him and when he does he’ll search his room. We have to get there first.”

  “If it is gone from where I stashed it, we’ll know Ferlin beat us to the punch and the notebooks are toast," said Nick. "He should have destroyed the packet first thing, but might have figured he could use it as leverage with somebody. He is a hoarder and an opportunist. The guy never throws anything away he might have use for later but I don’t think he’ll take that chance twice. He’ll burn it.”

  “I don’t suppose it would do any good for me to try to argue you two out of this expedition,” said Claire.

  “Not a chance,” said Suzan. “But we can’t do it without you so I hope you’re with us. We’ll get in and out as fast as we can. Claire, if I don’t do this . . .”

  “Yeah I know, you’ll have it hanging over your head forever,” said Claire. “You really think that all this bad shit has to do with something Sean wrote in his tatty little notebooks?”

  “As unlikely as it appears on the surface, I think it’s entirely possible. Don’t you? At any rate it’s all we have to go on.”

  With a heavy sigh she sat down on the end of the bed.

  “Yeah. Have to admit, I can’t see any other explanation. So, when do you guys want to get going on this fool’s errand?”

  “Early afternoon would be the best time, I think,” said Nick. “I don’t want to be waking anybody up and nobody is up before eleven. After noon a few are in class at the university and Ferlin goes down to that auto body shop of his. Alexis is usually at the gallery. We definitely don’t want to be there at night. There’s always someone hanging around at night. So, I’d say the odds are we’re less likely to run into one of my housemates if we go in the afternoon.”

  “This afternoon?”

  “No time like the present,” said Nick. “Right after we pick up a pair of crutches at the drug store. I have to be a bit more mobile than I am.”

  “Then what? Supposing we get the notebooks, what happens then?”

  “We read them, of course. Together,” said Suzan. “We try to figure out where the danger is in what Sean wrote. When we figure it out, we’ll know better what to do.”

  “You hope.”

  “I hope.”

  “Okay, I give up,” said Claire. Turning to Nick she said, “What changed your mind, though? I’m helping Suzan because she’s my friend but why should you get involved in this?”

  “Whoever tampered with the Vespa - probably our pal Ferlin - took that decision out of my hands, right?” he said, closing the Bible. “So, let’s get some breakfast. I think I can manage to hobble down to your car. Denny’s is down the street?”

  “End of the block.”

  “Great. Denny’s two meals in a row.” said Suzan. “After we eat, how do we kill time until we make our assault on the house, Nick?”

  “I don’t know about you, but I could use another nap and a shower. If I can get some help with the shower part,” he said, sending a smile at Suzan.

  “I think that could be arranged.”

  “Hmm,” said Claire.

  Fir Street at 3 pm was awash with inactivity except for a trio of Black kids cutting through the property toward Yesler on their way, judging by their languid progress down the block, to somewhere they didn’t want to be. Claire pulled the blue Ford up to the curb opposite the house behind a primer-covered van with two flat tires.

  “Now what, Nick?” she asked.

  “We wait and watch for a few minutes. Ferlin won’t know your car but he’s a suspicious man. If he is inside and sees us watching the house he is likely to come out to see what we’re up to. If he comes out, we don’t stick around.”

  “I don’t know about this whole idea, you guys. Now that we’re here I have a really bad feeling about going in.”

  “It will just take a minute when we finally get in. Just up the stairs, grab the notebooks, then out.”

  “Sounds easy enough except the getting up the stairs part. You’re not good on those crutches yet. Lots of things sound easy until the shit hits the fan.”

  “Maybe one of you should stay in the car as a lookout to call us on the cell phone if someone shows up,” offered Nick.

  “Won’t work,” said Claire. “I’m the only one fit enough to get up the stairs without help, what with you clunking along on those crutches. That leaves Suzan in the car. . .”

  “And I am not about to stay behind in the car,” Suzan finished her thought.

  “Didn’t figure you would. Okay, we all go or no one goes.”

  The house, squatting under an overcast sky looked as if it were also waiting to see what happened, its black windows studying them with dispassionate interest. What had Sean thought of the place? wondered Suzan. Had it been nothing more than a place to crash so he wouldn’t have to sleep in a doorway in Pioneer Square? Had it been a refuge and comfort?

  It occurred to her, not for the first time, that she had no idea how his mind had worked. He had seemed to have such a bright future when they were first married. She grieved for such a tragic loss of potential. There was no time to let her mind wander down that path. There was one final act to perform for Sean and for herself.

  “Nothing. Place is dead as Elvis,” said Claire.

  “Yeah. I think we should get at it if we are going to do it,” said Nick.

  “Are you sure you are up for it?” asked Suzan. “Don’t be a hero if you are in pain.”

  “I’m fine. Let’s just get the notebooks,” he said. “I’ll think about regretting it later when we are far away from this neighborhood.”

  “So, do we go in the back way, Nick, or the front door? What do you think?”

  “It’s a coin flip either way, but I’d say the front door makes it less likely we’ll run into Ferlin.”

  “Right, front door it is. Hope you remembered the key.”

  “Half the time they leave it unlocked, but I do have the key if we need it.”

  Still, they hesitated, none of them eager to leave the car. Suzan felt as if she was about to jump off a diving board into the deep end of the Arctic Ocean. Anything could happen. Close to the surface of her thoughts was that they might be about to face off against a killer.

  Claire was the first to get out of the car, closing the driver’s side door quietly behind her. Next, Suzan helped Nick out of the car and they crossed the street to the walk leading to the front porch. He stumbled on the first step, almost taking Suzan with him over the railing as he struggle
d to regain his balance. She grabbed him under the arm to steady him. This wasn’t starting out well but they had already come too far to retreat.

  “Hand me the key,” Claire whispered to Nick as they reached the battered entry door.

  Nick dug his key ring out of his jeans pocket, singled out one of the keys and handed it to Claire. She fitted it into the lock below the door handle, turned it one way and slowly rotated the knob.

  “Shit,” she said under her breath. The door had been unlocked and she had just locked it. She turned the key back the other way, and eased the door open a crack to check out the foyer.

  “All clear,” she whispered, sending a silent prayer to whatever angels were in charge of breaking and entering that she wasn’t missing something important.

  The foyer was shrouded in shadows, the twisting staircase ascending from a tangle of coats, bicycles and discarded junk mail. Half way up, a trickle of gray light seeped through a narrow window but the light illuminated little beyond the first few feet of the landing.

  They carefully skirted the clutter to the stairs, Suzan’s heart nearly stalling in her throat as Nick thumped the cast against the first riser. They stopped dead still and listened. Nothing. Keeping close to the wall they climbed toward the first landing. Nick’s bedroom was off the second landing. It was a frustrating, long slow climb in semidarkness, Nick going first, taking each step with agonizing care. If only they could have bounded up the stairs, grabbed the notebooks and made a lightening escape. No matter how careful they were, each tiny creak of the wooden stairs was deafening.

  At last they reached the first landing, overlooking the foyer. Suzan shivered involuntarily. The landing was meat locker cold, utterly freezing. She gripped Nick’s arm and sent a wordless question to him. Her breath was white in the air.

  He nodded. This freaky chill was not new to him. Claire gave her a gentle push from behind. They didn’t dare stop now.

  Their progress was agonizingly glacial, each step a fresh peril. But the old house seemed to be holding its breath as they crept toward the second landing to Nick’s attic bedroom, the room where her husband had spent the last days of his life. A fine dust hung in the air like volcanic ash. Nick squeezed Suzan’s hand as they made the landing.

  “This is it,” he whispered, unnecessarily.

  “Shhh,” said Claire, as she stepped aside for Nick to open the low door.

  He turned on the overhead light, stepped aside to let the women enter, then closed the door behind them. It was an oddly cheerful little room wedged under the eaves. It might have been an attic storeroom at one time, or a servant’s quarters. Suzan put the decor down to Nick because she hardly thought Ferlin could have been responsible for the rich butter yellow walls or draped the large porthole window in the gable with red and yellow sari cloth. No question in her mind that it hadn’t been Sean’s idea.

  “Have to sit down,” said Nick, collapsing onto the bed.

  “Tell me where to look and I’ll get the notebooks while you rest,” said Suzan, though she wasn’t feeling all that perky herself.

  “You got a gym bag or something, Nick?” said Claire. “I was thinking we ought to pack up some of your clothes in case we run into a housemate.”

  “Yeah, good idea. There’s a laundry bag on the closet floor and a backpack on the shelf above. I’ll help you in a minute.”

  “You stay put. I don’t want to have to carry you out of here,” she said, stuffing the contents of one dresser drawer into the laundry bag.

  “Suzan, right under where Claire found the bag there is a loose board. Pull it up and you should find the packet of notebooks. At least you will if Ferlin hasn’t been back up here.”

  “A loose floor board,” Claire snorted. “I seriously wonder what happened to Sean’s thought processes.”

  Pulling up the board cost Suzan the thumbnail on her right hand. She gingerly felt around in the dark space below the floor, hoping she wasn’t putting her hand into mouse droppings or spiders or . . . there were lots of things she didn’t want to be grabbing with a bare hand.

  “Got it!”

  “Great,” said Claire. “Toss it in the bottom of this backpack and let’s get the hell out of here.”

  “No, give it to me,” said Nick. “I’ll flatten it and wedge it down my cast. It won’t be comfortable but I think I can manage until we get to the car. It ought to be safe in case we get stopped.”

  “Okay. Makes sense,” said Suzan, reluctantly releasing it into Nick’s care. After all the trouble the notebooks had caused, what she actually wanted to do was sit down and hungrily read every line but that would have to wait.

  Claire zipped up the backpack, shouldering it and the laundry bag full of underwear and socks.

  “We better get going,” she said. “All set, Nick?”

  “Piece of cake. Just help me up, okay?”

  With Suzan’s assistance he got to his feet and put the crutches under his arms.

  Claire reached out for the doorknob, then paused.

  “Do you guys smell incense?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “You know, like sandalwood or patchouli. Kind of smoky.”

  “Smoke,” said Nick, stiffening.

  “Probably a back draft from the fireplace downstairs,” offered Claire.

  “The chimney is cracked. There hasn’t been a fire in that fireplace since the sixties,” said Nick.

  A tendril of smoke wormed its way under the door.

  “Oh shit . . . fire! Don’t open the door, Claire!” shouted Nick. “Stuff something in the cracks!”

  Suzan grabbed the bedspread and packed in into the crack beneath the door.

  “I suppose it’s stupid to ask if there is another way out of this room,” said Claire.

  “Just the window. It’s big enough to squeeze out of but it’s three floors down,” said Nick.

  “Everyone get on the floor,” said Suzan.

  They pulled the blankets from the bed and covered themselves, inching away from the door on their stomachs.

  “We could tie some sheets together,” said Nick. “Worse comes to worse I lower you two out the window as far as possible. It’s a chance.”

  “And leave you up here? Are you nuts?” said Susan. “Claire, do you have your cell phone?”

  “Of course!” Claire fumbled in her jacket pocket as the smoke continued to seep around the door frame.

  Nick started to cough. Suzan imagined they didn’t have very long before smoke inhalation made everything else a moot point. Her eyes were already stinging, tears blinding her.

  “Got it!” said Claire, punching blind what she hoped was 911. As she connected to the operator they heard something that sounded like a small explosion from the stairwell.

  “Oh my god, what was that?” shouted Suzan.

  Nick clutched her hand in the gathering darkness. “It sounded like a gunshot.”

  “What’s your emergency?” asked the operator.

  Where do I start? thought Claire.

  * * *

  Alexis knew before she came in the back door that there was something wrong in the house. She had been unsettled and uneasy all afternoon, another sick headache chewing at her nerves, sending sparks of light in her field of vision. No use trying to ignore it. She put away the pile of bills she had been logging into her computer. No chance of getting any more work done today. The migraine would only get worse and it always meant the same thing. There was trouble at home. Alexis thought of it as the Gray Lady or one of the other lost spirits in the house telegraphing emotions to her. Could be she was crazy. Maybe not. But either way she needed to get back to the house.

  The first thing she noticed as she came in the kitchen door was that the door leading down to the basement was ajar. The stairs disappeared into the dark.

  “Ferlin?” she called, softly, not expecting an answer.

  Where was the old man? One of the kitchen chairs was on its side. Yes, something wrong. Then she knew what it w
as. Shit, she thought, how dare he let that woman into the house, her house. What the hell was he thinking? She had warned him over and over. Alexis went to the swinging door that lead from the kitchen to her studio. What used to be the dining room in the early days of the house, the Gray Lady’s room, as she thought of it. There was someone moving around in there. Some small object fell to the floor. Probably a paintbrush, by the sound of it. Alexis wanted to storm into the room and confront the woman. There was no doubt in her mind who it was but Alexis was also curious to know what the intruder was up to. She listened by the door, waiting for the right moment to burst in and confront the woman. She realized she had waited too long when she smelled the paint thinner and smoke.

  Alexis ran to the refrigerator, pulled open the door and grabbed Ferlin’s 9 mm from its hiding place in the hydrator. She unzipped the protective pouch and checked that the pistol was loaded.

  By the time she reached the foyer Marla was heaping thinner-soaked paint rags and newspapers onto the growing fire beneath the staircase. Thick smoke billowed up through the ornately turned balusters toward the second floor.

  Holding the pistol with both hands Alexis took aim at the woman’s back and pulled the trigger. It went off with a deafening explosion, its kick knocking her off balance for a second.

  The bullet buried itself in the banister inches from Marla’s right shoulder. She spun toward Alexis.

  “You bitch!” she screamed, lunging at her, seemingly oblivious to the smoking pistol.

  Alexis steadied herself and fired again. This time the impact hit Marla in the upper chest, throwing her against the blazing staircase in a shower of sparks.

  In an instant the foyer was an inferno, the ancient fir planks of floor and stairs engulfed in mountains of flame. Alexis dropped the gun and slumped to the floor. No, get out! Crawl to the door! Nothing left, crawl, get out!

  Alexis was inches from the door, a scant foot from the knob when something struck her solidly from behind, sending her sprawling, driving the breath from her body. Smoke enveloped her. Alexis felt a weight pressing her to the floor, felt strong fingers digging into her throat before she sank into a welcoming oblivion.