"It's Margaret," Aunt Vi said.
My heart rate backed down toward normal, and I arrested my dash to the phone. However, my aunt's expression didn't grow any less concerned. She reached the handset toward me.
"She doesn't sound good."
I took the phone from her, glancing around at my family and Jim. I had everyone's undivided attention, as if they knew something I didn't. Cautiously, I turned my attention to the call.
"Margaret? Are you okay?"
"I need to talk to you. Now." Her words were rushed. "I'm at your house. At the back. Come alone -- and hurry." The line went dead.
"Hello? Margaret?" Nothing, of course. I looked around the room at the expectant faces. "She said she wants to talk to me. Now."
"What for?" Mother asked, brows pulled into a tight knot.
Maybe her conscience finally got the best of her and she was going to confess that she’d pushed Aunt Vi down the steps and tried to stage the ghost appearance at the séance. But why confess to me and why at my house right now? I shrugged and glanced at my watch. Four-thirty. I could spare half an hour before Andrea and I needed to leave for dinner. A trickle of warning ran through my mind, but for heaven’s sake, Margaret was hardly dangerous. "I think I'd better go. She sounded so odd. Would you guys keep an eye out for Andrea and let her know I'll be back in a few minutes."
I'm quite certain I was calm, but worry still marked everyone's expressions despite the lack of objections. Jim pushed away from the table.
"I'm coming with you," he said, and grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair.
"No, you don't need to. Margaret said she needed to talk to me alone."
"Alone? Where is she?" Uncle Henry asked.
"At my house."
Jim shouldered into his jacket. "You definitely aren't going alone."
I considered arguing with him, but the direct gaze and determined set to his bearded jaw spoke of a lot of time arguing with a bull who wouldn't move. Besides, everyone else agreed with him, even my dad, who'd just wandered in and as far as I could tell had zero idea about what was going on. Even agreeing was becoming a huge time-waster, if I intended to be back in time to go to dinner with Andrea.
"Fine," I snapped, pulling my jacket on. "Come along if you want, but wait in the car while I talk to her."
He pulled his keys out of his pocket. "I'll drive."
"No. I will." I was already in motion, and jogged to the apartment and grabbed my purse.
He waited in my car, stuffed into the front passenger seat, when I came out of the apartment. I hadn't realized he was so much bigger than Paul -- who always seemed mildly cramped riding in my car. Jim overflowed the passenger seat, his right shoulder curling forward and his left taking up part of my seat back. His knees were jammed into the dash.
"What do you suppose the problem is?" Jim asked.
I bit back my first response which was along the lines of my car not being made for someone his size, and went with option two: Margaret's mysterious phone call. "I don't know. She just said come right away and hung up."
"That doesn't sound good."
"I'm sure it's no big deal. You should wait in the car." It did occur to me I couldn't stop him if he decided to override me, but also making him wait in the car, wadded up in a ball, would be just plain mean. He didn't respond to my comment until I turned the car onto my street.
"Paul wouldn't like it if I let you go in alone," he said.
Paul wouldn't like it if he knew Jim was with me. "He trusts my judgment." Most of the time.
"Do you always argue?"
"Yes. It's so much fun I believe it should be an Olympic sport." I pulled to the curb in front of the house and shut off the engine.
"I'm glad we got that straightened out." He unbuckled his seatbelt. "Now I can ignore you without feeling bad about it." He opened the door and pried himself out of the car.
I swung out of my side and passed him on the way to the back of the house, but his big strides let him keep pace with me.
Margaret stood by the back steps, clutching her jacket closed. "You were supposed to come alone," she said, on the verge of wailing.
"Well, I tried." I shot Jim a glare. "Why is it so important I come alone?"
"Did you bring the diary?"
Now, that caught me flat-footed. "What do you mean? You didn't say anything about a diary."
"He told me he called your cell phone and left you a message to bring the diary with you."
And now, I could add mystified. "He? Who are you talking about? Someone left me a voicemail?" I dug around in my purse, didn't find my phone then patted my pockets before realizing my phone was in my barn jacket pocket. "I don't have my phone, and I don't have the diary. What are we doing here? Why couldn't I meet you at your house? In fact, can't we talk about this tomorrow? I don't really have time this evening."
"No! No, we can't. He said we have to be here, and --" she looked over her shoulder toward the house and let out a little yelp. "Her!" She pointed toward the kitchen window that wasn't boarded up.
There, plainly visible, was Betty. She waved.
"What is she doing in my house?"
"Yeah. Who the hell is that?" Jim asked.
I was fast losing patience with this nonsense. "Are you telling me you don't know?"
"No idea," he said.
"Well, she knows your father, and -- "
"She knows Leroy?" Margaret interrupted, blinking rapidly. One hand crept to her mouth and she stared hard into the air in front of her nose.
"Yes. And you, Margaret. Don't tell me you don't know Betty."
"I don't, I --"
"Oh for Pete's sake." Jim dug in his pocket for his keys, marched to the back door and after some fumbling around, unlocked it. He strode inside bellowing loud enough for the neighbors to hear. "Okay, enough of this baloney. We saw you, come on out."
I jogged up the steps and went inside. "Come on, Betty, game's over."
Jim strode across the kitchen toward the hallway, moving fast for such a big man -- particularly in the semi-darkness. I moved more cautiously, which was probably why I noticed the crawl space trap door in the pantry propped open. On a hunch I peeked into the gloom.
There she sat, coatless, by the far wall. It was so dark it surprised me I saw her at all. She wore the same blue dress I'd seen her in every other time, and suddenly I felt very sorry for her. I knew, without a doubt, something was very wrong. Nevertheless, she'd caused trouble, and sympathy wasn't going to gain control of the current situation.
"Good lord, Betty. What are you doing down there? Come on up. You've got some explaining to do."
"No."
"What do you mean, 'no'? We know you're here and you have no coat on. You might as well come out."
"I can't."
Jim joined me. "Found her, huh?"
"Yes." I peered through the gloom at her. "Why can't you? Are you hurt? You sure as heck have to be cold."
She regarded me with a tip of her head and a gentle laugh.
Obviously, I'd missed something. I examined the ladder. The top rung looked to be loose, and the second had broken away completely. There were only three other rungs. She couldn't have fallen that far.
"Is she there?" Margaret's voice trembled.
I looked over my shoulder. She stood several feet back, hands over her mouth. "Yes. Tell your friend to get over here and we'll give her a hand up."
Margaret shook her head.
"She's your friend. We're not leaving her down there."
"Does she have the diary?"
Good grief, we were back to that. "No, Margaret, she doesn't have the diary. I used to have it, but it's gone now. I don't know who took it."
Betty laughed.
"Get over here, now. You can't be hurting that bad if you're laughing," I snapped.
"She's laughing?" Jim asked, and bent over, hands on knees to look. With a sigh, he braced a hand on the floor, swung though the access hole and landed lightly on his feet on the dirt below. "I'm not standing here all night freezing my butt off waiting for some contrary woman to make up her mind."
Betty laughed, and clapped her hands once.
"I'm so glad you find this fun," I said, sarcasm unchecked.
Jim hunched over, his head only inches from the joists, strode across the crawl space to Betty. Because his back was to me I couldn't see what he did, although I assumed he intended to help her to her feet. Instead, he yipped, straightened abruptly, smacked his head on a joist and rebounded, landing face first in the dirt by Betty's feet.
She gasped.
He didn't stir.
"Jim!" I swung around and tried to imitate his descent into the crawl space, but landed in a heap with my hands scraped from the raw wood. I gained my feet and rushed to him, hunched over to avoid his fate. "Jim!" I knelt by his side, gnawing my lip, and tentatively touched his back. He groaned and stirred. "Take it easy, don't move too fast." I helped him roll onto his back.
He raised a hand to his head. "Son-of-a-bitch."
Somewhat relieved, I glared at Betty. "What did you do to him?"
"Nothing. Really."
"What's going on? What happened?" Margaret, now on her hands and knees had finally gotten brave enough to look into the crawl space.
"Jim smacked his head on a beam and knocked himself out. I don't know how badly he's hurt, but we're going to need some assistance. He's too big for me to support and I'm sure," I shot another glare at Betty, "I won't be getting any help from anyone else down here."
"Okay, I'll get help."
She grunted and shuffled, getting to her feet, I suppose, then there was a squeak and groan of hinges. With a thud, any small amount of light penetrating the crawl space extinguished. Margaret had closed the trap door.