Mary McGill stood in front of St Mark’s community hall, staring at the black recess she knew held a door. Only, someone had turned off the outside light and, at this hour on an early spring morning, it was as dark as ink. How was she supposed to find the keyhole when she couldn’t see the door?
‘Blast.’ Mary put down her overloaded tote bag, laid Millie’s dog bed on top of it and pulled her phone out of her coat pocket. She’d downloaded the flashlight app but never used it. She hoped it worked. It did. ‘See what a wonderful thing modern technology is,’ she told the little black cocker spaniel who sat beside her. The dark had reduced Millie to a blurred outline, but she heard her whine.
‘It will only be another second. I’ll just …’ She thrust the key at the now-visible hole but the door swung open before she inserted it.
‘What on earth …’ Mary stared at the door, along with the dog. ‘I locked that door last night. I know I did. Remember? We were the last ones to leave, and I made sure it was locked. We left the light on, too.’
Suddenly the church hall, where she’d spent so many hours organizing all kinds of events, seemed very dark and not at all friendly. Had someone come back after she’d locked up last night? Who? She had no idea how many people had a key. Reverend Les McIntyre did, of course, and … she couldn’t think who else. Had she given a key to someone on St Mark’s annual spring rummage sale committee? Pat Bennington, maybe? Pat was organizing the dog and cat adoption center they were holding for the first time in conjunction with the rummage sale. Half the sale proceeds were to go to the no-kill shelter the town had recently built. The hope was that, with the number of people who always turned out for the sale, they could find a few good homes for some of the animals in need of a new family. Had Pat already come? Of course she hadn’t. She would hardly wait in the dark.
Mary pushed the door open a little more and let her cell phone light up the doorway. That’s all it lit. The inside was as black as a bat cave.
‘Pat?’ Mary’s voice echoed in what seemed to be an empty room. No one answered. Mary hadn’t really expected anyone to, but it seemed prudent to try. She waited another minute. There wasn’t a sound. She must have left the door open last night. How could she have been so forgetful? Disgusted with herself, she pushed the door open wider, reached in and felt for the light switch she knew was there. Light flooded the room. No one moved; no one called out. The hall was empty.
Shaking her head in disbelief, Mary stooped to pick up her tote bag, tightened Millie’s leash and started into the room. ‘I’ll come back for your bed in a minute,’ she told the dog, ‘after I’ve put on the coffee.’
Millie’s only answer was a low rumble in her throat. The hairs on the back of her shiny black head stood straight up as she surveyed the room.
Mary watched her for a second, amazed. Millie didn’t growl. At people, at least. Occasionally she told another dog walking down her sidewalk not to consider stepping on her porch, but she contented herself with a warning and then only when the screen door was secure and she was behind it. Something had to be wrong for the dog to act like this, but what? The hairs on the back of Mary’s neck started to tingle as she looked around the room from the safety of the doorway, but everything seemed just as she’d left it and no one was in sight. The long tables holding the sale items looked undisturbed. The jackets, coats, blouses and shirts that hung on the clothes racks she’d borrowed from Target hung neatly. The three baby cribs were still empty. The imitation maple chest of drawers still stood next to them, its five-dollar price tag prominently displayed. Holding Millie’s leash, she set her tote bag down by the door and took another step into the room, surveying every corner, trying to see what was bothering the dog.
Large pieces of furniture were grouped along one side wall. Tables holding just about everything from old toasters to computer screens to piles of children’s clothes stretched out down the middle. Breakables, lamps, dishes, vases and even a rather lovely white porcelain clock had been placed on tables pushed against the other side wall. The back wall held the door to the kitchen, right next to a serving pass-through, its roll-down cover in place. Farther down the wall was a short hallway that housed the bathrooms and a door into the side parking lot where the dog crates and pens would be set up. The cats would be indoors. Next to the hallway Mary had rigged up, with the help of several committee members who didn’t mind climbing on ladders, a makeshift dressing area. Old curtains and a bedspread hung rather precariously on round curtain rods to provide two makeshift dressing areas for ladies who preferred to try on clothes with a little privacy. She had dragged a couple of chairs behind the curtains as well as a free-standing mirror that, while not perfect, would do.
‘I have no idea what you’re making a fuss about,’ she told the dog, ‘but there’s no one here. No thanks to me. I could have sworn I locked that door last night and was positive I’d left the light on over it as well.’ She sighed. ‘You don’t suppose that means I’m getting old, do you?’
With a snort of laughter at her little joke, she let go of Millie’s leash and turned to pick up her tote. ‘Better get the coffee going before anyone else gets here. I’ll get your bed … Where are you going?’
Millie headed through the tables toward the dressing area, but not with her usual brisk trot. She crouched down, almost slinking, the rumble in her throat audible as she dragged her leash. Mary watched her for a moment, the unease she’d felt before returning and building. She’d never seen Millie act like this. Where was she going? Toward the curtains. There was no uncertainty in the dog’s destination. There was something behind those curtains she didn’t like.
Mary set her tote down once more but held tightly onto her phone. She clicked off the flashlight and set her finger on the red button AARP had so thoughtfully provided for quick access to 911. Surely she wouldn’t need it, but she didn’t like the way Millie was acting. Was there really something behind those curtains? She slowly threaded her way through the tables, her eyes never leaving the dog.
Millie stopped in front of the faded green bedspread that closed off one end of the dressing area. She looked back over her shoulder at Mary then back at the bedspread, and the rumble in her throat got louder. Something stuck out from under the bedspread. Mary came to a halt and stared. Whatever it was hadn’t been there last night. She stepped closer. Slippers. Pink furry slippers. Had someone come in here last night to try on slippers? Irritation wiped away the unease that had filled her. Of all the idiotic things to do. Why anyone would … How anyone could have … Puzzled, but no less irritated, Mary descended on the slippers, intent on putting them back on the correct table before everyone got here. She stopped.
The slippers had feet in them.
Her heart started to beat faster and her breath came out in little puffs. Holding her cell in one hand, she grabbed the bedspread with the other and pulled. They’d done a good job. It slid easily on the makeshift rod to expose the chair Mary had left in the dressing area. A chair that should have been empty but wasn’t. A woman sat sprawled in it. An old woman with wispy gray hair, her feet encased in the pink slippers. The rest of her was covered with a long-sleeved pink nightdress. A blue corduroy robe had come loose from its tie and fell open on each side of her, covering the chair. The tie lay on the floor beside her.
Mary gasped loud and clear in the empty room. It couldn’t be. It was impossible, only she was looking at her. Emilie Plym, poor little Miss Plym who wouldn’t hurt a fly, who most of the time didn’t know where she was or how she got there, but who never seemed to mind. Someone would gather her up and return her home, she was sure. Everyone was her friend, and she had a smile for them all. How had she gotten in here? Why had she? Mary made herself look closer. Miss Plym’s face was an odd gray color, and her eyes were open and bloodshot. Her mouth was slightly open and her tongue … Mary started to blink rapidly in an effort to clear her vision and then staggered a little. Whatever had happened, Miss Plym had not come in, sat down and quietly died.
Breathe deeply. Deep breaths, that’s right. She looked at Millie, who no longer seemed to want to growl. She stared at Miss Plym as if she, too, couldn’t believe what she saw.
Mary sighed and hit the red 911 button. ‘Hazel? Is that you? Yes, it’s Mary. No, I’m not all right. Hazel, I’m at Saint Mark’s, in the church hall. No, no. It’s not on fire. I’m afraid it’s worse than that. Miss Plym is here. No, I can’t take her home and neither can anyone else. Hazel, she’s dead, and I don’t think from natural causes. Can you get Dan over here right away? Thanks.’
Mary hung up and slipped the phone in her jacket pocket before she addressed the dog. ‘I don’t know what happened, but I do know there’ll be no rummage sale today.’
Millie whined.