I felt a good deal better after talking to Ralph. It had bothered me, more than I realized, when Jo Harper told me the McNeil family had “bad blood.” Fred had been her boyfriend in high school, and he had apparently run for the hills when threatened by her father (and the supposed ghost of her grandfather). A common enough story. Anyone else would have gotten over it long ago, but poor Jo remained mentally trapped in the past.
When I got home, I found Connor rummaging in the pantry for the cereal box. I took the box out of his hand and gave him a kiss. “Let me make you breakfast this morning.”
“Won’t say no to that,” he said. “Did you find Ralph?”
I took butter, bread, eggs, cheese, tomatoes, and green onions out of the fridge. “I did. He was at his favorite breakfast place, and simply being there made me hungry.” I put a pat of butter into a frying pan, and while it melted, I began grating cheese and chopping tomatoes and onions. Connor put bread into the toaster.
“Ralph told me more about what happened to Jo back then, but nothing no one else hasn’t told us.” If Connor didn’t know about his father’s involvement in the Harper family drama, I wasn’t going to be the one to tell him. “I’d say it’s a sad story, and I guess it is, but Jo seems happy enough with the life she’s made for herself, as is Ralph. She was seventeen years old, and she felt guilty already because she’d snuck a boy into the house when her parents were away. Her brother, who should have been old enough to know better, played a practical joke on her that got way out of hand. All of which has absolutely nothing to do with us and our house, except …”
“Except,” Connor said, “that I can’t stop wondering—and I know you can’t either—what brought the long-lost Jimmy here the other night.”
“A stroll down memory lane? One last chance to see the old boyhood home? Looking for something that’s no longer to be found? His reasons for being here would be nothing but an interesting puzzle if not for the fact that someone was with him. And that someone killed him.”
Connor heard a sound and glanced out the window. “Barely six thirty and Dad’s car’s already pulling up. You’d better get more eggs out. Mom will have made him breakfast, but he can always have more. Second breakfast. Like a hobbit.”
“Connor, would you say your parents had a good marriage?”
He gave me a smile so full of affection my heart turned over. “I’d say I learned how to love from my own parents.”
I spent the rest of Sunday fetching and carrying for Connor and his father as they tore away the supports and planks of the old deck and made ready for the new one. They got a great deal done, and when the sun was settling behind us, Connor and I stood at the living room windows and looked out onto the darkening sea. He put his arm around my shoulders, and I leaned against him. And all was right with the world.
Sam called us that evening as we were curled up in bed watching a movie on my iPad. Tonight it was Connor’s choice: an action flick, all tough guys (and girls) doing unbelievable feats of daring-do. Last time it had been my choice: a regency romance, all beautifully dressed women (and men) doing unbelievable feats of historical inaccuracy.
Connor pressed pause and reached for the phone. He lifted one eyebrow at me as he answered. I snuggled up to him to listen in.
“Connor. Sorry to bother you on a Sunday night.”
“Not a problem, Sam. Has there been a development?”
“Not yet. Police in various other parts of North Carolina are showing some interest in the death of James Harper. It would appear he was, as the saying goes, known to police. A lot of police and very well known. If you get my meaning.”
“I do,” Connor said.
“I’d like you and Lucy to have a look at some mug shots. Pictures of his known acquaintances, particularly some people he’s known to have fallen out with.”
“Tonight?”
Watson chuckled. “No, not tonight. It’s not urgent. How about tomorrow morning, first thing, before you go to work?”
Connor looked at me. I nodded, and Connor said, “We’ll be there. Eight o’clock okay?”
“Sure. By the way, while I have you on the line, I had a forensic accountant take a look at those stock certificates from that trunk of yours.”
“Dare I hope they turn out to be worth millions in today’s money?”
“Let’s just say he wanted to have them to add to his collection of historical artifacts. Or so he said when he stopped laughing. Totally and completely worthless. Bunch of companies that were fly-by-night even before the crash. You can have them to start a fire, if you like.”
“See you tomorrow.” Connor hung up, and we went back to watching unbelievable feats of daring-do.
We drove to town the following morning in our own cars so we could go our separate ways after visiting the police station. Before going directly to meet with Watson, we dropped in at Josie’s Cozy Bakery. As long as I was going to be in town and had something to do before work, I told Connor, I needed to treat myself. It didn’t come as a surprise to me when he eagerly agreed. Since we were already fueling ourselves, we got a bag of assorted muffins, scones, and Danishes for people at the police station and an extra-large takeout coffee, black, for the good detective.
Our offering was well received. Watson met us once we were buzzed into the main part of the building. He accepted the cup from Connor, helped himself to a blueberry scone, and led the way to an interview room.
Connor and I took seats, and Watson put a folder on the table. “Have a close look at these pictures. You don’t have to be positive about identifying anyone; if anything seems familiar, say so. What you’re looking for is someone you might have seen on your street or the section of beach in front of your house over the last couple of weeks.”
“I hate,” I said, “to think anyone was watching our house.”
“We found no fingerprints in the pantry, on the ladder, or in the stuff in the upstairs room,” Watson said. “Other than yours and Connor’s father. Lucy’s prints were the only ones on the cat leash. I have to point out that that means little. Jimmy Harper is not unfamiliar with police procedures. We found latex gloves in his pocket, and it’s likely whoever he was with wore gloves as well. Why he took his gloves off, or didn’t put them on, is unknown.”
Watson opened the folder.
The pictures were all of men, and all of a type: midfifties to midseventies, rough shaven, badly dressed, mean eyed. Plenty of tattoos and piercings.
“What a disreputable-looking bunch,” I said.
“Jimmy Harper didn’t move in high society,” Watson replied. “Some of these guys have beards, and it can be hard to look past that, but try in case they’ve shaved it off.”
I peered at each picture closely. I tried to mentally remove the beards. Nothing looked familiar.
“Nothing,” Connor said after a few minutes. “Lucy?”
“Sorry, but no. To be honest, these men would stand out in our neighborhood, and they don’t look like the type to enjoy a leisurely stroll on the beach either. Sorry.”
“That’s fine. It was a long shot. Doesn’t mean Jimmy Harper didn’t bring his enemies with him. I’m sure he has plenty of acquaintances who haven’t come to police attention. Not yet, anyway.”
Watson gathered up the photos and slipped them back into his folder. “I know you’d like to find out what happened, and so would I, but sometimes these things never do get solved. Not if the people concerned are able to drift back into the underworld, don’t brag about what they’ve done, and don’t get picked up for something else and have evidence from this case on them.”
I told myself not to be disappointed. Sam Watson was right, as he usually was, and all this more than likely had nothing to do with us. Someone followed Jimmy to our house, killed him there for their own reasons, and then slipped away. Still, I didn’t like the idea of never knowing what happened, but such was life. “I’ll accept that,” I said firmly. “I’m settling down to a life of domestic bliss, and I want nothing more to do with any police investigations.”
Connor laughed.
“Thanks for the coffee,” Watson said. We left the interview room, and he escorted us to the door. Butch Greenblatt lifted a muffin-clutching hand in a wave.
One thing about working at a public library: people can always find you when they’re looking for you. Ralph Harper came in shortly before closing time as I was helping a woman select books for her daughter, confined to bed rest with a difficult first pregnancy. “Climbing the walls,” the patron said when she explained the situation to me. “If she was allowed to climb, that is.”
“Afternoon, Miss Lucy.” Ralph touched the brim of his baseball cap, which featured the logo of a brand of motor oil. His beard was sticky with salt spray, and he smelled of fish and the sea. “Hope I’m not disturbing.”
“You go ahead, Lucy,” the woman said. “I’ve got a nice stack here to get started.”
“Twice in one week,” I said to Ralph. “To what do I owe the honor?”
“Wanted to give you a heads-up is all. I woulda dropped by earlier, but I had a long charter trip to take out today.”
“Heads-up about what?”
“Thought you should know Jimmy’s wife paid me a call.”
“I didn’t know he was married,” I said.
“I didn’t know he was married neither. Woman name of Shona. Shona Harper. I figured he was past it, but I shoulda remembered that Jimmy always did have a woman on the go. She showed up at our door yesterday, just before suppertime, all weepy and wanting to get to know us. I invited her in for a cup of coffee, but Jo didn’t come out of her rooms. I didn’t like that Shona much, and I soon suggested she be on her way.”
“Why didn’t you like her?”
“A man learns to trust his instincts out on the water. She’s a hard-looking woman and she has hard eyes. The tears dried soon enough, and she asked me straight out for money. Help with a nice funeral for Jimmy. I got no problem pitching in for that, but she got too greedy too fast. Said she wanted her share of our mother’s inheritance. She was Jimmy’s wife and that means she gets what was his when he died. Seems Jimmy told her about the sale of the house. I wasn’t going to argue with her. I told her to get out of my house. She made some threats and then left.”
“Are you worried she’s going to cause trouble?”
“She’s got no grounds to expect anything from us, but I figured you should know. Jimmy died at your place. The address wasn’t in the paper but easy enough to find out if you put your mind to it. I don’t want you thinking I sent her ’round is all.”
“I appreciate you telling me. I trust your instincts, Ralph. Can I ask what this Shona looks like?”
“Black hair,” Ralph said. “Too black. Kinda long. About here.” He indicated the line of his shoulders. “Jimmy’s and my age, probably. Sixtysomething, anyway. Could stand to lose a few pounds.” He patted his own belly. “Although I shouldn’t judge.”
That didn’t sound like anyone I’d noticed recently, but I’d be on the lookout from now on.
“Thanks for letting me know,” I said. “I’ll tell Connor. You should probably mention this woman to Sam Watson. The police are looking into Jimmy’s acquaintances.”
Ralph grunted and took his leave.
The next several days passed without incident. Sam Watson came to the house a couple of times, wanting to have another look at the upstairs storage room, but he found nothing new. While I’d been at work on Saturday, Connor had hammered new boards into place in the pantry floor, sealing the rum-running entrance once and for all.
Thursday evening the Bodie Island Lighthouse Library Classic Novel Reading Club met to discuss The House of the Seven Gables by Nathaniel Hawthorne. After closing, Louise Jane helped me arrange chairs in the third-floor meeting room and lay a table for the drinks and snacks. That done, I went downstairs to greet club members at the door. My cousin Josie was first to arrive, bearing a bakery box. Josie always provided something absolutely delicious from her own bakery for the meeting. Some of our club members, I suspected, came mainly for Josie’s treats.
“What delights did you bring for us today?” Theodore Kowalski asked.
“Pecan squares and chocolate-chip cookies,” Josie said.
His small, dark eyes gleamed. “I’ll be up momentarily.” Theodore’s English accent was as fake as the lenses in the round spectacles perched on his nose. He was a thirtysomething native of Nags Head, but despite that he talked and dressed as though he’d momentarily stepped away from his estate in the English countryside. He thought the tweed suits (heavy with tobacco smoke, although he didn’t smoke), rimless eyeglasses (although he had perfect vision), and upper-crust English accent (although neither he nor his family had ever lived in the UK) gave him gravitas in the world of rare-books dealing. Instead, a lot of people found it hard to take him seriously, but I cared for him a great deal. He was a good friend, a true lover of the library and of books.
Josie chuckled and went inside.
“Are you expecting a good turnout tonight?” Theodore asked me.
“Not really. I’m not going to express my opinion of the book, not yet, but it’s not to everyone’s taste. Not even lovers of classic novels.”
“You think so? I found it fascinating. Mr. Hawthorne’s sense of social justice is still fresh and relevant in our times.”
“Which,” I said, “is what makes it a classic.”
A stream of cars began pulling into the parking lot. The club had a core group of regulars, but anyone was welcome to attend the meeting if the book being discussed was of interest to them.
“I dared hope Sam would be able to come tonight,” CeeCee Watson, one of the regulars, said after she’d greeted us. “After all these years, I should know better than to get overly confident.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“We’d just finished dinner when he got a call from work, so he went rushing off into the night. I’ve no idea what it was about.”
“It must be hard,” I said. “On a marriage, I mean. That sort of unreliability.”
She smiled at me. “At first it was tough going, I won’t deny it. A lot of police marriages don’t make it. But Sam and I have settled into our routine, and I have my job and my interests to keep me happy.” She held up her copy of the book. “Like the reading club. Speaking of police marriages …” She nodded to the group of people coming up the path and lowered her voice. “Anything happening there?”
“You mean with Steph and Butch? Not as far as I know.”
“They’re a strange couple. But I wish them well.” CeeCee went inside as I greeted my friends.
Steph and Butch had hated each other on sight. He was a six-foot-five burly cop, and she was a five-foot-nothing defense attorney. But, as readers of romantic fiction know, opposites often attract, and they’d fallen head over heels for each other.
“I don’t suppose,” I whispered to Butch, as Steph greeted other arrivals, “there have been any developments in the Harper case?”
“Not that I’ve heard of. Couple of detectives from Raleigh came down to have a chat with Ralph about his brother’s recent activities, but nothing came of it.” After a beat, he asked casually, “Has … uh … Josie arrived yet?”
“Bearing a heavy box,” I said.
“Great.” He dragged Steph inside without another word. Butch looked like the stereotypical image of a big dumb guy, but he was anything but. He read the club’s books with pleasure and insight. Despite that, I still thought he came mainly for the treats.
For once, Mrs. Peterson hadn’t dragged one of her five daughters with her. She was determined that the girls would be exposed to—and enjoy—classic literature, but Hawthorne isn’t exactly suited to the tastes of modern girls.
“Good evening,” I said to her. “Welcome. I saw Phoebe at the Harper house on the weekend. She’s helping Jo in the garden. That’s nice of her.”
“I was dubious at first,” Mrs. Peterson said. “But it’s working out well. Jo gives her eggs to bring home and is offering her a share of the vegetable crops when they come in. Phoebe has decided that she’s going to be a farmer when she grows up, and she’s excited to teach her sisters where our food comes from.”
“That might make an interesting project for the library,” I said. “Maybe you could suggest it to Ronald.”
She beamed. “Excellent idea, Lucy. I’ll do just that. Good heavens! Is that Diane Uppiton I see approaching?” She peered into the night. “I believe it is. Horrid woman. We were neighbors for many years, Lucy. The way she treated her poor, late husband was a disgrace. And then to move that Curtis Gardner into the house before Jonathan was scarcely cold in his grave.” She sniffed. “We all know what happened to Curtis, don’t we? After that, Diane had to sell the house to pay her own legal fees, I heard. No better than she should be, that one. And that outfit—what does she think this is, a meeting with our senator? Diane! How absolutely marvelous to see you. And looking so well! Back in town, are you?”
Diane reached us, and the two women exchanged air kisses. “Ready and eager to resume my community responsibilities,” Diane said when they’d separated. Today’s suit was bright red, matching her shoes and her lipstick. “I hope you’ve missed me here at the library, Lucy?”
Not for one second, I thought. “Thank you for joining us tonight. Did you enjoy the book?”
“I wouldn’t say enjoy as such, as the subject matter is so disturbing. No one knows better than me how terrible it can be to the innocent victims when rumor and innuendo get out of control.”
I blinked in confusion. “Oh, you’re thinking of The Scarlet Letter. We read The House of the Seven Gables. Same author. Different books.”
She brushed that triviality aside and linked her arm through Mrs. Peterson’s. “How are your darling daughters? I hope the children’s library continues to be able to meet your expectations for them. I have no children of my own, as you know, but the education of our young people has always been one of my passions. I have some ideas and was hoping to have a chat about that very thing with dear Eunice.”
“Mrs. Fitzgerald won’t be joining us tonight,” I called after them. So that was why Diane had come. Eunice Fitzgerald was the chair of the library board. Diane was trying to worm her way back onto the board. I sighed to myself. After all that had happened, was Diane still determined to see the library closed? Our library had been the focus of her late husband’s life. Was she still out to ruin what he had loved?
I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt until I had reason not to. Perhaps Diane genuinely wanted to reestablish herself in the community.
“Mr. Snyder,” I said to the next arrival, “good evening. Nice to see you.”
“Nice night to be out,” he said. “It’s been a hard winter.” Mr. Snyder came to the library almost every day to read magazines and enjoy some companionship, but rarely did he come to book club.
“Nathaniel Hawthorne fan, are you?” I asked.
“What?”
“Tonight’s book. Is it a favorite of yours?”
“I thought it was terrible. Can’t understand what all the fuss is about. Some of these so-called classics …” He shook his head, and I hid a smile. Mr. Snyder was well known for not hesitating to express his opinions.
“I’ll be up in a moment to get things started. Help yourself to refreshments.”
He went inside as a pickup truck bounced down the lane. To my considerable surprise, I recognized it as belonging to Ralph Harper. Ralph and Jo had been reading the book, but I never thought he’d come to the meeting.
Both doors opened, and even more to my surprise, Jo emerged from the passenger side. Brother and sister walked together up the path.
“Welcome,” I said, meaning it. “I’m so pleased you could come.”
Jo stared up at the lighthouse. “So this is a library now. In my day it was nothing but an old lighthouse they were thinking of taking out of commission and knocking down.” She’d made a bit of an effort to dress for the outing, but she still looked like someone who didn’t get out much. Her many-times-washed brown dress hung loosely on her bony frame. The right elbow of the sweater over it had been carefully darned. Her legs were bare, her feet in white socks and sneakers stained green with grass.
“Thank heavens that never happened,” I said. “The library is now, I like to think, an indispensable part of the community.”
Ralph took his sister’s arm. “Ready to go inside, Jo?”
She hesitated, and a moment of panic flashed behind her eyes. “Maybe I’ll wait in the car.”
“Third floor,” I said quickly. “Let me show you the way. I think you’re the last to arrive, and if anyone’s late, they know to ring the bell. Josie from Josie’s Cozy Bakery has provided some treats for tonight. We’d better hurry if we’re to get any.” If Butch had decimated the offerings, I’d kill him.
Clinging to her brother’s arm, Jo cautiously stepped into the library. She looked around with wide eyes, taking in the quiet space: the circulation desk, the row of public computers covered for the night, the high shelves leading into the darkness, the magazine rack and the comfortable reading chairs, the alcove with its display on Nathaniel Hawthorne’s New England. “This is,” she said to me, “nice.”
“We think so. You’re more than welcome to take out a library card. I can help you with that after the meeting. Do you read much?”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “Particularly over the winter, when I’m not kept so busy in the garden. Ralph regularly gets books for me here or at the bookstore in town. My mother and grandmother were keen readers, and they taught me to be so also. My father and grandfather not so much.”
“What sort of things do you like to read?” I asked. Aware that Jo Harper rarely, as in never, left the house, I tried to keep up a stream of light, friendly conversation to keep her mind occupied.
“I’m not particular as long as it’s a good story and told well.”
Behind his sister’s head, Ralph gave me a nod of approval.
Most of the lights on the main floor were off or turned low. Light and conversation drifted down the spiral iron staircase from the third floor. A man laughed.
Jo hesitated. “Maybe …?”
Her brother gave her a fond smile. “Almost there, my girl.”
“We’re a friendly group, Jo,” I said. “All here because we love classic novels and love discussing them. I’m interested to hear what you thought of the book. Did you finish it?”
“Yes.”
“I bet most of the group didn’t,” I said. “It does … drag in a few places.”
Jo put one foot on the bottom step, clinging to Ralph’s arm. Then one more step. I followed, chatting inanely away.
When we walked into the meeting room, everyone looked toward the door and smiled at the new arrivals. Charles leapt off Mr. Snyder’s lap to greet them. Butch clutched a fistful of cookies, but he’d left plenty behind.
“Joanna Harper, as I live and breathe.” Mr. Snyder rose from his chair. “It’s been a heck of a long time.”
Jo blinked. “I’m sorry, I …”
“Tony Snyder. Mr. Snyder from Manteo High way back when. I taught you and your brothers math. I’m not surprised you don’t remember me, but I remember you. You had a head for math like I rarely ever saw.” He indicated Ralph. “Unlike your two layabout brothers. You were the prettiest little girl in class, I always thought. Of course I’d never dare say so. Not back then. I can now, though.” He chuckled. “Come here, sit by me and tell me everything you’ve been up to all these years. I was sorry when you dropped out of school, Jo. Real sorry. I hoped you’d do math at college.”
Jo said nothing, but she smiled shyly and took the offered seat. She crossed her ankles and folded her hands in her lap. Someone else had told me Jo had been a beauty in her youth. I could still see traces of it in the good bones of her face, the large blue eyes and full mouth. Her face was tanned from her work in the garden, but she had far fewer lines than most men and women of her age, the result of not having a lifetime of worries about family or a job.
Life, I know, is written on our faces. I lifted my right hand and involuntarily stroked my own cheek, wondering what stories life would have written there when I reached the end of my days.
“Can I get you a glass of tea or lemonade, ma’am?” Butch said politely. “We have cookies and Josie’s justifiably famous pecan squares.”
“Thank you,” Jo mumbled into her chest. “Tea, please. And a square. If you don’t mind.”
Butch hurried to do her bidding. Ralph gave his sister a fond but anxious look and then took a seat himself.
“Your reminiscences about the good old days, Mr. Snyder, are going to have to wait,” I said, when I’d called the meeting to order. “First, who finished the book?”
Only three hands went up—Theodore’s, Butch’s, and Jo Harper’s. Most people looked shamefaced. Butch glanced around the room and beamed.
“It is somewhat … wordy,” I said. “I have to confess, I first read it in college and had to force myself through to the end.”
“Which is a shame,” Theodore said. “As it’s a fascinating story about a fascinating house and the generations of family who lived there, as well as the author’s thoughts on social injustice.”
“I read the SparkNotes version to find out what happened at the end,” Steph confessed.
“Tsk, tsk,” Butch said.
“As I recall,” Ralph said with a chuckle, “back in school I wasn’t much of a reader either, Mr. Snyder. No, the sea’s an awful powerful mistress, and once she has you in her grasp, there’s not room for much else in a man’s life. Hard to read on a thirty-foot fishing boat in the face of a gale, and—”
“Perhaps we can read a book about the ocean next,” I said quickly.
“Old Man and the Sea,” mumbled Louise Jane.
“Never heard o’ that one,” Ralph said. “Sounds good. My mamma loved Hawthorne, so I took the book out of the library for Jo and me to read. I didn’t get far.”
“The House of the Seven Gables has been called a horror novel.” I tried to get the conversation on track. “Did anyone agree with that?”
“It’s nothing of the sort,” Josie said. “The house is old, and it has a bad history. They keep that painting of the old man hanging on the wall, and it’s creepy, but he never haunts anyone.”
“But he does,” Theodore said. “His presence is everywhere—if not physically, then mentally.”
“Such is the nature of a haunting,” Louise Jane said, “Who are we to say one is more”—she made quotation marks in the air with her fingers—“real than the other.”
“Hepzibah Pyncheon, the elderly spinster lady living in her crumbling ancestral home, leads a very limited life because of the social situation of women of her class at the time,” Mrs. Peterson said. “Not because her ancestor’s haunting her.”
“And how’s that for a name?” Josie said. “Hepzibah Pyncheon. I cringed at her humiliation. Daughter of a once proud and grand family, reduced to taking in a boarder and opening a cent store in her own house. I’d never even heard of a cent store before.”
Regardless of whether or not everyone had finished the book, we had a good and earnest discussion of Hawthorne’s themes. The book is an interesting portrait of small-town American life and attitudes at a certain point in time.
Charles, as is his habit at book club, visited most of the members in turn—sitting on laps, being scratched and fussed over, and accepting the praise he considered his due. It wasn’t long before the refreshment table contained nothing but used glasses, crumpled napkins, and a scattering of crumbs.
CeeCee Watson picked up her bag and got to her feet. “I’m sorry, Lucy, but I’m going to have to leave early. I fear I’ve got a headache coming on, so I need to get home.”
“Are you okay to drive?” Butch asked. “Do you need a ride?”
“I’m fine, thank you, but I recognize the symptoms and I need to be going. It was a most enjoyable meeting, Lucy, thank you. I hate to rush away, but these things don’t wait for me to be ready.”
“Good night,” I said.
She gave us a smile and a wave and slipped out of the room.
“Migraines,” Diane Uppiton said, with a dramatic shudder, “can be the absolute worst. I should know; you wouldn’t believe how I’ve suffered over the years.”
“I’m sure you’re about to tell us, dear,” Mrs. Peterson said.
“Did you enjoy the historical setting of the book?” I asked, before Diane and Mrs. Peterson could come to verbal blows. “I think we gain such an appreciation of history when we read books that were written in the time period in which they’re set, don’t you?”
The meeting was coming to an end when Mr. Snyder said, “The part about the hypnotism was ridiculous. I gave up around that point. Hypnotism is a known fact, but the hypnotist can’t reach into a subject’s mind days later from the other side of town and …”
“But that’s true!” Jo cried. Those were the first words she’d said since she’d sat down, and I’d almost forgotten she was in the room. “It can happen. It has happened.”
Ralph looked alarmed. “It’s okay, Jo,” he said softly.
“What do you mean?” Mr. Snyder asked.
Jo studied the faces watching her. “It happened to me. It’s been a long time, but I remember. I remember him reaching into my mind. Telling me I’m no good. Telling me I’m a disgrace. Always there, always whispering, telling me I’m a bad girl, fit for nothing.”
Josie threw me a look. I stood up, intending to go to Jo, but Diane beat me to it.
“There, there,” Diane said, patting the other woman’s shoulder. “Why don’t you tell us all about it, honey. It’ll help to get it out.”
“No, it won’t,” I said. People glanced at each other, unsure of what to do.
Jo raised her hands and tore at her hair. Her eyes darted around the room, looking at everything, looking at nothing. “Poking into my mind. Reading my thoughts. Telling me I’m wicked. Laughing at me.” She turned to her brother. “It happened in the book, when he orders her to do silly things, but it was different for me. He told me I was wicked. A bad girl.”
“Why don’t we go home now, Jo?” Ralph said.
She took a deep breath. “No. I’m fine. It was a long time ago. A long time since he’s been in my head. I know everyone talks about me. About what happened to me.”
“Actually,” Louise Jane said, “they don’t, Aunt Jo. Not anymore. Life goes on. People have forgotten.”
“That’s right,” Ralph said. “Water under the bridge, like.”
“People might have forgotten, but then they”—Jo pointed at me—“bought the house and dug it all up again.”
“I … we …” I said.
Diane’s eyes gleamed. Everyone else looked embarrassed. Butch’s phone pinged, and he gratefully pulled it out. He leaned over and whispered something into Steph’s ear and then stood up. “Sorry, Lucy, I have to take this.” He slipped out of the room.
“I told you,” Jo continued. “I told you, those McNeils are bad blood. You brought Jimmy back to the house to die.”
The vehemence in her voice shocked me. “I … we didn’t.”
Ralph got to his feet. “Connor McNeil is a good man. His father is a good man, for all you think he ran out on you that night. He was just a kid. You were a kid. Maybe it’s time you finally told me the whole story of what happened.”
“I don’t think—” I began.
Louise Jane interrupted me. “If Jo wants to tell us, let her. She’s held the story inside her all these years.”
I wasn’t so sure. I resumed my seat, but I perched on the edge, ready to intervene.
“We weren’t doing anything … bad.” Jo’s eyes were focused on something only she could see. “Fred and me. We were listening to music and talking. Fred brought his cassette machine. My mother didn’t like modern music. She said it was a bad influence on young girls. She wouldn’t let me listen to it. Isn’t that right, Ralph?”
He nodded. He didn’t look any happier than I felt.
“We were in the front room, dancing. A big storm was building out at sea, and we turned off all the lights and were dancing to the thunder and the lightning. It was …” Her voice broke and Ralph started to stand, but she swallowed and continued. “It was nice. I was happy. Then he … he appeared. He stood there, in the doorway, watching us.”
“Who?” Louise Jane asked.
“My grandfather, who’d died two years before. His hair was wild, his beard too long and unkempt. He was dressed in a suit, but it was … torn, hanging in rags, filthy with …” Jo’s entire body shuddered. “Grave dirt. He pointed at me. He didn’t say any words, not out loud, but I heard him. He told me to get out of his house and never come back. He said … if I stepped so much as a foot in his house again … he’d … haunt me forever.” Tears spilled out of her beautiful blue eyes and rolled down her unlined face.
I stood up. “Ralph, perhaps you should take Jo home.”
Before Ralph could move, Mr. Snyder got to his feet with a speed that belied his age. He put his hand on Jo’s arm. “There, there, my dear. Let me help you.”
She lifted her chin to him and struggled to smile through her tears.
Butch came back into the room. He looked at Ralph, and his face was grim. He leaned over to whisper something to Steph, and she nodded. I wanted to ask what was going on, but I had other things to worry about at the moment.
“How ridiculous is that?” Diane sniffed. “You were imagining things, like foolish young girls do. Imagine letting something like that control your life.”
“I bet she and that boyfriend of hers were fooling around with drugs,” Mrs. Peterson said. “I’ve told my girls, over and over, to stay away from drugs. Bad things can happen to innocent girls. Why, I’ve heard—”
“You ladies are not helping,” Mr. Snyder said in the tone of voice he must have used to control rebellious high school students. “Joanna’s telling us about an event that had a powerful influence on her, and you have no business dismissing her.”
Diane smirked, but Mrs. Peterson had the grace to look embarrassed.
“I agree,” Louise Jane said. “Don’t be so hasty to dismiss Jo’s experience. Old houses can have powerful spirits in them, and I’ve heard of cases in which the spirits are possessive about—”
“Not now, Louise Jane,” I said.
She ignored me. “Aunt Jo, you said something about how he hasn’t spoken to you for a long time. You mean this continued to happen after the night in question?”
“Yes.” Tears streamed down Jo Harper’s face. Mr. Snyder stroked her arm with a stricken expression on his own face. Ralph stared at the floor beneath his boots. Butch watched Ralph.
“For years,” Jo said, “I heard his voice in my head. Telling me, over and over, never to go into his house again or I’d regret it.”
“Ralph,” I said. “Tell her what we know. About how someone got into the house that night.”
“Won’t do no good, Miss Lucy,” he said. “I always suspected it was Jimmy that night. She never believed me. She won’t now. Come on, Jo, let’s go home.”
Butch cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Mr. Harper, but you can’t leave. Detective Watson’s on his way here. He intends to arrest you for the murder of James Harper.”