The Haunting of Bechdel Mansion: A Haunted House Mystery- Book 0 Page 8

  “Morning,” she said back in a tired voice. She hadn’t been feeling that well for the past few days, chalking it up to exhaustion.

  “I got my first client today!” he said with excitement.

  “Really? Wow, that’s wonderful. Congratulations, honey,” she said.

  “Just called me this morning. Wants me to represent him in his custody battle with his ex.”

  “That’s so great,” Mary said, stretching.

  “And he’ll be at the barbecue too, so I can talk to him then.”

  “I’m so proud of you,” she said, walking away from the bed.

  She felt ecstatic for him even as her mind drifted to other thoughts. She had her reservations about Pastor Phil. He knew things, he had to, and he had taken an interest in her and Curtis in ways that she couldn’t exactly understand.

  Curtis went into the walk-in closet and then emerged in a pair of cargo shorts and polo shirt.

  “What do you think?” he asked. “Too casual?”

  “It’s fine,” she said, sitting back on the bed. Her straight blonde hair rested just above her shoulders, strands matted to her neck from deep sleep. She was clearly not in the mood for social activity, but she put on her best face for Curtis’s sake. Despite her efforts, however, he noticed something wrong.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, noticing her lack of enthusiasm.

  “Yes,” she answered quickly. “Nothing a big cup of coffee couldn’t cure.”

  “I’ll make you a cup in a minute,” he said, walking back into the closet.

  As he continued talking, her eyes shifted back to the nightstand where the young girl’s diary was hidden. Reading the diary, Mary began to feel closer to her each day. Her name was Julie. She was the youngest victim of the massacre. She seemed very bright and caring, an adorable child whose life was tragically cut short. Mary would have done anything just to talk to her.

  The week had been an exhausting blur, and in that time there hadn’t been any visions or anything out of the ordinary, and she hadn’t had much time for any research. Her publisher had called in need of a series of new illustrations. A routine was gradually forming, one that was pulling her away from the answers about the house she so desperately desired.

  “Service starts at ten thirty,” Curtis said, brushing his hair in the mirror. “We have a good hour. I can make us some breakfast too if you want.”

  “Coffee’s fine,” she said with a faint smile.

  Curtis looked at her with near suspicion as his own smile dropped. “You need to eat, Mary. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

  She looked down at the floor, embarrassed. “I’m fine,” she said. “I’ll save it for the barbecue.”

  “At least eat a bagel or something,” Curtis said.

  Mary rose from the bed, and headed toward the bathroom, her spirits lifting for a moment. “All right… You’re so pushy,” she said, closing the door.

  She went to the mirror and wiped her hand across its foggy surface, staring at her reflection. There were noticeable bags under her eyes, and her lips fixed in a downward slope.

  Strands of blonde hair curled up at her chin as she took note of her gaunt cheek bones. The more she looked at herself, the thinner her face grew, almost as though she were fading away.

  Mary backed away from the mirror, terrified, and then glanced back at her reflection. She was normal again. Gone were the bulging eyes seated in a skeletal face of almost visible bone. She panicked, wondering if what she had seen was just another vision brought on by her current surroundings or by something else, more sinister. She went to the shower, pulling her T-shirt off, and turned the nozzles on, evening out the hot and cold water. Nothing felt right. She didn’t feel right. Troubling anxiety flowed through her no matter what she did, and she always felt as though she was being watched.

  ***

  They drove to the First Christ Church of Redwood on a bright, sunny morning, amid rolling green fields and lush forest. The town, was instantly comforting with its natural beauty and lack of anything resembling a major city. This was a place people moved in order to get away from it all, and it showed.

  Its old-fashioned, Victorian nature was endearing. A brochure Curtis had given to Mary earlier heralded Redwood as a “family community.” AAll of that was fine, but Mary wasn’t interested in all the good things about the town. She wanted to find out its secrets.

  Curtis was upbeat as always, handsome with his blue shirt, gray tie, and slicked-back dark hair. Gone was his five days’ growth of beard, his cheeks bare now. Wearing a neon coral summer dress and sandals, Mary felt better after a shower and coffee. Her hair was tied back into a ponytail, and she wore a light foundation on her fair face.

  They were a young couple, married only a few years, and she dreaded the questions she was sure to get while introducing themselves to the townspeople. They would probably ask why they moved into a mansion that could house a large family when they themselves had no children. She suppressed her anxiety as they drove to the church, hoping that she wasn’t being too paranoid. Curtis, however, easily saw through her silence.

  “Nervous?” he asked.

  “A little,” she replied, moving the passenger visor aside to block the glare of the sun.

  “Well, you shouldn’t be,” he said. “There are good people in this town. I can feel it.”

  Mary stared ahead, convinced that, for the most part, Curtis was probably right. If Pastor Phil seemed reserved in discussing the Bechdels, she assumed it would be the same with anyone else. Maybe it was just something people didn’t talk about. Lost in her thoughts, she felt Curtis’s hand touch hers and squeeze.

  She squeezed back and smiled, feeling more anxious as they neared the church ahead on the right. Its painted white exterior, modest size, and pointed steeple looked like something out of a storybook. The front parking lot was full, and a sign had been mounted in a square section of freshly cut grass. There was forest on both sides of the church, making it appear isolated.

  Mary looked at the dashboard clock. It was 10:35, and services had already begun. The onus was on her, however. She had been in a morning funk and took too long to get ready. Taking notice of the time himself, Curtis assured her again that they would be fine.

  “We’ll find a spot in the back,” he said. “No one will even see us come in.”

  Mary ran her hands down her face with a sigh. “I don’t even remember the last time we went to church. Remind me why we’re doing this again?”

  Curtis jokingly scoffed. “We’re trying to fit in. It’s that simple.” He slowed the car and turned into the parking lot as Mary’s heart raced. The church seemed inviting enough, and maybe it would be good for them. She knew that she needed to shake off her suspicions and embrace the small-town life before them. Something, however, kept holding her back.

  They parked in the far corner where Curtis had finally found a spot. They exited the SUV and walked hand in hand toward the church where they could hear the faint hum of an organ playing inside. A sloped concrete walkway with a railing running up the middle led to the double doors of the church, with two elegant door handles, one on each side.

  Curtis pulled the door open for Mary, revealing a red-carpeted lobby where an older woman was seated in one of two chairs separated by a highly polished table with a vase of fresh dahlias. The woman looked up and smiled at them, her white hair trimmed and her large glasses magnifying her pupils.

  Behind her was a window with vertical blinds open, revealing the backs of the congregation standing in the pews and holding hymnals and singing. Mary approached the woman first as she stood, holding out a leather-bound hymnal.

  “Welcome to the First Christ Church of Redwood,” she said with a smile and hushed tone. “My name is Barbara.”

  Mary took the hymnal and introduced herself as Curtis approached from behind. A font in the corner of the room gently bubbled. The surrounding white walls were adorned with paintings of saints, and a door to the side led to a d
arkened room identified as the Reading Room.

  Curtis shook Barbara’s hand and apologized for their tardiness. She waved him off and then told them that they could go inside once the hymn ended.

  “You recently moved here, yes?” she asked.

  “We sure did,” Curtis answered.

  Barbara looked them over and then asked if they were the couple who had purchased the old mansion on Weatherford Lane.

  “That’s us,” Curtis said.

  “Wow,” Barbara commented. “I didn’t think anyone was going to buy that old place.”

  Curtis was quick to respond. “Trust me. It’s taken us a lot of work.”

  Barbara turned to Mary with a smile. “I hope you’re planning to stick around for the barbecue. It’s our first one this year.”

  “We’re looking forward to it,” Mary said.

  The singing ended, and the congregants took their seats. Barbara turned to the door to their right, opening it for them. “Enjoy the service,” she said.

  Mary and Curtis thanked her as they walked inside, heads turning toward them as they searched for a place to sit. Mary went to the third pew from the rear, which had two empty spots right at the end. A stained-glass window filtered the bright rays of the sun, and Mary looked ahead as Pastor Phil approached a pulpit overlooking the crowd.

  Curtis smiled at an older couple seated next to them as he sat with Mary at the end. She sat there as the room went quiet and Pastor Phil, wearing a beige suit and blue tie, adjusted his thin rectangular glasses while looking down at his open Bible below. He looked up and seemed to make direct eye contact with Mary, causing her to look down.

  The seated patrons consisted of adults of all ages, with most, however, older and gray. Pastor Phil spoke with clarity and conviction, and Mary could tell he had been doing this for a while. He gave blessings for the peaceful Sunday morning and then read from the scriptures, discussing faith and sacrament.

  “It is our duty to love one another while adhering to the message of our Lord and Savior.” He paused, holding a finger in the air. “Let us never forget the sacrifice bestowed upon us in this world of sin. Let us come together under the banner of truth and love, which are natural elements of His plan.”

  As his sermon proceeded, Mary’s mind couldn’t help but wander. She thought of the diary back home and how she had neglected to do her research or study the materials she had checked out at the library. It had been an exhausting, busy week and she couldn’t blame herself entirely.

  She had time. The pieces were there. All she had to do was put them together. Pastor Phil continued, as his audience sat silent, seemingly captivated by his small-town charm and charisma. Mary could see that he was an experienced speaker, with a gravelly voice and careful, measured words, that streamed persuasively over the speakers in the ceiling.

  Mary looked around the room and at its stained-glass windows, wondering how long the church had been there. Ultimately, she just wanted the entire affair, the service and the barbecue, to be over with. They were newcomers to the town, and the thought of putting on a friendly face and making a good impression among strangers was nerve-racking.

  Perhaps she wasn’t completely out of her funk just yet. She noticed an elderly couple turn their heads in unison from three pews ahead and make eye contact with her. What had prompted them to turn around? They nodded as she smiled back. She turned to Curtis, who was trying his best to pay attention to Pastor Phil’s sermon.

  On the wall next to the organ was a small board with three hymn numbers listed on it. Pastor Phil took a step away from the pulpit, holding his hymnal in hand, and instructed the congregation to prepare to read from page one fifteen. The organist began playing as the people rose from their pews. Mary and Curtis stood up as well, sharing the hymnal and singing in barely audible voices. As the congregation broke out in a joyful chorus, it was clear that the newcomers were unfamiliar with the music.

  ***

  When the Sunday service had ended, most of the congregation convened in the field behind the church, where picnic tables had been set up, and hot dogs and hamburgers were already smoking on a nearby grill. There were several families already seated, wearing their Sunday best. Children played together, running around with colorful streamers, as Mary and Curtis made their way outside, where close to a hundred people mingled together, talking and laughing.

  Mary walked toward the group, her hand on Curtis’s arm, feeling almost invisible to everyone. Pastor Phil was talking to a young couple under a canopy that offered much-needed shade from the sun, and waved at them to come over.

  As they approached, Curtis extended his arm to shake Pastor Phil’s hand.

  “So nice of you two to make it,” Phil said with a tight, firm grip. He shook Mary’s hand more lightly, while complimenting her dress.

  “Thank you,” she said. “We’re glad to be here.”

  Phil gestured toward the smoking grill smiling widely. “I hope you brought your appetites. Looks like we have more than enough food.”

  “That’s great,” Curtis said. “Excellent sermon by the way.”

  Phil seemed to take the compliment in stride. “Thank you so much,” he said. He then looked at Mary, half expecting additional praise, and then signaled to the couple standing next to him. “This is Lucille and Steven Hardwick. They moved here roughly six months ago.”

  The attractive couple turned to Mary and Curtis and shook their hands. The woman was short and petite with long red hair and freckles. Her husband was much taller and lanky, with curly blond locks. “Welcome to Redwood,” he said.

  “It’s a pleasure,” Curtis said. “I just love this town so far.” He looked at Mary as her tight-lipped smile began to wane. “We really struck gold with this find. That’s for sure.”

  “I heard you bought the old Bechdel mansion,” Steven said.

  “Yes,” Curtis responded. “We sure did!”

  Suddenly, the woman, Lucille, took Mary’s hands in hers and spoke. “I simply have to introduce you around. These are some of the nicest people I’ve ever met.”

  Mary nodded and then looked to Curtis. “Go meet some of the folks,” he said, clearly more interested in engaging the newly-introduced Steven Hardwick. “Enjoy yourselves.”

  Mary allowed Lucille to guide her toward a cluster of other women as the aroma from the grill made her stomach growl. She was getting hungry after all. They approached a group of five women in Sunday dresses, fanning themselves.

  “Ladies, this is Mary Malone,” Lucille said. “She just moved here from…” Lucille paused and turned to Mary. “Where is it that you’re from?”

  “Chicago,” Mary said to the group.

  The women nodded back with inviting smiles as Mary shook their hands. They were middle-aged, slightly older than she was, and distinctly reserved, like women out of the Victorian age. Their husbands, it seemed, were gathered around the grill behind them, in their own huddled conversations, full of cheer and laughter.

  The women introduced themselves as Trish, Ellen, Madison, Beatrice, and Allison. They each wore a fair amount of makeup, and all had sparkling, drop earrings that looked expensive. Two of the women looked nearly identical in both physical appearance and clothing. They both wore sun hats and large, designer sunglasses. Mary glanced at them, taking in their shoulder-length auburn hair, slender necks, and matching pearl necklaces. Ellen, the woman on the right, smiled

  “Yes, we’re twins,” she said. “But our matching wardrobes were not planned, I can assure you.”

  Her sister, Madison, tilted her head back, laughing and touching Mary’s hand. “Do you have any siblings?”

  “Yes,” Mary answered. “One brother and one sister.”

  Madison leaned in closer with a crooked smile. “So you can understand what it’s like. We’ve had this problem since we were children.” She paused, shrugging. “After a while, we just embraced it.”

  Mary was curious. “You mean to tell me that you dress alike without even realiz
ing it?”

  Ellen stepped in. “It’s like looking in a mirror sometimes, I tell you.”

  Madison waved her away as the other women laughed. “Of course, I’m the more attractive one.”

  Mary smiled as the group continued laughing. A pack of small children ran past them, with their good clothes already looking disheveled. They were the same bunch she saw running with streamers only minutes before. They were all boys, elementary school-age, and that was when it dawned on Mary that she hadn’t seen a single young girl anywhere in the crowd.

  “Tell me, Mary. How are you and your husband settling in?” the oldest of the women, Beatrice, asked. Her gray hair was permed, and she had pinned a rose brooch to the dark-blue blazer that she wore over her flowered dress. Her face was caked in bronze makeup, and dark mascara fringed her blue eyes. She had the brightest of bright-red lipsticks that Mary had ever seen any woman wear. Her eyes remained on Mary with intense, unblinking focus.

  “Just fine,” Mary replied. “It’s been a very busy week, and we’re just glad to get out and meet some of the townspeople.”

  “Tell me, my dear,” Beatrice said suddenly, “what are you and your husband going to do with all that space?”

  “It-It’s daunting, that’s for sure,” Mary said.

  “What made the two of you want to move into that old relic in the first place?” Beatrice asked, holding her hands out, chubby digits extended.

  “Beatrice, please,” Lucille said.

  The soft curls of Beatrice’s faux bob bounced as she waved Lucille off, leaning closer to Mary, as though she were addressing her in confidence. “You do know what happened there, don’t you?”

  “Beatrice! That’s enough,” Lucille warned.

  Beatrice paused and looked around at the disapproving faces surrounding her. “Sheesh. It was just a question.”

  “What do you know about the Bechdels?” Mary asked abruptly, addressing the group, then looking directly at each one. Nobody said anything, and an uncomfortable silence filled the air.