Adelaide Confused (16 page)

They stared at the bottom
of my purse, waiting for a hole to pop open and a bullet to come
out. They were hoping it was a joke, which was an embarrassment to
their pride.

I waved my hairbrush more
aggressively, the purse wagging under the closest one’s nose.
“What’s across the street?” I pressed. “Is it a business, a home,
what?” I could see lights, but they were somewhat covered by a
barrage of shadows I took to be trees. Sleuth be damned, I wasn’t
about to go ghost hunting in the dark to find out.

The talkative skinny kid
began to mumble, nervous excitement making his voice rise two
octaves. “It’s an apartment complex. They have a sign, but it
doesn’t light up at night. The place is cheap and
run-down.”

“The name?”

“Wildwood Apartments.”

Since I knew it was
illogical for me to be nervous, I was assured of their feelings,
and they were pretty sure that I had a gun. I lowered my pretend
weapon, the purse sliding down my arm. They never saw the brush
handle that was poking out, too busy running away. I pressed my
lips together, trying not to laugh. I shouldn’t enjoy fucking with
people so much.

My sleuthing detour brought
me home a bit later than usual. Divot Drive was pitch black, hardly
any neighbors to blink out the stars with ambient light. Frogs
croaked, competing with the hum of numerous bugs. The temperature
had cooled, taking the edge off the warming climate. It was
perfect.

I walked slowly to my door,
trying to erase the tension left by the buildup of emotions. Some
days were worse than others. Today had been terrible, but not just
because of the empathy, but because of Lucas. I’d really ruined
things. Maybe if I hadn’t pushed, if I’d just let things happen
naturally...

I continued to doubt myself
right up to the front door, right up to the door and my present.
The rectangular cardboard box was left leaning on the stoop. The
cover was a picture, bright and colorful even in the dim porch
light. It was a puzzle, and when it was finished it would be a
flower garden.

Lucas had left me a
puzzle.

Lucas had given me
flowers.

I stared at the words on
the page. I must have read them three times already, but they still
didn’t make any sense. I couldn’t focus. I was distracted,
distracted in a good way.

Giving up, I tossed my
dog-eared novel onto the picnic table. Ben had long since gone,
probably off playing bridge somewhere. I was soaking in the mild
and pleasant weather while it lasted.

My mind drifted to thoughts
of Lucas like a moth to the flame. I’d wanted to see him after
finding the puzzle, and almost walked over. But something had
stopped me... probably the memory of my previous humiliation. So
I’d stayed away, though I wasn’t playing it cool or anything. I
didn’t even know how to do that.

But the puzzle had left me
feeling hopeful. That morning I woke up with a smile. Of course
that may have had something to do with the little ghost waiting at
the end of my bed, wiggling its wispy butt back and forth. I hadn’t
seen it since Lucas pulled up the bone. I’d made the assumption
that I’d finished its unfinished business and Fido was halfway back
through the veil or whatever. Obviously I was wrong.

Surprisingly I didn’t mind
the dog being around. It was kind of the perfect pet. I didn’t have
to worry about feeding it, or taking it out. It never got under
foot to trip me. And it was always happy, but subtly, so as not to
get annoying. I swear the thing worked better than
Prozac.

Earlier, before work, I had
gone shopping in Brunswick for groceries and such. I’d passed the
pet aisle and backtracked. I honestly don’t know what possessed me
to buy the dog bed... or the chew toy. I was in danger of becoming
one of those obsessed pet owners, but for a dead dog that had
belonged to someone else.

I also went searching for a
Ouija board while shopping, which was why I’d made the trip to
Brunswick. I didn’t think they’d sell spirit boards at the local
supermarket.

After I had unloaded my
groceries I’d gone back out. An errand left unfinished, I drove to
Wildwood Apartments intending to speak with a super. That had been
the extent of my plan.

The place was old, as old
as Sterling’s but not nearly as maintained. The ramshackle hunk sat
off the street, a dirt path the illustrious entrance.

The apartment’s façade had
the misfortune of resembling a butt. An indentation in the grimy
flesh-toned siding split the building in half, with the door
nestled between. I grimaced and went in.

I ignored the stairwell
that dominated the front entrance, skirting around to walk the dim
hallway behind it. I looked for any indication of management, some
marked mailboxes, something, anything? Nothing.

Two doors faced off at the
end of the hallway. I glanced between them before choosing the one
on the left. My knocking roused a tousled looking twenty-something,
and from the laughter and joking I heard through the paper-thin
walls, he had roommates. “Yeah,” he asked expectantly.

“Does a superintendent live in the
building?”

“
Superintendent? Like
someone that fixes things?” He shook his head. “No, we don’t have
one of those. But Heather manages things. She takes our rent and
stuff.”

“Which apartment does Heather live in?”

He gestured to the door
behind me.

“
Thanks,” I said, turning
to knock. I glanced back. “You can shut your door now, we’re
finished talking.”

He did, though I was sure
he could hear the entire conversation that ensued.

Heather answered. A
tear-stained toddler waddled up before I got a word out and started
bawling. Heather hauled the little girl up, propping her on a
cocked hip. “Can I help you?”

I was in the middle of an
anxiety attack, and so was the emotional grenade staring at me with
watery eyes. I tried to be normal. “You’re the manager,” I stated
like a moron. Shaking off the distress, I tried again. ”Have you
lived here long?”

She began to shift from
foot to foot, trying to jiggle the squalling child into silence. “A
couple years, why? You lookin’ for an apartment?”

“
No...” I couldn’t think of
a polished way to say it, so I didn’t try. “Did someone ever die
here? A man, thirtyish and alright looking... that ring any
bells?”

“
No,” she said with
certainty. “No tenant ever passed on while I was living here.” The
child was calming, not calm, but calming.

Able to think more clearly,
I asked, “Are there any tenants who’ve lived here for a
while?”

“
No, it’s a high turnover
kind of place. Most of the tenants stay here temporarily just
before moving to a new house or during a divorce,” she explained.
“I’ve been around longest.”

I thanked Heather and left.
The trip had been useless, a dead end. What had I expected? Just
because the ghost had floated off in the apartment’s general
direction didn’t mean anything. He’d been excited about Singh’s
too, and that hadn’t panned out either.

I knew for certain he was trying to tell me
something, but that something remained unclear. Not for long, we
had a date with the Ouija board. I’d tell him as soon as he wafted
out of hiding. He was just like Ben, or like Ben used to be a week
ago, wandering around feeling sorry for himself.

Stephen broke my reverie.
“Hey, Adelaide,” he said, dropping his backpack next to the table
before folding his lanky frame onto the picnic bench.

“How was school?”

He pushed the mousy colored
curls away from his eyes. “End of the year, teachers are wrapping
up with a lot of tests.”

“That blows.”

He shrugged. “Only if you
didn’t study.”

I made a noise of agreement
and took the opportunity to ask, “Do you know three guys about your
age that hang out at the dry cleaners?” I gave him their
descriptions the best I could remember.

Stephen didn’t have to
think about it. “Yeah, Tony, Ted, and Greg, they’re in my
grade.”

“
They’re not friends of
yours, are they?”

“
No, more like... passing
acquaintances.” His eyes narrowed as he grew suspicious. “Why,
what’d you do?”

“
It was nothing,” I said,
waving away the topic. He didn’t believe me. “Really,” I repeated,
“it was nothing.” I told him the entire story, but left the ghost
part out.

“
So you led them to believe
you were friends with a murderer and had a gun pointed at their
heads?”

“
Stephen, don’t be
ridiculous. You can’t point a gun at more than one target. And who
mentioned heads? Now you’re just exaggerating.”

“
Honestly, Adelaide, I
don’t know why you do the things you do.”

I didn’t enjoy being
lectured by an overly mature teenager. I retorted in my usual
fashion. Ordering, “Go clean something.”

Missy swished in a few
minutes before nine. She wore a wispy black dress that sat stark
against her skin. We were both pale, but pale wasn’t her natural
skin tone. I imagined her at the beach, slathering on sunscreen to
maintain her image.

“
Hello, Adelaide.” She said
it nice enough, but I knew better. Feeling sour inside, I opened
the bottom desk drawer, removing my bag and stuffing my paperback
inside. I stayed only long enough to pass along the daily updates.
We both managed our pretended civility.

Stepping outside the office
I took a deep breath, waiting for the negativity to dissipate. I
hated being an empath. Every task became exhausting. The resentment
sat like a lump; it didn’t fit. I stepped off the curb, walking
across the lot toward my car. The distance ate away my bitterness,
leaving me feeling like an empty cup.

Raindrop Road was where all
the rich people lived. Their mansions lined the beach, a would-be
perfect location if not for the tip of Sea Island which obscured
the view. It was only a stretch of sand that far south, so they
probably didn’t mind.

I headed northeast,
wondering if maybe I should have printed directions off at work. I
had very little experience with the fancier side of the island. I
coasted along in the dark, squinting for house numbers. Of course
rich people were too classy for clearly marked
mailboxes.

Reed lived at fifty-five
Raindrop Road. I found not only the gate but the gatehouse,
equipped with a security guard and all. He wore a uniform, white
short-sleeve dress shirt and black slacks. I told him my name and
he didn’t seem surprised. Reed had invited me; I was expected. But
the prick still made me fish out my license, not an ID, but my
license, as if he was a cop. And after a ridiculously thorough
inspection he handed it back, giving me directions (like I’d never
traveled up a driveway) and telling me where to park.

It was dark, so I didn’t
get the best look at Reed’s house, but I still got an eyeful. It
was a three story massive rectangle of gray stone lit from the
outside and yet shadowed by the age old oaks that hugged each
corner. It was... monumental.

Disregarding the
instruction to drive around the side, I parked out front instead,
wanting to use the main entrance. The door was imposing, standing a
few feet taller than most. I searched for a doorbell, or even a
knocker, finding only an old-fashioned hand pull.

A tall, solid woman
answered the door, face flowing with little definition into the
sturdy column of her neck. Her hair was thinning, a situation made
more obvious by the extremely bright, and completely unnatural, red
hair she sported. She wore a maid’s outfit—not the kind Francesca
had—a real maid’s outfit.

“
I’m here to see Mr.
Wallace.”

She looked me up and down
with a dour expression and no nonsense attitude. “Yes, he’s
expecting you. Come in.”

It was a seasonal vacation
home, but it lacked all things cozy. Reed had spared no expense
outfitting the place. With dark polished wood and glossy marble
floors, it had an old English Regency feel. For example, there was
even a library.

Reed was waiting for me
there, behind an impressive desk made of ebony with a light burl
inlay. His house dripped money, and yet it lacked in style, no, not
style, but personality. It was as devoid of character as Lucas’
kitchen had been, maybe more so.

He hadn’t noted my
entrance, and was absently swirling his crystal glass, amber liquid
swirling inside. My disapproving guide cleared her throat. “Ms.
Graves to see you.” With that, she whisked herself away.

As he stood, he pushed the
strewn papers together into a rough pile. “Hello, Adelaide,” he
smiled.

I glanced at the towering
shelves, each row carrying an arrangement of books. I couldn’t tell
where the room ended. “So you live in a castle,” I said casually.
He gestured for me to sit across from him, which would put me in
the hot seat just like an interviewee. I ignored the chair,
choosing to wander around the room instead. “And you keep
servants.”