Rosecliff Manor Haunting (12 page)

Marjorie sat in the living room, a half empty glass of wine in hand, staring at the wall. When Addison and Luke came through the front door, she didn’t budge or even blink. She just kept staring.   

“Marjorie, are you okay?” Addison asked.

She leaned back, swallowed the remainder of the wine. “I will be. Eventually.”

“Did you see Milton?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“It’s over. He confessed. Like he said before, he couldn’t live knowing he’d lied about what happened.”

“I’m sorry,” Addison said.

“Don’t be. Yesterday I thought protecting him was the right thing to do—the best thing. I was wrong. Seeing him today, he’s in a better place. His conscience is clear.” 

“What happens now?”

“I’ve hired him an excellent lawyer. He’ll be tried for assisted suicide under the euthanasia law. He’ll likely face charges for second-degree manslaughter.”

“What kind of time will he get if he’s convicted?”

“Spoke to your friend while I was there. She went to see him too.”

“Lia?”

Marjorie nodded. “She said the maximum sentence is fourteen years.”

Fourteen years.

At Milton’s age, Addison doubted he’d last more than ten.

“Does Lia think he’ll receive such a long sentence?”

“She doesn’t know. She did say she’d do whatever she could to help him. Since he’s already talked to the police, she doesn’t know how helpful she’ll be, but she’s determined to try.” 

A loud, thunderous pounding sounded. Someone was beating on the front door.

Luke held out a hand, preventing Addison from passing. “You better let me get it.”

When the door was opened, a fired-up Derek stepped inside. He spotted Addison and pointed. “I knew there was something off about you. I
knew
it! I don’t know what kind of scam you’re running, or who the hell you
really
are, but you’d better stop filling my mother’s head with delusions about your fake ability to communicate with my sisters. They’re dead. End of story.”

Marjorie shot up.

Luke pressed a hand against Derek’s chest, pushing him backward. “If you want to have a civilized conversation, you can continue. If not, this is your warning to leave. Your
only
warning. You don’t get to walk into our home and speak to Addison the way you are right now.”  

Derek pushed back. “You kiddin’ me? I’ll talk to you
and
I’ll talk to her any way I like. You came into my home first, and now I’m dealing with my mother’s nutty theories about my sisters being pushed out the attic window.”

“What if they
were
pushed?” Addison asked. “Are you saying you’ve never once considered the possibility?”

Derek waved a finger around in the air. “Oh no, I’m not doing this. I see what’s happening here. You’re mad. You’re
all
mad.”

Marjorie approached, brandishing a finger of her own. “Are you really skeptical of Addison’s abilities, or are you here because you’re afraid?”

Derek pressed a hand to his gut and burst out laughing. “Afraid? Of what?”

“Of someone finding out what really happened the night the girls died,” Addison said. “The story you
didn’t
tell the cops.”

“What story? There is no story.”

“So you never got drunk with your friends? Never went into the attic and showed them your father’s naughty magazines? Never played hide-and-seek with Vivian and Grace?”

“How did you … who told you—”

“It doesn’t matter. What matters is you withheld information from the police the night your sisters died to save yourself.”

He shook his head. “I was downstairs when they died.”  

“In your room, right? What I’d like to know is, did anyone actually see you in your room, or did everyone just take your word for it?” 

“What, you think I killed my own sisters?”

“I don’t know. Did you?”

Expletives flew from Derek’s mouth.

Luke shoved Derek out the front door and followed behind him, closing the door as he did so. Marjorie and Addison stood at the living room window, watching as the back-and-forth banter between the two men continued. It ended with Derek brandishing not one, but two middle fingers and then peeling out of the driveway in his father’s antique car.   

“Well, what do you think?” Marjorie asked. “Did he do it?”

Addison frowned. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

Corey Finch planted a kiss on his wife’s cheek, grabbed the morning paper off the porch, and descended the entry steps leading to the driveway. His wife stood in her usual spot, the same spot she stood in every day when he left for work where she waited until he reversed out of the driveway before turning and going back into the house. Others may have viewed the daily ritual as mundane. To Corey it was endearing, a sign of their unwavering love for each other.

In another two months, he’d retire as manager of the local car dealership, and the life they knew would change forever. They’d sell the house, buy a Winnebago, and travel the world together. Nora had already been going through the houses, boxing things up they’d need and donating the rest to the thrift shop.

Halfway to his vehicle, he looked up, saw a man and a woman walking toward him.

“Can I help you folks?” he asked.

The woman and man introduced themselves. The woman, Addison, said some new information had come to light regarding the death of Vivian and Grace Clark—information she believed might lead to police reopening the investigation.  

“Why would you want to talk to me about it?” Corey asked.  

“Were you with someone at the party?”  

“What do you mean—
with
someone? My parents were there.”

Addison blushed. “You were seen with a woman the night of the party. An older woman. A married woman.”

“What about it?”

Nora walked up beside him, and said, “Corey, what’s going on?”

“This is Addison and Luke,” Corey explained. “They said the cops might be looking into the deaths of Vivian and Grace Clark again.”

Nora pressed a hand to her chest. “I still remember the look on her face when she found her girls the way she did.”

“Wait, you were there?” Addison asked.

“I was,” Nora said.  

“Who are you?” 

“Nora Finch.”

“She’s the, uhh, ‘older woman’ you mentioned a minute ago.”

“But weren’t you married to someone else?”

“I was,” Nora said.

Addison glanced at Corey. “And weren’t you a lot younger?”

“I was seventeen at the time. She was twenty-two. She’d just told her husband she wanted a divorce. By the time it was finalized and we married, I was nineteen. I’m sorry, what does any of this have to do with why you’re here?”

“The night of Rose’s dinner party, we were told the two of you were seen coming out of a bedroom together.”

“It’s possible.”

“Not in a friendly way. In a compromising way.”

“Meaning?” Corey asked.

“You were seen zipping up your pants.”

Nora cupped a hand over her mouth, giggled. “How funny. I remember how sneaky we thought we were. Who saw us?”

“One of the teenagers.”

“Yes, but who?” Nora pressed.

Corey clutched his wife’s hand. “Honey, I don’t think they want to name names.”

A look of confusion swept across Nora’s face. “Why not? Why does it matter now? We’re married.”

“You didn’t come all this way to tell us we’d been outed for something we did forty years ago,” Corey said. “What do you want, another statement? Do you realize how impossible it would be to recall any details now?”

Addison nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry for bothering you.”

Corey and Nora were married, an interesting detail Addison hadn’t foreseen. She wondered if she’d made the right decision by not pressing them, pushing harder for more details. Nothing about them, not in their demeanor or their body language, gave her any reason to believe they were hiding something. Of course, they could have been. Some of the most cunning killers were also the calmest, the most charming. Case in point: Jeffrey Dahmer.

The more Addison thought about it, the more she convinced herself Derek, Rick, and Dean were at the heart of it all. But which one, or two, or all of them? What if they were protecting each other? And even more sinister, what if they were
all
in on it together?

Thirty minutes before, she’d called Rose, asking if she could stop by, see her alone, without Derek. Rose confessed she hadn’t seen Derek since the previous morning. She didn’t know when he would stop by again, but he wasn’t there now. She didn’t say a word about her son dropping by Addison’s house the night before. Maybe she didn’t know. Or if she did, she didn’t mention it.

Before the call ended, Rose shifted the conversation to Rick and Dean, asking whether Addison had seen them. Addison filled her in on her conversations with both men, including her additional visit with Corey Finch. Although each conversation was productive in its own way, none provided what Rose really wanted, a definitive answer, the person responsible for the deaths of her daughters.

During her phone call with Rose, an idea occurred to Addison, something she wished she’d thought of all along. The more she thought about it, the more she convinced herself she’d found the perfect way to get the answers to everything.  

Rose ushered Addison and Luke inside the house and closed the door. “What do you want with the doll?”

“Do you still have it?” Addison asked.

“It’s here somewhere. Haven’t seen it in years.”

“I need to know how it got on the roof, who put it there, and why.”

“Seeing the doll won’t give you those answers.”

Addison raised a brow, smiled. “It might.”

“Wait a minute. You’re hoping you’ll touch it and see something, aren’t you?”

“It’s worth a try.”

Rose left the room, returning several minutes later, doll in hand. She held it out to Addison. Addison hesitated, her eyes fixed on the freakish-looking toy dangling from Rose’s hand. As dolls went, it wasn’t what she expected. Naked and minus an eyeball, its coarse red hair made it look like a prop from an old horror film.  

“Go on,” Rose said, shaking the doll at Addison. “Take it. What are you waiting for?”

What
was
she waiting for?

It was weird having an audience, standing there, staring at her, even if the audience included someone as familiar as Luke. She sat on the center of the sofa. “Will you place it in my lap? There’s no telling what will happen when I touch it. Most of the time when I touch something, I’m taken off guard. I’d like to be prepared.”  

Rose shrugged like she found the request trite, but did as Addison requested.

The old woman was hunched over like an exuberant teen with a front-row seat to the freak show, making Addison uncomfortable. Luke seemed to pick up on this and suggested they back off, give Addison her space.

Rose turned and moved next to Luke. “Right, right. Sorry. I don’t mean to brood.”

Addison closed her eyes and pressed her hands into the stomach of the doll. She waited several seconds then opened her eyes again.

“Well, what did you see?” Rose asked.

“Nothing.”

“What do you mean nothing? You couldn’t see who threw the doll onto the roof?”

“I mean, I didn’t have a vision. When I touched the doll, nothing happened.”

“It was your first try,” Rose said. “Maybe you need to let go and try again.”

Addison shook her head. “If something is supposed to happen, it always does.”

Rose breathed a disappointed sigh. “What now?”

A thought occurred to Addison. “When the police found the doll, did it look the same way it does now?”

“It had on the dress it came with when I bought it,” Rose said. “Blue with flowers.”

“Where’s the dress now?”

“Why does the dress matter?”

“If the person who threw the doll touched the dress, it’s the dress I need.”

Rose glanced to the side, thinking. “It wasn’t in the box with the doll. The only other place it could be is in a box in the storage shed. I don’t like going into the shed. Too many insects and spiders crawling around.”

“Why don’t I come with you?” Luke suggested. “You tell me where the boxes are, and I’ll go in and get them.” 

“Fair enough,” Rose replied.

“If you do find it, I don’t want to try this again out here,” Addison said. “I think I’ll have better luck in the attic where it all happened.”

“You can go on up if you like.” Rose winked. “It’s been unlocked since the night you broke in.”

Addison pushed the attic door open and stepped inside the room, the slats of old wood creaking beneath her feet as she crossed to the window and glanced outside. In the daylight, the view was much different. Looking down, it was easy to see just how far of a fall it was. How terrified the girls must have been.

Not wanting to catch her finger on another fragment of frayed wood, she kept her arms folded in front of her. Looking at the window frame, she noticed something. The wood slat lining the window was only splintered in one place, the area around the rusty nail. She bent down. Not only was the wood splintered, a chunk the size of a nickel was missing, and what she’d previously assumed was rust on the head of the nail now didn’t look like rust at all. It was brown and dark, almost like a stain. The nail’s head was sharp and gnarly, the metal looking like it would leave a lasting impression upon contact. A lasting impression. Possibly even a scar.

Addison took out her cell phone and dialed.

“I’ve been meaning to call you all day,” Lia said. “About Milton, I’m sorry. I tried. I really did.”

“I know, and it’s okay. Listen, I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“If a person cut themselves forty years ago on a nail, what would the blood on that nail look like today?”

“I’d have to see it to be sure, but it would be brown in color and have the appearance of dirt or rust.”

“Could it be tested for DNA?”

“If the blood has decayed, then no, it can’t. To test blood from the seventies, it would depend on how well it was preserved, protected from the elements. Addison, what have you found?”

“Possible blood on a nail in the Clarks’ attic—a nail on the window the girls fell from.”

“Then it’s probably their blood. I can come over, see if I’m able to extract any usable DNA. I’ve always hoped one day I could reprocess the attic.”

“I think I know who did it. I think I know who’s responsible for killing Vivian and Grace.”

The attic door creaked open. Addison turned around. A man walked in. A man she hadn’t seen before. He was bald and muscular, like a heavyweight boxer. In his right hand, he held a pistol.

“Put the phone down.”

Addison lowered her arm, but kept the phone in her hand.

“Don’t be stupid,” he said. “End the call.”

She didn’t move. 

For the second time in this room, a gun was pointed her direction. Through clenched teeth, the man said, “End. The. Call.”

Voice trembling, Addison replied, “Why? You’re going to kill me anyway, aren’t you? Isn’t that why you’re here?”

The sound of his thick, black boots boomed across the room. He snatched her phone and dropped it on the floor, smashing it beneath his foot.   

“You Addison?”

“Yes,” she squeaked. “Where’s Rose? Where’s Luke?”

“Don’t worry about them.”

“How did you know where to find me?”

“Been tailing you all day.”

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Don’t matter.”

“Why are you here?”

“Why you think?” 

“To clean up.”

“Clean up. Yeah, somethin’ like that.”

“Why send you? Why not do it himself?”

He roared with laughter. “Squeamish, I guess. Don’t wanna get his hands dirty.” 

“People hire you to kill other people?”

“I’m hired for a lot of things. Like you said, when there’s a mess, I clean it up.”

“And how many messes have you cleaned up for
him
?”

“A few. This is the first time he’s asked me to kill for him, though. I usually just intimidate, break a few bones.”

“Do you even know why he hired you? Do you care?”

“Look, lady. What’s done is done. Turn around.”

“What?”

“Turn your freakin’ head around and face the wall, or I’ll shoot you in the face.”

Vivian and Grace appeared, one on each side of Addison. Their mouths opened, and in unison, a chilling scream was emitted into the air. The windowpane shattered, then burst shooting fragments of glass throughout the room. Addison dropped to her knees. The floorboards beneath the man’s feet came unhinged, and he lost his footing. The pistol slipped from his hands, skidding across the floor. They both scrambled for it, Addison almost grabbing hold before the man snatched it up again. He whirled the pistol toward her and fired.