The Family Plot (31 page)

Bobby snorted. “Son, you ever see
The Blair Witch Project
?”

“Don't call me ‘son.' And that was
fiction,
you idiot. In real life, real people—real cameras … they don't catch
shit.
It's like … it's like the cameras are some kind of talisman, keeping the supernatural at bay. If we all keep our cameras, or our camera phones running—”

Dahlia cut him off: “—then we'll all be out of battery life in a couple of hours.”

He gave her a look like he wanted to kill her. “I have a regular camera.”

“Fine, then use that. If there's any chance that a camera will scare her off, it's worth trying. We have regular old digital cameras in the equipment stash. All right, everybody: Use your phones, use the cameras in the stash, and keep your things charged up if you can. If I'm going to get chased away by a ghost, I want some proof that I'm not a goddamn crybaby. So either we stay ghost-free, or we walk away with proof of the afterlife. It's not exactly a win-win, but I'll take it.”

“We can put them around the house, swap them out, change the batteries,” Brad pressed. “One on the mantel, one looking at the stairs, one in the bathrooms…”

“I think we only have two. But between those and the phones, we can get the place covered. Either Abigail will show herself, or we'll have a nice, peaceful day of hard-ass manual labor,” she declared. She opened the bedroom door without any resistance from Aunt Hazel, stepped into the hall, pulled out her phone, and took a deep breath.

 

13

D
AHLIA STOOD ON
the front porch surveying the rain, the carriage house, the disassembled barn, the blue tarp with rocks on top and a corpse underneath. “Open up the trucks, and let's start tearing this place down.”

Gabe was usually the first to get moving, but this time, he hesitated. “I don't know, Dahl. The trucks are heavy, and it was hell to pay bringing them up so far into the yard. Me and Dad were talking, and maybe we should suck it up and drive them back to solid ground. We ain't made of sugar. We won't melt in the rain.”

“Both of those things are true, baby … but not everything we want to save can stand getting wet. And what solid ground would you recommend? The mountain is turning to swamp, right in front of us.”

“We could go out to the asphalt road and leave the trucks there,” Bobby proposed. “Pull 'em off to the side, so they won't block traffic.”

Brad leaned on the railing and gestured out at the vast expanse of lawn. “That's half a mile away! How are we supposed to load them with the real heavy items? The furniture, the flooring, the windows? The dollies won't be any use to us, not across all that mud and monkey grass.”

“Then we don't load them at all, not yet,” Dahlia declared. She was back on firmer footing, and it felt good—even as the memory of a black smoke thing with knife-sharp nails lingered behind her eyes. “We take the heavy stuff down to the sitting room and stack it up there. If we fill that up, we'll start cramming it into the parlor across the foyer. We'll leave it that way for now, and load the trucks when the weather permits. Boys, I know you just went to a lot of trouble to bring them up close, but you're probably right. Take them back out to the road so they don't get stuck in the Withrow swamp, and we don't wind up stranded here. Come sundown, we'll lock up the house, grab some umbrellas, and make for the trucks. Tomorrow's gonna suck, but it won't suck as bad as another overnight in this hellhole.”

She half expected Bobby to make some obnoxious joke about how she'd seen too many of Brad's ghost-hunting shows, but he didn't say a word. All he did was nod, pull his keys out of his damp hoodie pocket, and tell his son, “Dahl left that big blue and white umbrella down in the foyer to dry. Why don't you grab it?”

Brad took his phone out and fiddled with the camera's settings. “I'll get my charging cord, and I'll prop this thing up wherever I'm working. I'm just going to let it record, and record, and record.”

“You do that, sweetheart. I'll get mine ready, too. In case you're right.” Any port in a storm—that's what Daddy would say if he were here, and if he believed her.

“Oh, I'm right. You'll see. Cameras are practically magic. They'll keep this polterbitch away.”

She ratcheted a smile into place, and held it there. “If you catch her on camera, you can sell the footage and pay off your student loans ahead of schedule.”

When he was gone, Dahlia lingered. But Hazel didn't reappear, so she went back to the master bedroom. This time, she didn't brace the door behind her. Hazel was helpful. Hazel would open her room, if it needed opening. She relied on this thought, and propped herself up on it.

The little crew wasn't alone in this, strangers in a house full of teeth, and not everything that lurked was murderous.

Blessings: counted.

In the bedroom where Dahlia had spent the first two nights on the job, the bay window seat was ruined. Rain had come in through the busted pane, and water had soaked it down to the supports. It wasn't a shame, she didn't think. They would've never gotten that whole thing out in one piece. Even if her dad were bringing the big lift, and the big trailer, it was too high up to cut it down safely. One way or another, it was doomed to ruin.

In the end, water was just as dignified as a wrecking ball.

For some reason, that thought prompted her to try her dad again. He might answer, and she wanted to hear his voice.

He did answer. On the second ring.

“Dolly? Everything all right?”

“Yes and no,” she answered, almost unreasonably relieved to hear him. “The job is going all right, and we're on track to have … well, almost everything wrapped up by the time you get here in the morning, but we can't stay here anymore. We have to get a couple of hotel rooms tonight. Bobby and Gabe can bunk together, and I'll get something with a pair of beds for me and Brad. I'll find someplace cheap.”

She might have rambled further, but he asked, “Did something happen?”

“Lots of somethings have happened. I told you, it's not safe here.”

He was quiet for a few seconds. “I don't understand … it's not safe
how
? Is it the electrics, or mold, or…?”

“If it was that easy, I would've said so. Daddy, I told you already: We're not alone.”

“You want me to spend a few hundred bucks on hotels because you're afraid of ghosts?”

“This is more than a ghost; it's something else. And between you and me…” She checked over each shoulder, but the guys were off working their respective jobs. “I'm afraid it's going to hurt somebody.”

“Why?”

“It's been messing with us. I don't know how strong it is, and I don't want to find out. If it's just the money you're worried about, then fuck it—I've got a credit card, and I'll pay for it myself.”

His silence suggested she'd hit a nerve.

“Daddy? It's only a couple hundred bucks—if that much. This ain't Manhattan. I can take care of it.”

“You shouldn't have to. And one way or another, if you pay for it—I'm paying for it. Now, tell me the truth, Dahl. Is the house a score or a bust?”

“From a money standpoint? It's golden. We already have enough in the trucks to break you even, I bet. And we haven't done hardly anything on the house itself. That's just the chestnut and the goodies from the carriage house.”

“Jesus, I hope you're right. This place has to keep us afloat. We need to bleed it dry, and take home every scrap, you understand?”

All too well. “When you get here, we'll scrape this baby clean. It'll probably take us from dawn to dusk, but we'll get every last thing, dump it all at the shop, and sleep in our own beds. Once we get it all parted out and cataloged … we might not get a nickel for every penny, but we ought to double our money, easy.”

“I love the sound of it. And I appreciate all the hard work you've done on this one. It sounds like … I guess it hasn't been easy.”

“Worst … job …
ever.
”

“Yeah, and it sounds like you're saving some for me. How far behind schedule are you, really?”

She sighed, and thought about it. “Honestly, we could use another two days besides this one. We haven't been able to yank all the boards off the barn, and we can't pull the floors yet, because we're moving the trucks out to the main road.”

“Why the hell would you do that?”

“It's been raining for days. The Withrow property is a swamp. If we don't move the trucks now, we'll never get them out of here without a tow. If it dries out tomorrow, we'll bring them back. If it doesn't, you can use the forklift to tote stuff between the house and the road.”

“So it's not the ghosts what slowed you down?”

“The ghosts are only a problem at night. Um … mostly. During the day, we've kept busy as planned. We've been working around the weather, trying to prioritize, but there's only so much we can do while the bottom's falling out. I'm sorry, but the worst of it will be waiting for you.”

“When I get there, you really think we can catch up?”

She hesitated. “Probably? I think, in a perfect world, yes. If not, we'll return on Friday to bat cleanup on the details. It all depends on the weather, and whether or not you want to drive back down, or help me pay for another night in the hotel.”

“Rock and a hard place.”

“Maybe we'll get lucky, and from here on out, everything will go smoother than whale shit through an ice floe.”

“Here's hoping.”

The line went quiet. It was time to wrap up, and they both knew it.

Dahlia took the lead. “Anyway, Daddy … we're getting a hotel tonight, but don't worry about the money. The house is a treasure chest, and we're going to raid the shit out of it. Even if we don't grab every board and tile on the way out the door, Barry won't have to kill you or anything.”

“He'll think about it.”

“I'll protect you,” she promised. “Just get here good and early, and we'll do our best. You're going to love this place. Except for the poltergeists.”

“I liked it better when you called them ghosts.”

“To be fair, I think it's just the one poltergeist. But one is too many, so…”

“So … I'll be there in the morning.”

They hung up. Dahlia felt both better—because there was an end in sight, and worse—because the stakes were so very high, and there was still so much to be done.

Forty thousand dollars, that's what Chuck had paid for the rights—almost twice what she made in a year. She could've laughed. Well, if it all went tits up, she could always ditch her new apartment and move back home. Wouldn't that be grand? Divorced, pushing forty, and living at home with her Daddy. Form an orderly queue to the left, gents.

Downstairs, Brad had returned to banging around in the kitchen. It sounded like he was packing up the nonessentials. In another fifteen minutes, Bobby and Gabe returned—soaked but successful. “The trucks are out past the gateposts,” Gabe announced. “There's lots of space for cars to pass around them, but we didn't see a single one the whole time we parked and locked them.”

Dahlia came downstairs to join them. “Way to go, guys. Now will y'all two
please
get started on the fireplaces? If we get them both out easy, that's half of dad's investment back right there. I'll drag down what's savable from upstairs in the bedrooms, and Hazel's room. Everything I can carry.”

“Is any of that furniture worth taking?” Bobby asked.

“Most of it's late Deco or early Nouveau—and it's all in good shape.”

“Is that a yes?”

“It's a probably. It's a definitely on Hazel's vanity, though. I think I recognized the manufacturer; or there might be a label inside, we'll see.”

“What's Brad doing?” Gabe wanted to know.

“He's breaking down the kitchen. When he's finished packing our stuff and checking for hidden treasure, he can help me carry the big things down.” It was momentum, the way she rolled downhill into business mode. The work was something solid and predictable. It was manageable. All she had to do was manage it. “Okay. Fireplaces. This one is a lot smaller than the one in the living area, so take it out first—and do it as fast as you safely can. I'll start piling furniture into the sitting room, and then I'll fill up the space behind you.”

“Then what?” asked Gabe, who was already rifling through a tool bag.

“Then … lunch—at least, I hope you'll be finished with this one by then. The stone is going to take you longer than you think, trust me on that. But once you've got both surrounds free and taped up in the padding, move on to the other fireplaces. Their mantels are rosewood, and some of those tiles are in real good shape. People will eat them up.”

“After that?” It was Bobby's turn to ask for direction.

“After that, the stained glass, and the gothic windows—except for the rooms where we've stacked tomorrow's load—and the doors and the hardware and the built-ins, and the stair rails, and … Jesus H. Christ, we have a lot of work to do.”

But it was doable. When in doubt, concentrate on the job.

Abigail couldn't chase them all at once, not while they were working in different rooms and hustling in different directions. Hazel had said she wasn't so strong during the day, so maybe the worst of it was over for now.

Even if it wasn't, there was nothing else to be done about it.

All Dahlia could do was forget the ghosts, or ignore the hell out of them. Remember the payday. Remember Daddy up in Nashville, and the store, and the stock that was getting stale. Forget the eyeless thing in the attic. Forget the woman-shaped shadow in the bathrooms. Remember to be careful with the corner blocks, because those nice ones with the carved patterns are worth more than the simple bull's-eye models.