The Lost: Book Two, The Eddie McCloskey Series (The Unearthed 2) (18 page)

“Lieutenan
t
Whitmore doesn’t have any missed calls, Eddie. So start talking.”

Toll had forced them up against the far wall of the kitchen. One flick of the wrist would bring the gun to bear on Eddie.

“I wasn’t talking to anybody,” Eddie said.

Ana looked over at him.

“Why’d you lie?” Toll asked.

“It’s part of my investigation.”

“Don’t fuck around with me. I’ll put one in your knee and make up a story about how you lunged when I confronted you about lying to a police officer.”

Eddie held out a palm. “I just needed to know if Bernard could remotely activate his thermostat.”

“What?”

“All phones nowadays have apps. I needed to see if he had one that would enable him to use his phone to change the temperature in his house. It’s why I asked him about the computer too.”

Toll relaxed a little bit but still kept the gun out. He raised his voice. “Bernard, you okay?”

“Yeah. What’s going on in there?”

“Just hang there for a few minutes.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t go anywhere. Don’t open the door if somebody knocks, either.”

“Okay.”

To Eddie, “You lying to me?”

“Not when you’ve got a gun pointed at Ana.”

Toll safetied and holstered his weapon. But he stayed in the doorway, blocking their way back to the living room. “Don’t move. Just stand there.”

They stood in uncomfortable silence as the minutes ticked by. Toll never once took his eyes off them. Ana sat down at the kitchen table, and Toll was about to tell her to stand up but there was a knock at the back door of the kitchen.

Toll raised his voice. “That you?”

“It’s me.”

Toll pointed at Eddie. “Open the door.”

Eddie did and came face-to-face with Lieutenant Whitmore.

* * * *

Whitmore’s eyes bounced from Eddie to Toll. “This stays between us. Much as I don’t want to, I believe him.”

“Thanks,” Eddie said. “Now we’ll get back to business.”

Eddie and Ana went back into the living room to find a very confused-looking Bernard. “Everything alright?”

“We’re good. Just a misunderstanding.”

Ana sat on the couch and grabbed her pen and notebook.

Eddie said, “Let’s get to the phenomena. What happens?”

Bernard rubbed his palms on his jeans. “It gets cold in here. Happens fast, like somebody’s opened all the windows.”

“How often does this happen?”

“Not often at first, but happening more and more. The last two weeks, maybe seven or eight times.”

“What are you doing when it happens?”

“Anything. Nothing. It’s random.”

“When was the last time—”

The thermostat beeped.

Ana dropped her notebook. Eddie froze in place.

The vents immediately stopped pumping air. The heating sputtered to a stop.

Whitmore and Toll both turned to look at the thermostat as they were closest to it.

Bernard stood up. “This could be it.”

Eddie was wondering what the chances were that he’d see activity in two different houses on consecutive nights, but he didn’t have time to do the math because he was hurrying to the thermostat. The pre-set temperature had changed to 65.

They all crowded in front of the tiny box on the wall.

“It’s gone down. Everybody see that?” Bernard said.

Eddie was starting to believe it could be Tessa. That he’d stumbled across one of the most peculiar paranormal events ever recorded. Multiple hauntings in one town, all of them connected. And now one man was dead …

The thermostat beeped again. The temperature changed to 62.

“This is how it happens!”

60.

58.

Eddie felt Ana next to him. Her eyes were wide-open. He moved out of her way so she could get in front of him.

56.

54.

“How low does this thing go?” Eddie said.

“Down to 50.”

The vents whirred. This time they blew cold air.

52.

50.

Ana held her hand out in front of the thermostat and traced a haphazard line through the air. Like she was trying to touch an invisible person.

Eddie ran to the coffee table and fished the tape recorder out of the backpack. He hit RECORD.

“Is there anyone here?” he asked. “Are you changing the temperature?”

Ove
r
the next hour, the temperature in the house dropped like it was trying to match the weather outside. The snowflakes got fatter and fell relentlessly. The wind kicked up and buffeted the rancher.

But nothing else happened. Eddie continued to ask the empty air questions. Nobody said much, except for Bernard who couldn’t go five minutes without asking to help or apologizing for something.

Eddie wrapped at ten o’clock. “Thanks, Bernard, for your time and for your honesty.”

“I hope I was helpful.”

“You were.”

“McCloskey.” Whitmore gestured toward the kitchen.

Eddie followed the Lieutenant into the kitchen. Toll stayed with Bernard in the living room while Ana packed their gear.

“Keep your voice down,” Whitmore said. “I have to ask you something.”

Eddie said nothing.

“I’m not ready to accept that a ghost killed Colin. But for the sake of argument, let’s say it happened.”

“Okay.”

“And let’s say that same ghost, or a different one, wanted to do the same to Bernard.”

“Okay.”

“What could we do to stop it?”

“One thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Get Bernard away from this house. Get him into a motel somewhere. Wait to see if this blows over.”

“I already wanted to do that, but Bernard’s refused. Says he feels safer here than somewhere else.”

“Then there’s nothing you can do.”

“You can’t offer any practical advice? I thought you were an expert.”

“Whitmore, nobody’s an expert. The people who know a little are still in the Dark Ages. I don’t know of a ghost killing anybody but there are no rules. We’re still learning.”

“Lot of help you are.”

“I told you what to do. Get him out of this house. Ghosts tend to loiter. I’ve never heard of one following anybody around.”

Whitmore rolled his eyes. “I’ll take it under advisement.”

The cop was about to brush past him, but Eddie grabbed his arm. “Did you talk to Mitchell Hollis?”

Whitmore looked at Eddie’s hand as if Eddie were a leper. “Take your hand off me.”

Eddie let go.

“Hollis wasn’t there.” Whitmore narrowed his eyes. “Now let’s get a move on to Kindler’s.”

A
thin sheet of snow covered the driveway. It was twice as thick on the lawn. Ana was behind the wheel, Eddie in the passenger seat. They were waiting for Whitmore to come out of Bernard’s.

Ana had her hands on top of the wheel and her eyes down.

“You okay?” Eddie asked.

She nodded.

“I doubt it’s Tessa.” But he was starting to wonder.

“Why didn’t you let me in on the phone thing?”

“Huh?”

“With Bernard. It’s like you didn’t trust me.”

As she said it, he realized it was the truth. He didn’t trust her. But why?

Despite what he’d seen on the videotape and at the two houses, he wasn’t ready to verify the claims. This much, happening to this many people, happening whenever he showed up to investigate—the odds were long.

He couldn’t rule this out as a carefully-orchestrated hoax yet, despite what his gut was telling him. If Kindler, Colin, and Bernard were in on something together, then it was a safe bet they’d co-opted others too. Maybe Ana? She seemed like a decent person but he’d been burned before.

Kindler knew about his past. Knew he was a womanizer. Ana was the classic honey trap. Pretty, soft around the edges, younger. And he already had a friendship with her from work.

It was all very cynical, and Eddie didn’t think Ana capable of such behavior. She was too sweet, too genuine.

But still …

Eddie said, “It’s not that. I trust you.”

She didn’t seem convinced.

He squeezed her tiny gloved hand. “I wanted you to look surprised.”

“It’s Tessa. You know it is. I’ve been saying it all along.”

“We don’t know what we have yet.”

Whitmore K-turned his cruiser and started up the snowy driveway. Ana did the same.

“Eddie, they tried to whitewash what happened because she died, but the truth is, she was a bitch. And she’s still a bitch even now in death. You heard Bernard. They didn’t try to save her. She’s getting them back for it now.”

Made sense up to a point. “But why now? Why these three guys? Why not Mike Hollis too?”

“Maybe looking back, she feels bad about how she treated Mike.”

“You can’t have it both ways. Either she’s a mean bitch or she’s not.”

“People are more complex than that, Eddie.”

“In my experience, they’re not.”

“Plus, how do you know Tessa hasn’t been to see Mike?”

“We would have heard about it,” Eddie said, though that wasn’t necessarily true. People were normally loath to report paranormal activity out of fear of the social repercussions.

“This is all over the internet,” Ana said. “If it was happening to Mike too, he would have called somebody.”

Ana followed Whitmore out of the driveway. The snow made the road treacherous. The speed limit was forty but Whitmore and Ana kept it to twenty-five.

Eddie’s mind drifted. His eyes were tired. He was slipping into sleep.

He cracked the window and sat up. The freezing gush of air and snow woke him right up. He rolled the window up.                

Ana took her eyes off the road and looked at him. “You didn’t get enough sleep because I came over. Was that because you didn’t trust yourself?”

“Pretty much.”

“I knew it.”

“I was having this dream about Tim … he was trying to tell me something.”

“The one with your hot art teacher?”

Eddie laughed. “She had this thing she always said.”

“Let me guess:
ars gratia artis
, right?”

“That’s a good one, but no. About how all art is a lie, that the good artist only lets you see what he wants you to see, but at the same time makes you think you’re seeing everything.”

“You know you broke one of your rules in Bernard’s house.”

“I break many rules. You’re going to have to be more specific.”

Ana grinned ear-to-ear, eager to point out her mentor’s mistake. “You didn’t control the environment.”

“Yeah, we left the power on. That’s not SOP, but we had to.”

“At least you got it right at Colin’s.”

Something bothered him about what she just said but she interrupted his train of thought.

“The Kindler compound is over yonder.”

Eddie saw a rare flat Pennsylvania plain stretch away from the road. About a third of a mile away, Kindler’s mansion rose above the security wall circling it.

“Looks like the Magic Kingdom,” Eddie said.

Ahead, Whitmore turned into the long drive and Ana followed.

“Couldn’t he have found a bigger place?” Eddie asked.

Ana smiled. “This is the biggest place. He built it himself.”

Th
e
nor’easter drove the snow hard.

Kindler’s driveway peeled left of the mansion toward a two-story garage whose second floor probably served as guest quarters. The garage itself could accommodate four cars. A small roadway led from the garage to the main house where it circled an icy-dry fountain that fronted the estate.

Whitmore pulled three-quarters of the way around the circle and stopped. Ana parked behind him.

“Okay, what are my instructions?” she asked.

“Huh?”

“For the job?”

“You lead with the questions. I’ll jump in.”

“Good cop, bad cop?” She smiled.

Eddie smiled back. “That doesn’t actually work. Everybody sees it coming because of the movies.”

They got out of the car, and the snow enveloped them. Ana ran up the steps and got under the portico, but the ceiling was so high it did nothing to keep the heavy snow off them. Whitmore stepped between them and hit the bell.

The doorbell chimed, loud enough to hear outside in the snowstorm. Footsteps grew louder as somebody approached.

The door flew open.

Kindler was wearing a robe that was tied a little too loosely and carrying a glass of what looked to be bourbon. Kindler wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist.

“Come in, everybody! Come in! Now it’s a party!”

He motioned with the hand holding the glass and the bourbon spilled out and landed on the throw rug by the door.

“Ahh, whatever.” Kindler shooed at the spilled liquor like that would make it go away. “Colder than an ex-wife out there. Come on, hurry up.”

Eddie pulled the heavy door shut. It reminded him of one of those big oak doors that are in all the old horror movies. Only this one didn’t creak. And it was made to look like wood, but it was something else.

“Hons, come out. I want to display you.” Kindler killed his bourbon, then seemed to forget he had just called his two girlfriends to the foyer, because he plodded off somewhere to get a refill.

Eddie and Ana shared a look.

Whitmore took his hat off and brushed the snow from the wide brim. “I don’t care what he’s up to, you’re gonna be professional. You got it, McCloskey?”

Eddie gave the cop the eye. The one that said, Quit riding me. “I will so long as you stay out of my way. I’ve got a job to do.”

“So do I.”

The first of Kindler’s girlfriends appeared in the foyer. She was tall, tan, and stacked. Wearing a two-piece bikini that was four sizes too small. Her high heels clicked on the tile floor and she sipped from a champagne flute. Eddie thought people like her only existed in Bond movies.

“Hi there,” she said in a deep, breathy voice.

“Ms. Anders.” Whitmore gestured toward them. “This is Ana and Eddie.”

She tapped a fake fingernail against the flute and smiled wickedly. “You’re cute.”

Eddie wasn’t sure if she was talking to him or Ana. “Hi.”

Ana’s eyes were wide and zeroed in on Ms. Andersen’s comically large bust. “Nice to meet you.”

“Christ, there you are.” Kindler returned with his refill. His free hand wrapped around the bombshell’s waist. With her heels on, she had a couple inches on him. “Where’s Number Two?”

“Hot tub.”

“Where are her manners?” Kindler took a healthy swig of bourbon. “You’ve met them? Good. Oh, one thing. Eddie’s not a sheep like everybody else. Keep an eye on him. That one—” He pointed his glass at Ana. “—is tough. She won’t take shit and you can’t hide anything from her.”

In that outfit, Anders wasn’t hiding anything from anybody. And Kindler seemed to like that.

“We’d better get started,” Eddie said. “We’ve got a long night.”                     

* * * *

The tour of the mansion took thirty minutes. It would have been shorter, but Kindler insisted on spending ten minutes in his man cave. A showcase stretched along one wall and housed Kindler’s dozens of trophies. There was some bona fide, non-vanity hardware on display, including one for the Regional Basketball Championship in 1998.

“I was a two-guard.” Kindler mimicked hoisting a three-pointer at an imaginary basket. “Nobody could outshoot me. You know, Hersey Hawkins came to our high school when I was a freshman. This guy was starting the two for the Sixers at the time. He asked for a challenger. Yours truly matched him basket-for-basket, till he moved out to the three point line. He said, Kid, you’ve got the eye. Now all you need is to grow another foot. You know what happened?”

“You didn’t grow another foot,” Eddie said.

“Not even close. Got two more inches and ended up this height. It’s slavery.  Slavery screwed the white man.”

“Black man got it pretty bad too.”

Kindler swung his glass of bourbon around. An ice cube flew out of it and tumbled onto the carpet. He didn’t care. “Of course they did, but it was like evolution on fast forward. Only the toughest, meanest, strongest sons of bitches survived slavery. They passed their genes on. That’s why so many African-Americans make great athletes. They proved it.”

“Right. Has anything happened in this room?” Eddie asked.

“The footprints have shown up in here too.”

A splash from the pool echoed down the hallway. Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Pool’s not that far away is it?”

“No, but my girls were with me the nights the prints showed up.”

“How do you remember?” Eddie asked.

“Because my girls are always with me. My angels have to sleep in my bed every night.”

Eddie stole a glance at Ana. She made a face like she’d just thrown up in her mouth.

Kindler suddenly whirled and pointed at the Regional Champs trophy from 1998. “This was a good year. The four of us were on the team. Me, Colin, Bernard, Mike. We all started. The fifth was a fella we called Perk. He was big and slow but he clogged up the middle good. He died two years later in college from meningitis. The Lord gives, the Lord takes away.”

“You guys were tight?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah. We gave Mike the business, but he was a good sport about it. Everybody picked on him, but you know what, I think he was the toughest of the bunch because of it.” Kindler looked back to the trophy. It gleamed like a priceless artifact from an Indiana Jones flick. “Great year.”

“Same year my sister died,” Ana said, addressing the mastodon in the room.

“You’re wrong. That happened in November, hon. We won the Regionals in February. I was talking about the year after.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t get me wrong. Bad
school
year, for sure. Horrible school year. The halls weren’t the same. The classroom wasn’t the same. We dedicated our championship to her, did you know that?”

“No, I didn’t.” Ana rolled her eyes when Kindler looked away.

Eddie got a feeling Kindler was full of shit. Nobody had dedicated that basketball season to Tessa. Revisionist history.

“Yeah, about that. We need your version of what happened on that day,” Eddie said.

Kindler gave Eddie a look like he’d just insulted the guy’s mother. “You want the truth, you mean.”

“Yeah.”

“I might speak in riddles but the truth is a riddle. I can’t help it if people don’t live at the speed of sound like me.”