cream-softened caffeine. It was Scott’s night off, and something told him he’d be getting a call about something horrible before the sun rose again in the east.
“Fuck intuition,” he mumbled to himself as he sipped the hot coffee. It was bitter yet smooth. Fuckin’ Hawaiian Kona and cream. He loved and hated it in the same sip, every time.
On the horizon, the deep red of the sun was swallowed beneath the soft, rushing waves. Jones gave an involuntary shiver and took a deep and final swig from the Styrofoam cup. The night had come at last.
November 23, 2009
CHAPTER
FORTY-ONE
“Something’s ringing!” Jenn called as she flipped the pepper steak with a spatula in the big wrought-iron pot on the stove.
She hadn’t really known what to make tonight, but ordering in pizza seemed the wrong way to meet even distant family so she’d defaulted to a slightly more formal favorite. Pepper steak slow cooked with onions, red peppers, sherry and mushrooms. She’d grown up with it as a Sunday afternoon staple that filled the house with the smell of warmth and happiness. Jennica missed those Sunday afternoons, so cooking today was a cathartic experience.
It seemed the right offering for her dad’s sister-in-law. Jenn felt the comfort of her childhood return while she braised the meat and sauteed the onions and mushrooms. Then she’d peeled potatoes and thrown them in a pot to boil down then mash with milk and butter, and she’d mixed up another pot with cream of celery soup and freeze- dried onions for a baked bean dish.
Dinner was due in an hour, and Emmaline was due at the door in fifteen minutes. The last rays of the sun were already coloring the front room and hallway deep red. It got dark early and fast up here, Jenn had discovered.
Nick walked into the kitchen and fished the ringing cell phone from his black jacket, which hung on the back of a chair. “Hello?” he said, quickly walking out of the room.
Jenn flipped the meat, stirred the potatoes, and then peeked into the living room. Nick was on the couch, talking in low tones. He didn’t meet her eye, so she walked back to her bedroom to look in the mirror. She’d worn a casual lavender shirt with her good jeans. Her hair was flaking out because of the humidity of the kitchen, but she didn’t suppose her aunt-in-law would care.
“What do you hope to learn here?” she asked her reflection. The mirror didn’t answer.
When she returned to the kitchen, Nick was waiting. He said, “I have to go back to San Francisco the day after tomorrow. They’ve set up Brian’s wake and funeral. Closed casket, obviously.”
“I’ll go with you,” Jenn offered.
“You don’t have to,” Nick said. He put up a hand.
“I want to.”
“Well, we’ll have to let the cops know, I guess,” he said. “If we’re going to disappear out of town again.”
“We can call them,” she agreed. But she felt vaguely unsettled by the whole exchange.
The chime of the doorbell interrupted.
“Game on,” Nick joked, and pointed through the living room. Jenn supposed he was right.
She walked out to open the front door. A woman stood on the other side of the screen, a woman who had seen a year or sixty but who still had the bright light of life in her eyes. She had graying but well-coiffed hair, dark eyes, and she appeared to have had more than a passing acquaintance with big-plate dinners.
“Hi,” Jenn said. “I’m Jennica Murphy.”
The woman grinned with one side of her mouth as the screen door was opened to her. “Hi,” she answered. “I’m your aunt’s sister-in-law, Emmaline. It’s nice to meet a member of the family. Haven’t been many of us around here these past few years.”
Jennica smiled as warmly as she could, considering the fear that was burning through her. “Come on in,” she offered. “I assume you’ve probably been here before.”
“I grew up in this house,” Emmaline agreed, stepping inside.
Jenn ushered her to the couch, feeling foolish. “Can I get you something to drink? Wine? Beer? Pop?”
“Bloody Mary?” Emmaline asked.
“I can do that,” Nick spoke up. He grinned at Jenn and said, “I picked up some spicy V8 when I stopped at the store earlier. And your aunt left us plenty of vodka.”
Jenn and Emmaline exchanged pleasantries while Nick fixed drinks. When they all sat down, Emmaline put a blade to the veneer of social interaction.
“You didn’t ask me here to get to know the old folks from town,” she said. “So, let’s talk. What do you know? What do you want to know?”
Jenn hid her surprise with a crooked smile, feeling at the same time she should be careful of coming across as accusatory. “I want to know what went on in this house,” she admitted. “I want to know how my aunt got a reputation as a witch. I want to know why the basement has such strange things. I want to know a lot of things. It all seems so . . . unreal!”
Emmaline tipped back her drink and smiled, swallowing the heady mix of tomato and vodka that Nick had made purposefully rich. “There are a lot of things to know,” she agreed. “The question is, how deep do you want to go?”
“I’ve been reading Meredith’s journal,” Jenn explained. “I know that she was trying to tap into powers and things that I don’t really understand. And I know that there are things hidden in this house . . .”
