“She helped us, you know,” Nina said instead. “She made the noise that led you to the armoire. She wanted us to open it.”
“Or,” Caroline said, “it came from a mouse.”
“No one ever believes me.”
“I’d like to look through the rest of these digital images,” Gretchen said, ignoring Nina’s pout.
“Please do,” Nina said. “We’re off to plan the menu with the caterer, and I’m going to do a little window- shopping.”
After they left, Gretchen remained at the computer.
She had done her ghostly research throughout the night thanks to her inability to sleep after finding human bones in a wardrobe. There was a remarkable wealth of information available online. That was the beauty of the Internet. With the click of a mouse plus a little insomnia, anyone could become an instant expert on any subject.
Digital cameras like the one Nina used were apparently notorious for producing paranormal-like orbs, especially in low lighting as had been the case in the museum. Did that mean for certain that Nina’s orb was caused by flaws within the camera? Gretchen didn’t know.
Other conditions that could produce false images were overexposure or flash reflections in mirrors. Then there was the problem of lens flare. Even a camera strap could cause a white vortex to appear, leading beginners to believe they had captured more exciting images than, say, an equipment strap.
She scrolled through Web sites that claimed to offer authentic pictures of ghosts. She analyzed one photo gallery after another. Some contained orbs like Nina’s. One Web site claimed orbs were fakes. Another supported them as real apparition sightings. Which to believe?
The picture in question had been taken by Nina while they were mounting the steps to the second floor. In the photo the orb floated above the steps near the landing. Gretchen recalled that all three of the women had turned on their flashlights. She hadn’t gone up the steps first because she was creeped out by the thought of encountering a real ghost. She had been working on collecting her nerves and was chastising herself for being afraid.
Caroline hadn’t gone first, either, now that she thought about it.
Nina had.
Details were coming back to Gretchen. Her aunt had stopped midway up the stairs and snapped the first picture of the night. Before that, she had asked Gretchen and her mother to turn off their flashlights. The unexplained circle of light that Nina had captured couldn’t be attributed to reflective surfaces. There hadn’t been any lights illuminated for this particular photograph.
Gretchen continued slowly through all the pictures that Nina had downloaded to the computer. She saw herself in some of them, eyes a little too wide, skin pale and prominent in the darkness around her, lips pressed tightly together.
She’d really been afraid.
The remaining pictures didn’t produce evidence to support an apparition. They didn’t eliminate it either. Every picture had mysterious shadows that could be explained away by camera glitches, lack of proper lighting, or an inexperienced photographer.
Gretchen gave up the computer search to tackle the work her mother had left on her workbench. Caroline was organized to a fault, unlike Gretchen, who tended toward extreme clutter. When they began working together, that had been their biggest problem-how to accommodate their different working styles. The only solution had been two workstations and her mother’s strict orders for Gretchen to stay away from her space.
Gretchen picked up one of the dolls that she planned to repair and read the note next to it. It was a Chatty Cathy, and her mother had managed to make the doll speak again but hadn’t had time to repair the pencil-post bed that came with it or to stitch up rips in the pajamas it wore.
Gretchen’s job was easy. Her mother had done the hard part, making the silent doll talk.
The Chatty Cathy had side-glancing eyes, dark freckles, and buckteeth. Gretchen tugged the pull string and the doll spoke. “I love you,” it said. She lifted the doll’s pajama top and examined its back. There was the mark- copyright date of 1960 and the name of the doll, Chatty Cathy.
Running a finger over the raised mark reminded her of words written in the color of blood on the tombstone.
The dead woman hadn’t been small, around Gretchen’s own height of five eight and with a normal weight, not thin, not heavy. How much bigger and stronger than Allison would her attacker have had to be? For sure, a man would have the force necessary, although a woman might have done the horrible deed with a heavy weapon and the advantage of surprise.
While preparing the materials she needed to repair Chatty Cathy’s accessories, Gretchen’s eyes swept past the metal head. They would have to tell Matt about it, give it up to the investigation.
Dolls should be about love, and cherishing the things that were important. Not cold-blooded murder.
To reaffirm that, Gretchen pulled on the string.
“I love you,” Chatty Cathy said.
23
“April, you’re a natural people person,” Gretchen said, amazed at the progress on the stage. She sat beside her friend, watching the rehearsal. “You could find a position in management or in human resources. The curtain for Ding Dong Dead is going to go up as planned. Last week I didn’t think it was possible. I’d almost given up hope.”
“Did you really have doubts?” Her friend had her feet propped up on the director’s table, her lap piled with pink fabric. April was sewing and directing at the same time.
“Doubts? Yes.” Gretchen laughed. “When I was in charge? You bet.”
“Any more news about the skeleton in the museum?” April said quietly, so as not to disturb the actors. “That sounds like a good name for a movie, doesn’t it? The Skeleton in the Museum.”
“More like Horror in the Closet.” Gretchen told her what they had discovered-about the orb that Nina insisted was a ghostly spirit, about what Matt had said concerning the time required to identify the remains, and that Flora Swilling had disappeared almost thirty years ago.
April whistled at that last piece of news. “I bet she was murdered and stuffed in the closet. No wonder her ghost is haunting the place. Nina thought the most important thing was to reunite the doll with its owner, and she was close. She didn’t even know about the missing human head when she said that.”
The stage became noticeably quiet as the cast members dropped lines and listened to them instead. “Did they find the skeleton’s skull?” Bonnie said. Standing next to the six-foot Barbie, she looked like a mustached dwarf.
“Not that I’ve heard,” Gretchen said. Bonnie would be on the phone at the first opportunity, pumping her son for information, which was perfectly fine with Gretchen. “If you hear anything, let us know.”
Bonnie wouldn’t ever keep good gossip to herself. “I will,” she said.
“We have the metal doll head at home,” Gretchen said, going on to relate the events that led up to finding the head inside Caroline’s shopping bag.
“Caroline had it all this time and didn’t realize it?” Julie said.
“She’s been preoccupied with her work and the accident,” April said. “Can we see it?”
“I should turn it over to the police,” Gretchen said. “In case it’s important.”
“It’s time,” April called, putting down thread and needle and swinging her feet off the desk. “Let’s try it from the top with all the bells and whistles.”
Jerome walked past and acknowledged Gretchen with a stiff nod. He adjusted a light along the stage, realigning its angle. Then he flipped off the overhead lights from a switch by the entrance, casting the room into total blackness.
“Lights, camera, action,” April called. The stage lights popped on, and the mystery play began with the ringing of a doorbell.
For almost an hour, Gretchen sat transfixed, laughing at the antics of the characters. Her mother should write more plays. This one was going to be a hit. Caroline’s script was perfect for the luncheon-a campy, funny mystery
