The Spite House(48)
“Still, it raised enough problems and questions that he and my mother decided to move the memorial onto private property to prevent something like this from happening again. My great-great-grandmother, Beatrice, commissioned the memorial in the first place, so it was ours to do with as we pleased. We brought it here, and now, a couple of generations later, it’s become yet another Degener myth.”
Eric took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, then said, “Thanks for telling me all of that.”
“I should have told you everything on day one. That way when Emily brought it up, you could have said, ‘Tell me something I don’t know.’ But better late than never, I suppose. As long as it’s not too late. I hope it’s not.”
She felt a flutter of fear as he hesitated, then he said, “It’s not. This doesn’t change anything. I’m going back, I’m getting the job done, I’ll earn your money, and then I’m getting my girls as far away from here as I can.”
“That sounds like a solid plan, Mr. Ross.”
She talked to him about practical matters as they went back to her house. Whether either of the girls had allergies or illnesses she and Lafonda should know about. Favorite foods, favorite hobbies, anything to make sure that their stay was as ideal as could be. He told her some things she’d heard already from Lafonda based on her earlier meeting with the girls. Stacy, like many her age, liked arts and crafts and using her imagination, and was fascinated with books. Dess was an athlete, preferred to be outdoors. Eunice said she would take them shopping, get Stacy some art supplies and Dess some running shoes. Afterward they would go to a park and a museum downtown that they might enjoy, with his permission, of course. All the while, she was satisfied with how open she was with him. No, she didn’t tell him about the Renners, but she said enough for him to know what he was going back to, and he was still on board. That probably spoke to his desperation, and she felt some empathy for him, but was happy that he was committed, one way or another. She wasn’t going to risk saying anything else that might dissuade him.
That was why she kept a couple of things to herself. Like the full truth about Clyde Carmichael, how the sheriff found him in the floating hallway of the spite house, alive but unresponsive. A blank slate who stared ahead and didn’t say anything. How, after consulting with her father, the sheriff received permission to take Clyde into the woods, shoot him in the head, and bury him deep. She used to wonder if that was a sound decision, and what she would do in the same situation.
Thankfully, she’d never been called to do something that severe. The worst she had to do was withhold information about Clyde and the Renners, as well the fact that the city park wasn’t the memorial’s original location. Its first home was at the spot where the spite house now stood. Peter Masson moved it so he could build his defiant home near the trees used to murder twelve men and boys in 1862.
Eric might have stayed even if he knew all of this. Why risk it, though? Besides, from what she could tell, he was better equipped to handle the house than the people it swallowed up in the past. He had his own history with ghosts at his grandfather’s house. That must have inoculated him somewhat. He wasn’t an ignorant thug like Clyde Carmichael, or a shallow fool like the Renners. He could endure. And in the event he ended up like Jane Renner, Eunice would increase the payout to pacify Dess and Stacy, as well as dull any needling from her own conscience. Of the many things wealth was good for, one of the most underappreciated, in her opinion, was that it allowed you to purchase self-absolution.
* * *
After Eric left to return to the Masson House, Eunice went into the study nearest her bedroom, locked the door, and called Neal Lassiter.
“Hello, hello, Dame Eunice,” he said.
“Hello, Neal. You sound in good spirits.”
“I was until you uttered that awful s-word.”
She grinned. “Get used to hearing it. You have to know that that’s what I’m calling about.”
“I see. So you’re telling me the time has finally come?”
“I think it’s right around the corner.”
“Hm,” he said, then hesitated before shocking her with, “You truly think that poor man and his girls are going to stick around long enough to get you your ‘proof’?”
Her smile faded. “You’ve talked to Millie.”
“She gave me a call telling me to give you a call to talk you out of this. I’ve been meaning to, I just got busy.”
“Yes, I’m sure it’s time-consuming finding subjects to ridicule for the next season of The Faithless Egotist Hour.”
She could almost hear him tilt his head and frown at her through the phone. “I’m offended that you left ‘Heathen’ out of my show’s title.”
“I offer my apologies, and presume you’ll accept.”
“When haven’t I?” he said.
“Good, because I really do believe this is going to happen this time,” Eunice said. “This family is not like the others.”
“Of course not,” he said, “for starters they’re a family, not hack filmmakers or reality show wannabes looking for a shortcut to fame. That should trouble you, Eunice, not make you feel like ‘this is the one.’”
Eunice said, “What about it should trouble me? I know that you of all people aren’t about to tell me they’re in danger because the house could be haunted.”