The Fourth Power Page 5

  “Yes, but no.” Martin still hesitated.

  “If this is about my yelling yesterday, I am truly sorry. That wasn’t fair.”

  “I’m not sure it’s my place to say anything, but I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry for your loss,” Martin said.

  Heather pressed her lips together and nodded, unable to meet his eyes.

  “I can’t imagine what you must be feeling. I promise I’ll never mention it again,” Martin assured her. “I’m sure the last thing you wanted was for me to bring it up.”

  “There are so many, many bad parts to it.” Heather didn’t know what made her confess her feelings. She wasn’t used to opening up, and the words were never articulate when she tried. Normally, she would take the awkward condolences and get out of the conversation as quickly as possible. “I think one of the bad parts is when people know what happened, and they start trying to avoid talking about anything that has to do with kids, or babies, or motherhood, like that reminder will be what makes me remember what happened. And when they slip, you can see the panic on their faces and the apology half-formed on their lips. They mean well, but it gives it an air of shame like it’s something people aren’t meant to say outside of a grief therapy group.”

  Martin nodded, not answering. She didn’t expect him to. What could he say?

  “I guess what I’m trying to say is, you don’t have to avoid the topic. I don’t want it to be every conversation, but…”

  “I think I understand.” He placed a hand on her shoulder and gave her a light squeeze. The heat of his touch radiated down her arm, filling her with awareness—awareness of his touch, of how close he stood, of the heat coming through his t-shirt, of the inappropriateness of having this kind of response to someone who worked for her. It had been a long time since she’d allowed a man to touch her, or at least in a way that made her sexually interested.

  Heather stepped back and dropped her shoulder. He let go.

  “What happened to your son?” he asked.

  Heather’s mind instantly flashed back to that day.

  “You don’t have to answer,” he said, “but I’m here if you ever want to talk about it.”

  “Trav was ten,” she said, trying to decide how much to say, but once the words started, they didn’t stop. “Ben and I decided he was old enough to ride his bike back and forth to school. For the first week, everything was fine. Then, halfway through the following week he didn’t come home. People say they know agony, but that feeling when your child is missing? There’s nothing that compares to it.”

  Martin stood quietly, listening.

  “We checked the route that we’d told him to take. Then we checked the neighborhood. Then we called the school. Then we called his friends. Every minute felt like torture.”

  This was a pain that time did not lessen. At best, she merely learned to live with it. She swiped a tear as it tried to fall.

  “The thoughts that ran through my mind that first night he was missing were awful. What if he had been kidnaped? What if some pervert had him? What if, what if…?” She again swiped her eyes and shook her head. “The next day they found him in a ditch on the side of the highway, his bike mangled. There was no reason he should have been out that far. Some of his friends dared him to take a new route home. My son had so much adventure and life in him. He was the kid that tried climbing to the top of the monkey bars at the park, only to fall, and then get right back up and try again. Completely fearless. He would have loved the challenge of taking a new route home. I feel like I should have been able to predict he might try it.”

  “Did they find out what happened?” Martin asked.

  Heather took a deep breath. “A drunk tourist struck him with a rental and then ran from the scene. He had six drunk driving priors on his record and his license had already been suspended. His wife rented the car for him. He was charged with an aggravated felony and will get out of prison in about three years from now. They gave him the max sentence.”

  Martin hesitated before giving her a hug. The warmth of his arms surrounded her as he drew her against the strength of his chest. She fought her tears as the comfort of human contact surrounded her.

  “I’m sorry you lost your boy,” he whispered as he stroked her back.

  All she could do was answer him with a nod.

  She had no idea how long he held her. A loud bang sounded upstairs as something dropped. The murmur of voices from the first story workers came from below.

  Not wanting to be caught in such a position by the men she’d hired, she pushed at his chest.

  Martin released her from his embrace.

  “I’m sorry. This isn’t…” Heather stopped short of saying it wasn’t appropriate for them to be holding each other on the job site. “Thank you for listening.”

  Martin seemed to come to the same conclusion. “I should probably get back to work. I don’t get paid until the job is done.”

  Another bang sounded from above.

  His kind smile reached into his eyes, and he nodded once.

  Heather watched as he disappeared upstairs, again noting the view of him walking away. It wasn’t something she’d act on. The man had sex appeal, yes, but he also had responsibilities. When you dated a single parent, you had to take into consideration there wasn’t just one person in the picture.

  Dating? Why was she thinking about dating? She didn’t date. She didn’t even have one night stands… unless her silicone boyfriend counted. She had been so busy lately that they were barely on speaking terms. He’d been abandoned in her nightstand for months.

  “Stop it,” Heather muttered under her breath, scolding herself. “Don’t go there.”

  She went to the empty bedroom that Jan had jumped out from to scare her. The temperature felt colder than the rest of the house.

  “Is someone in here?” Heather asked the supposedly empty room. There might not be humans, but signs pointed to a supernatural presence. The drop in temperature could indicate a sign of paranormal activity. It was one of the reasons Heather was so fond of wearing flannels during the day as part of her work clothes.

  Seeing a series of tic-tac-toe games drawn in a layer of construction dust, Heather crossed the room and crouched down by an unfinished round. Had Jan been playing by herself?

  She drew an X in the dust and stood. Slowly, a circle formed on the game piece as if traced with a small, invisible finger. Whoever played the game didn’t show themselves.

  “Who’s there?” Heather asked. The circle stopped before it was completed.

  She remembered what Jan kept telling her, “You don’t have to be afraid.”

  Heather glanced around the room before leaning over to draw another X to let the other player easily win. She waited, but no one finished the game.

  Heather went upstairs. Martin had started cutting holes in one of the walls to feed new wiring through. In another room, Thomas applied sheetrock mud along the seams of the drywall he’d just hung.

  Jan was nowhere to be seen. There was only one place more to look—up the narrow circular steps to the cupola on the top of the house that looked out over the ocean.

  Jan had built herself a nest with a jacket and bookbag on the floor. Her back pressed into the wood side as she stared at an e-reader.

  “Hi,” Heather said.

  “Hey.” Jan didn’t look up, but her tone said she’d known Heather was there.

  “You found my favorite room in the house,” Heather said.

  “It’s cool.” Jan pushed her finger on the screen, causing it to flicker.

  “I always hated reading in school, too,” Heather said, trying to make conversation.

  “That’s not true,” Jan answered. “You liked the girl detective books.”

  Heather didn’t take her eyes off the child. How could she possibly have known that unless she was gifted? “I guess I should have said I hated assigned reading.”

  Jan shrugged.

  “Who told you I like detective books?” Heath
er asked.

  At that, Jan finally glanced up. She shrugged again and said, “No one. I just guessed.”

  “Do you guess things about people often?” Heather wondered if maybe the girl was claircognizant like Vivien.

  “I don’t know. Maybe sometimes.” Jan didn’t appear too interested in explaining. “I have to read this now.”

  “Yes, of course. Sorry.” Heather started to leave, but something told her to stay. “You know, if you ever wanted to talk about how you know things, I’m a great listener. My friends and I, we’re kind of special like that. We know things too, things that other people don’t know.”

  “I’m not supposed to talk about it.” Jan looked more thoroughly at her.

  “I understand.” Heather began to reach out toward her, but Jan leaned away. Heather lifted her hand and retreated from the attempt at affection. “I wasn’t supposed to talk about it either. Most people never believed me when I told them I was special.”

  “If I don’t finish this book, I don’t get pizza.” Jan made a point of turning her attention to the e-reader. She looked so small and young, but there was something familiar in the way she carried herself. Her eyes were sharp as if she knew secrets she shouldn’t.

  Something deep inside Heather told her she was supposed to help this girl.

  She pulled the small notepad from her back pocket and patted her hair to find the pen she usually stuck there. Heather wrote down her phone number and set it on the ground close to Jan. “If you ever want to talk…”

  Jan glanced but didn’t take the paper.

  “It was nice talking to you, Jan.” Heather already felt like she’d overstayed her welcome. She backed down the stairs, leaving the girl alone.

  “Is everything all right?” Martin asked when she emerged from the narrow stairwell.

  Heather glanced up to see Jan leaning over the side to stare down at them.

  “Just girl talk.” Heather smiled up at the girl and winked. She stepped out of view. “She seems like a lovely girl.”

  “Thanks. She is.” Martin moved to return to work.

  “Call me if you need anything,” Heather said. “I’m going to check in at a couple of other job sites.”

  “Will do, boss,” he answered with a small wave before plugging in an electric saw.

  Heather moved slowly through the house, looking for a sign of ghosts. When she reached her car, she dialed Vivien. It didn’t take long for her friend to answer.

  “I was just thinking about you,” Vivien said by way of a greeting.

  “All good things I hope,” Heather said. It was always comforting to hear her familiar voice.

  “What fun would that be?” Vivien countered. “How did the inspection go?”

  “Fine. She signed off on the plumbing,” Heather said. “But I’m calling for another reason. I think Anderson House might be haunted. I need you and Lorna to come over here with me. Soon.”

  “I thought you always said that house was sans spirits,” Vivien said in surprise. “You said, it was silly that people always thought old buildings were haunted just because they were old.”

  “I know what I said. Something unexpected happened today. I promise I’ll tell you all about it later.” Heather put her keys into the ignition. “Just say you’ll help me.”

  Her phone beeped, indicating she was receiving another call.

  “I’ll help you,” Vivien agreed. “Whatever you need.”

  “Thanks. I have to go.” She glanced at her phone. “My mother is calling.”

  “Tell Bonnie I said hi,” Vivien said.

  “Will do.” Heather tapped the phone screen, ending one call and answering the other. “Hey, Mom.”

  “Heather? It’s me. Mom.”

  “Hey Mom,” she repeated, bracing herself for whatever drama was about to filter through the phone. After a lifetime, it was easy to hear the subtle nuances of Bonnie’s moods in her voice. She always found it ironic that her mother’s maiden name was Stable when that’s not a word she’d use to describe the uptight woman. “What’s up?”

  “Did you know that Robert was in prison? Tell me you didn’t know Robert was in prison,” Bonnie demanded. “I heard them talking about it.” Her voice lowered to a rushed whisper. “They were discussing prisoner relations in the shower. You know, when they drop the soap.”

  Robert?

  “Uh, no, I didn’t,” Heather stated. Who the hell was Robert?

  “Tell me you didn’t send convicts over to my house like some kind of chain gang,” Bonnie insisted.

  “I didn’t send convicts to your house like some kind of chain gang,” Heather stated, putting the phone on speaker before driving away from Old Anderson House. “I don’t think they have chain gangs anymore, Mom.”

  “I looked. They have prisoner ink,” Bonnie stated.

  My mother, the detective, Heather thought wryly. She did not let the sarcasm into her voice. “What do you know about prison ink?”

  “There was a special on television last week. Did you know they melt plastic and inject it into the skin? Sometimes they mix soot with shampoo.”

  “Fascinating,” Heather drawled. “Are you opening a tattoo parlor?”

  “What? No. Who told you that?” Bonnie asked.

  “Robert and his biker gang. Isn’t that why you called? You’re going to let them use your home as a new clubhouse?” Heather knew she was going to pay dearly for trying to tease her mother, but the words just slipped out. This was probably cosmic proof as to why William was Bonnie’s favorite child.

  “You’re not funny.”

  Heather waited, knowing that wasn’t the end of the lecture.

  “Don’t you do background checks on the people you hire? Your brother would never be this irresponsible. This is the problem with believing you can feel things about people. Your grandmother was the same way, always making careless decisions that affect other people. You have to start thinking, Heather. You can’t just flounce through life on a whim,” Bonnie insisted.

  “Mom, I—” Heather didn’t flounce through anything.

  “Or did you go out of your way to send a biker gang lawn service over to my house? Did you think it was funny? What did I ever do to you to deserve…?”

  Her mother kept talking, but Heather stopped listening. Lawn service? This was about the people she’d sent over to mow her mother’s grass?

  “…thirty-six hours of labor…”

  Heather automatically turned toward her mother’s house. On the off chance Bonnie was talking about someone Heather had not sent over, she wanted to make sure her mother was safe. On the more likely chance Bonnie did mean the lawn people Heather had hired, she needed to act like a buffer to make sure the entire crew didn’t quit on her.

  “…ungrateful…”

  Robert from prison? Who the hell was Robert?

  “Mom,” Heather interrupted, “do you mean Bobby?”

  “Haven’t you been listening? Where are you?”

  “I’m in my car turning onto your street,” Heather said.

  Her childhood home was in an affluent neighborhood of Freewild Cove. The Warrick money had afforded the kind of lifestyle her mother had wanted. Large and lacking character, Heather had never really been a fan of the perfection her mother strove to achieve.

  “I don’t see you,” her mother said, the tone mildly accusing.

  Yeah, like I have nothing better to do than lie to you about coming over.

  “I’ll be there in a minute,” Heather said, hanging up.

  She saw the crew working on the lawn. One of them edged the sidewalk as another used a leaf blower to sweep up the grass clippings. Bobby rode by on a riding lawnmower. It appeared to be efficient business as usual.

  Heather pulled into the drive and waved to get Bobby’s attention. She saw the curtain move in her mother’s living room window. Bonnie wasn’t covert in her spying.

  Bobby rode the mower toward her before shutting off the engine. He was a barrel-chested m
an with a thick gray beard that hung down over his old t-shirt. “Howdy, Mrs. Harrison.”

  “Hey, Bobby.” Heather smiled as she made a show of checking the lawn. “Looks good.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Bobby agreed.

  Heather again watched the curtain move. She turned her body so her mother wouldn’t be able to see her face. There was no reason to risk Bonnie lip reading what she said.

  “Has my mom given you any trouble?” Heather asked. “I mean since we talked last time?”

  “Nothing I’d complain about,” Bobby said. He turned to look at the house and chuckled. The curtain shifted. “She keeps a close eye on us. I make sure not to look in her direction when I’m on the mower.”

  “I’m still sorry about that. Thank you for being understanding of her eccentricities,” Heather said.

  Her mother had demanded she fire them for peeping after she’d caught Bobby glancing at the house while he was on the riding mower. In her mind, the mower had put him high enough to see into her living room. At least Bonnie hadn’t accused him of being in prison to his face. Yet.

  “It’s no problem. She’s your mother, Mrs. Harrison. No need to apologize for her.”

  Heather sighed. If only that were true.

  “Listen.” Heather put her hands on her hips. “I hate that I have to mention this, but she overheard one of you joking about dropping soap in the shower. Now, I’m going to give you a stern look and appear mad.”

  “I understand.” Bobby hooked his thumbs into his front pockets and hung his head down.

  “Can you please ask the guys not to make prison jokes where she might be able to overhear? Or any jokes for that matter?” Heather asked.

  “Can do.” Bobby nodded.

  “Thanks.” Heather lifted her finger and shook it at him.

  “Would it help if I started crying a little?” He asked, hiding his smirk. “You can hit me a couple of times if you want.”

  “Let’s not oversell it.” Heather had to suppress her laughter. “Oh, hey, while we’re here, is there any chance you can add Anderson House to your route for me? Do the basics and write me an estimate and plan for saving that backyard?”