Promises to Keep

By Craig Conrad

Paul Rice is asked by two of his coven, Natalee and Ashleigh Cruz, to check out a friend’s house for a possible haunting. While he is investigating, he is contacted by a war buddy, who lost the use of his legs while saving several men in Vietnam, Paul included. He wants Paul to take care of his daughter if something should happen to him. Paul agrees. Soon after, he learns that his friend has taken his own life. Faced with a haunting that turns out to be a murder victim, and a belligerent young woman that feels he deserted her and her father, Paul tries to work through it, with the usual cast of characters helping him, for everyone’s satisfaction, especially his own.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 29, 2020
• ISBN: 9781664138063

Craig Conrad

Author resides in Milwaukee. Wisconsin, has been hooked on mysteries and supernatural thrillers since reading his first H.P. Lovecraft novel. He has written twenty novels, fourteen of them are Paul Rice novels, his reluctant paranormal investigator, with cameo appearances in two others that feature two of his war buddies along with two Dutch Verlander stories, and a collection of short stories.

Book preview

Promises to Keep

Craig Conrad

Copyright © 2020 by Craig Conrad.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 10/29/2020

Xlibris

844-714-8691

www.Xlibris.com

811594

Contents

WISCONSIN

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

35

36

37

38

39

40

41

42

43

44

45

46

47

48

49

50

51

52

53

54

55

56

57

58

59

60

61

62

63

64

65

66

67

68

EPILOGUE

According to thy promises declared …

—Book of Common Prayer

WISCONSIN

Sometime in the ’80s

Ashleigh Cruz stood and shivered in the cold December wind that swept across the cemetery grounds with a hard winter’s bite. It was early December, not officially winter yet and really not that frigid-cold, temperature-wise; actually just a few degrees above freezing. It was the wind blowing at twenty miles an hour with gusts of up to thirty that found a body’s cold spots and made them colder, making you feel like you were suddenly in the Antarctic.

She looked over at her sister, Natalee, standing next to her and looking just as cold and miserable. They exchanged gloomy looks. They stood close to the foot of the casket, but not that close to the immediate family or the large number of mourners, and waited for the priest to finish the gravesite service for Nicole Dane. She was being laid to rest in one of the six plots bought for her and her future family by her father, who bought similar plots for each of his children when they reached the age of twelve. Nicole was being buried with the blessings of the Catholic church. Ashleigh and Natalee both guessed that it was probably at the insistence of Nicole’s mother, who was raised in the Catholic faith. They both knew, from past experience with the family, that Nicole’s father was not a Catholic. Many other people, who had a history with him, knew that as well. They also knew that he was a son of a bitch.

Wisconsin Memorial Park was one of the elite cemeteries of Milwaukee. It was vast, with numerous buildings and chapels and water fountains that magnificently arched water high in the air during the warmer weather. The park was the finishing touch to an elaborate funeral which started last night with the viewing at one of the expensive Kruse Funeral Homes; then again at the Home early this morning for the gathering and long procession of thirty cars to downtown Gesu church for a mass; and from there on to the cemetery. It was a funeral fit for a princess. It was befitting because Nicole was a jewel of a person, but Ashleigh knew Nicole wouldn’t have approved of all the phony pageantry. Nicole liked things simple, staying away from all the pomp and ceremony that her father and mother seemed to relish.

Most of the mourners were seated on the folding chairs provided around the casket. There weren’t enough chairs for everyone; so all the women who could, sat, and the men stood. Natalee wondered if it was any warmer sitting than standing. The women seated looked just as cold she was.

The priest finished the service, and the mourners stood and gathered together and gave their condolences to the Dane family then hurried back to their cars. Luckily, the gravesite wasn’t far from the road, so the trek back to their vehicles wasn’t long.

Natalee turned to Ashleigh. Nicole wouldn’t have liked this.

I know, Ashleigh said. Too elaborate.

You going to say anything to the family?

Ashleigh shook her head. No. You know how Nicole’s father is.

Natalee nodded. Then I won’t either. She smiled and looked at the light snow flurries starting to fall around them.

Ashleigh frowned. What are you smiling about?

I was just thinking what Paul said about funerals, that every time he goes to one it rains. He should be here for this one. The snow would be a change of pace.

Ashleigh smiled back. He told me that too. We should have brought him along.

Did he know Nicole?

I introduced them, and we ran into her a couple of times.

Just then Nicole’s two sisters came walking over and exchanged hugs with Ashleigh and Natalee. Vikki, the older sister now, was sixteen; Trudy was eleven, one year away from her father’s traditional burial gift.

I’m so glad that you both came, Vikki said. Nicole would have liked that. You two were her best friends.

Did they catch the hit-and-run driver of the other car? Natalee asked.

Yes, and he was drunk as a skunk, Trudy chimed in.

Ashleigh shook her head. When are they going to get these drunks off the roads? They’re killing lots of innocent people.

I don’t think that’s what really killed my sister, Vikki said.

Ashleigh and Natalee looked at each other with questioning eyes, then back at Vikki.

What do you mean? Natalee said.

I mean the drunk driver did the deed, Vikki said, but Nicole died years ago of a broken heart. The guy she was supposed to marry, and didn’t, really killed her. The drunk driver just finished it.

Three Months Later

1

Paul Rice, man of many surprises, Ashleigh Cruz said. Although, by now, I shouldn’t be surprised at anything you do, or anything about you.

They were in a west side restaurant called The Crazy Bean, seated at a table for four, finishing the last of their wine after eating a very fine meal of a Tex-Mex mix.

You look very lovely tonight, Paul said, but you always look that way. And she did. She wore a sleeveless red dress with a scooping neckline that offset her long, raven-black hair and dark eyes and satin skin. Not to be unworthy of her, Paul wore a dark-blue suit with white shirt and tie.

Thank you, she said, still taking him in with her eyes. You look very nice too. I’m glad tonight’s festivities got you to wear a suit, which you should do more often.

I always wear a suit when needed.

No, you don’t, not always. Usually, it’s a tieless shirt with Levi’s and a jacket and baseball cap or a sport coat. And don’t change the subject like you always do when the conversation comes around to you.

I didn’t change the subject. I thought we were talking about my dress code.

I was talking about surprises and that show we saw tonight at the Riverside Theatre. I didn’t know you liked Russian music. How come the interest?

He sampled his wine. "The Don Cossacks have been coming to Milwaukee for years. My parents would always go to see them, and they always took me when I was old enough to appreciate good music."

How old were you when that started?

I think I was eight the first time I saw them and have liked them ever since. He paused. What about you? What did you think of the performance? I thought you might enjoy it. You looked like you did.

Ashleigh smiled. I enjoyed it very much. I know you did. Your leg was jerking a mile a minute to the music, especially that encore they did of the first number.

"The Kalinka."

Yeah, that one. It was enjoyable just watching you. I thought you were going to jump up on the stage and join them.

Paul smiled back. I would have if I could sing and dance.

Are you sure you aren’t part Russian? John Knox thinks you’re part Indian.

Little Bull? He mentioned that to me once too, but as far as I know I’m not, not in either case.

Why do you call him Little Bull?

That’s his name. John Knox was the name given to him in the white man’s school. He doesn’t like it, but he lets the women he knows call him that. Why, I don’t know.

She nodded. You don’t usually go to performances.

"Yes, I do. I took you to see Carmen at the Performing Arts Theatre, and we saw Neil Diamond when he was in town, and Jose Greco—or was that his son?"

His son, but you never see anything modern.

I like music I can understand. I don’t like modern music. I don’t like rock concerts. Modern music has no soul. It’s just deafening. I don’t like rappers or hip-hop or whatever else they call that stuff they try to sing these days. I don’t like loud, blaring music that injures your eardrums, or singers that scream out lyrics you can’t understand. You don’t either.

Ashleigh gave him a long look and a little smile. Okay, that’s true. I’ll give you that, but what about this place? We’ve never eaten here before. Why here and not at Peter’s where we usually go? You never told me you liked Mexican food.

Paul shrugged. I like most of it, and I know you like it. You and Natalee are always chatting about Mexican restaurants. Besides, I know the couple who own this place, so I stop in occasionally.

Ashleigh cocked an eyebrow at him. That was evident by the way the hostess greeted you when we came in. She was all over you. Besides being cute and cuddly, who is Mary Chavez, by the way?

I told you when I introduced you. She was my nurse in Japan before I got shipped home from Nam.

She also said that all the nurses were after you.

He shook his head. That was pure fabrication. She was just being polite. The nurses didn’t know I even existed when I was in the hospital.

Ashleigh sipped her wine and eyed him over the rim of her glass. Uh-huh.

Paul expressed innocence. That’s true.

So how did your nurse wind up here in Milwaukee running a Mexican restaurant? Is she from Milwaukee? She doesn’t look Hispanic.

No, Chicago, and she’s not. She’s married to Art Chavez. He used to work for me at the post office before I left. I knew he was trying to open a restaurant, and we talked about it from time to time. One day, he showed me a picture of his wife, and it turned out to be Mary Andrews, my old nurse.

She’s not so old. Ashleigh looked around at her surroundings. Is this their first restaurant?

No, their second, Paul said and looked around. This place is much larger, and from the size of the crowd in here, they seem to be doing well, well enough for him to quit the post office last year, from what I’ve heard. The first restaurant was a small eight-table affair out on East National Avenue.

Ashleigh nodded, then gave him a sideways look. What are we going to do for our one-year anniversary that’s coming up?

Paul frowned. You mean when we met? That anniversary is past. I met you a year ago in December. This is March.

She made a face. I’m not talking about when we first met. I’m talking about when you converted me back.

Paul gave her a blank look.

The first time we made love.

Oh? he said, feigning ignorance. That was in March?

Ashleigh leaned toward him and looked slightly hurt. You don’t remember?

Paul smiled. I’m just kidding. Of course I do. It was the fifteenth of March.

She settled back in her chair, relieved and satisfied. Good answer.

And I didn’t convert you. There was nothing to convert. Denise Williams tried to do that. She screwed you up good for a while.

Ashleigh drank some more wine. Don’t remind me. That was the nightmare part of my life that I’d like to forget. But then luckily you came along and reminded me that I was a woman, and restored my faith in men. She met his eyes. Actually, you restored it in one man.

She noticed Paul turning a little red and smiled to herself. He always blushed when someone paid him a compliment, especially a woman.

Paul shrugged it off. She knew he would. I didn’t do much, he said. You made it back on your own because you wanted to.

She shook her head at him. No, I didn’t. You were the one that made it happen, and you know it. I never would have made it without you there to help me.

Paul didn’t know how to answer that, so he took another sip of his wine, then said, What about the gay women and that association that you represent, are they ticked off at you because you’re straight?

No, not at all. I told you that.

Good.

She played with her wine glass for a moment. There’s a question I’ve always wanted to ask you.

Ask.

What if I preferred being gay? Would we still be friends?

You have to ask?

No, I know we would, but I’d like to hear you say it.

Whatever road you would have chosen, it would never have changed our friendship.

Ashleigh smiled at that, and then her eyes suddenly changed as a new thought struck her, and she shot him a skeptical look. You are staying over tonight, aren’t you?

Paul smiled. Yes, you have doubts?

Well, we don’t always go out. Tonight we did. We saw a show and had dinner. I was beginning to think it might be a consolation prize, or something—which happens at times when you’re working a case.

Never happen, Paul said. No case is that important.

She gave him a big smile. Another good answer.

2

At nine that evening, Vikki Dane checked in on her younger sister to make sure she was sleeping, which was doubtful since there was a light under her bedroom door. She opened the door and stepped into the room, finding Trudy very much awake and sitting Indian-style on her bed with Jimmy Cross. Jimmy was the neighbor boy from next door who was the same age as Trudy—eleven going on forty.

Vikki closed the door behind her and leaned back against it, her hands behind her back, still clutching the doorknob. Jimmy, I thought you left to go home an hour ago, and Trudy, why are you still up? You were supposed to go to bed when Jimmy went home and should be asleep. You two aren’t supposed to be in here alone either.

Trudy looked up at her sister. I couldn’t sleep.

So I see. You’ve both got school tomorrow, you know.

Tomorrow’s Saturday, Jimmy corrected.

Still, if my father knew you were in here, he’d have a fit, Vikki said.

Jimmy gave her a knowing smile. I don’t think so.

That smile again. Vikki wondered what he meant by that smile, like he knew something that she didn’t. She had seen that smile several times before.

I just wanted to talk to Nicole. I miss her, Trudy said.

Talk how? Trudy, Nicole is dead. We all miss her.

Trudy shot her a duh look. So? That doesn’t mean anything. That woman on TV talks to the dead all the time. She says you can.

That’s just a fictional program, Vikki said.

It’s supposed to be based on facts, Jimmy said, about a woman that really talks to the spirits.

Vikki moved away from the door and closer to the bed. There was a Ouija board along with a wooden, felt-footed planchette sitting on its three short legs laid out on the bed between the two of them. The planchette pencil was missing and long since gone, but everything else was there.

You’re playing with the Ouija board? Vikki said. I haven’t seen that old thing in years.

Trudy gave her a perturbed look. We’re not playing. We’re communicating.

Vikki nodded. Where did you get it? I thought Father threw it out a long time ago.

Jennifer Webster told me about Ouija boards.

Your friend from school?

Yeah, Jennifer said you could talk to the spirits with a Ouija board. So I asked Mom if we had one. She said Nicole and you used to use it when you were about my age, asking it who you were going to marry. Mom said it might still be buried somewhere in the attic. It was. Jimmy helped me find it and dug it out.

You know how to use it? Vikki said.

Jimmy gave Vikki another duh look, and Trudy said, "Of course I do. Anybody can do it."

Okay, let’s see you do it, smarty-pants, Vikki said.

I’ve been doing it alone sometimes for a while now, but mostly with Jimmy.

Vikki was surprised at the news. Oh? Since when?

Since Nicole died, and the house started making all those noises.

That’s just an old house rumbling and the lake shaking the bluff, Vikki said.

Well, there’s been lots more noises since Nicole’s funeral, Trudy said. Jimmy and I think she’s here in the house and wants to talk to us.

The TV woman says they come back to visit now and then, Jimmy said, as if he was an authority on the subject.

Vikki thought about it. Trudy was right in a way. There were a lot more noises in the house since Nicole died.

Vikki folded her arms. You know, what they say about Ouija boards, don’t you? That you’re actually talking to your subconscious and not a spirit at all when you use these things.

Well, the subconscious is supposed to be smarter than the conscious, Jimmy said. Maybe it can talk to Nicole and then tell us what she says.

I don’t think it’s my subconscious, Trudy said, matter of fact. I think it’s Nicole.

Vikki raised an eyebrow. Are you getting any replies?

Trudy nodded. Sometimes, but they don’t always make sense. Did you and Nicole get answers?

Not really, Vikki said, then frowned, not sure she liked the no-sense part. Like what?

Trudy shrugged and looked at Jimmy for confirmation. The answers aren’t spelled out in English. They’re sort of jumbled up, like speaking in a foreign language or something. She shrugged again. Maybe it’s because of a bad connection on the other side. And sometimes the planchette flies off the board when we ask it to talk plainly.

Vikki became concerned. It flies off the board? Are you sure you’re not making this up? I think you two are watching too many spooky shows on television.

It’s true, Jimmy says. It does that sometimes, but it’s nothing really. It just sort of flops off the board and onto the floor.

Trudy gave her sister a steady look. I’m not making it up. Here, we’ll show you. Jimmy, work the board with me.

They both put their fingertips on the planchette after Jimmy moved it to the center of the board.

We’ll see if it flies off the board again, Trudy said.

Vikki started to feel a chill. You guys are creeping me out.

Trudy made a face. Don’t be such a scaredy-cat. We’re not, and you’re older than us. It only flies off the board a little, like Jimmy says, and falls on the floor just beyond the bed.

You do the asking, Jimmy said.

Vikki didn’t think that was much of a reassurance. She watched as Trudy asked the board if they were talking to Nicole. The planchette didn’t move.

Spell your name, Trudy said. Who am I talking to?

The planchette started to move starting to spell out B O. Then it stopped and started again with M A, only to stop once more. This time completely.

Jimmy stared at the board, trying to figure out what it wanted to spell.

Vikki looked at Trudy. What does that mean? What’s it trying to tell you?

We don’t know, Trudy said. That’s probably one of the gibberish words it spells out. Trudy refocused her attention on the board, Are you my sister Nicole?

No answer. Nothing moved.

Trudy persisted. Do you know my sister Nicole?

The planchette still didn’t move.

Are you a spirit guide? Trudy continued. Her spirit guide? Who are you? Tell us your name.

The planchette started to rock, slightly at first, then violently. Jimmy and Trudy quickly pulled their hands away as if from a hot fire. The planchette shot off the board and sailed across the room, almost hitting Vikki, striking hard off the closet door and cracking.

They all looked startled.

Why did you do that? Vikki said.

I didn’t, Trudy said with eyes twice their normal size. It just does it on its own, like I told you. Jimmy exchanged looks with Trudy. This time was the worst. It never did that before.

Vikki quickly backed away from the Ouija board and the planchette lying on the floor, like there was suddenly something evil and alien in the room with them that she wanted no part of. She felt the chill in her body turn ice cold.

God, what have you two been talking to? Vikki said.

In another part of town, Paul was having a bad dream. It wasn’t a war dream, which he still had occasionally. It was something else. He knew that war takes a part of you away that you never get back. It also takes away part of your sleep.

He wasn’t sure what this dream was, only that it was menacing. He was in a big house—not Durie House, but similar—and something that he couldn’t see was after him, chasing him from room to room, until he finally got cornered, entering a room he couldn’t escape from and felt whatever it was reach out for him.

He jerked up to a sitting position in bed, stiff as a board, wide awake, sweaty, slightly shaken, his breathing labored. He must have moaned as he sat up because he woke Ashleigh, who had been asleep lying next to him.

She sat up too and put a comforting hand on his chest. What’s the matter? Did you have a bad dream about the war again?

He took her hand in his and held it. It felt cool and welcome. It was a bad dream, but not about the war. I don’t know what it really was about. I’m sorry I woke you.

She kissed his shoulder. There’s no need to be sorry. I’m glad I’m here. She searched his face. You don’t remember any of it? You cried out.

He tried to get his thoughts in order. What did I say?

I don’t know. It was more of a moan than spoken words.

He turned to look at her. I think it was about something that goes bump in the night.

Minutes later in Lanark, Abigail Azazel was awakened from a sound sleep by a shaking house. She sat up and looked around her dark bedroom, trying to get her bearings. The shaking lasted another minute or two and then stopped. She thought it was an earthquake, one of those occasional tremors that were compliments of nearby Lake Michigan changing its floor plan. She put her head back down on the pillow, then immediately sat up again as a new thought struck her that made her throw back the covers and jump out of bed.

She dressed quickly in a heavy sweater and slacks and rushed to a hall closet, slipping into a pair of winter boots and grabbing a heavy jacket off a hanger. Throwing it on, she left the house and rushed next door to the old Durie House ruins. There wasn’t much left—just the stone foundations littered with debris from the fire that burned the house down, and part of the front terrace that had led to the front door.

Climbing the steps to the terrace, she stood at the edge and looked down into the foundation. She saw nothing but darkness at first. Then she saw it. There was a blue glow deep down among the burned timbers that lasted for less than a minute and then was gone, but she had seen it. It was there. It was back.

She stepped back from the edge of the terrace and gathered her thoughts. She would have to call Paul Rice.

3

Trudy Dane had forgotten all about the Ouija board incident, dismissing it as nothing special or even menacing. Besides, according to her, the planchette had fallen off the board several times before and nobody turned into a pillar of salt or something because of it. Sure, this time it flew off rather violently compared to the other times, and even put a dent in the closet door, but still Trudy attributed no significance to it. Only Vikki saw it differently. She kept remembering the movie The Exorcist that scared the hell out of her when she saw it and remained with her for a long time after, and that the trouble all started with a Ouija board.

That night Vikki slept badly. She had a feeling that something very unpleasant and presently unforeseen was building up and coming their way. She half expected to be dragged out of her bed and carried off to God knows where, but nothing happened. When morning finally arrived, she dressed and went downstairs for breakfast. Gertrude, the Danes’ middle-aged and overweight cook, was almost done with her morning cooking chores. Vikki was the last one she would have to serve. Trudy was already at the breakfast table. Her father had eaten and left to wherever he went during the day. One wondered, for he no longer held any kind of office and had no job, or needed one; unless he was visiting some of his constituents from the Republican Party. Patrick and Shaun were finishing up, Trudy was halfway through with her breakfast, as was her mother. Hot oatmeal or eggs or pancakes were on today’s menu. Vikki was late. She could have sworn that she hadn’t slept a wink during the night, but she must have slept some; otherwise, she would have been at the breakfast table on time.

Vikki studied Trudy closely. She didn’t look none the worse for wear. In fact, she looked well rested.

How did you sleep? Vikki asked her.

Like a top, Trudy said, biting into her toast. What about you?

Their mother sipped her coffee and took in both of them with a skeptical eye. Is there something I should know about?

Trudy shook her head. Not that I’m aware of.

Mrs. Dane focused on Vikki. Did you have trouble sleeping, dear?

No, I slept like a top too, Vikki lied. Whatever that means.

And so it went. For days nothing happened, and Vikki was beginning to feel foolish for thinking that something inevitably would. The next night, that all changed and her fears bore fruit. Trudy screamed the house awake at one in the morning. Her screams brought everyone to her room like a magnet, and they jammed together in her doorway for a moment before entering the room.

What’s going on? Shaun Dane said. Since his father was out of town visiting some of his old cronies, Shaun, being the oldest, took it upon himself to fill in for his father.

Trudy was standing a good distance away from her bed and staring at it in horror and revulsion. The bed is shaking, she blurted out. It wouldn’t stop.

Shaun looked at the bed. It’s not shaking now.

Trudy glanced at him and back at the bed. Well, it was, she said, seeing that the shaking had stopped.

Patrick laughed. Whatja do, have a nightmare?

Bad dreams are nothing to laugh about, Mrs. Dane chided Patrick. Dreams can be just as scary as the real thing. She moved over to Trudy and gave her a comforting hug as Shaun checked the bed over and could find nothing wrong with it.

Shaun shrugged. There’s nothing wrong that I can see. It had to have been a dream.

You should try to go back to sleep, Mrs. Dane soothed.

Trudy locked eyes with Vikki. She can sleep with me, Vikki said.

That’s a good idea, Mrs. Dane said.

Heading back to Vikki’s room, Trudy whispered to Vikki, Honest to God, it was shaking.

I believe you," Vikki said.

That Sunday afternoon when Vikki returned to her room to get a sweater, she found that all of her bedroom furniture had been shoved up against one wall. Only the women in the house were home to witness the strange phenomenon. Grant Dane was out of town and Patrick and Shaun were out of the house that day. Later, some of the rooms downstairs were rearranged as well. Some of the furniture even wound up in the hallway.

Mrs. Dane kept insisting that there had to be some logical explanation for what was taking place, but they just couldn’t see it.

Trudy and Vikki were not so sure.

I think we’re being haunted, Vikki said.

I don’t believe that, Mrs. Dane said, slightly taken aback by the remark. If this house was haunted, don’t you think we would have noticed all this before now?

Nicole was alive before, Trudy pointed out. Now she’s dead.

Mrs. Dane frowned. You think Nicole is doing this?

I think so, Trudy said.

Why would she? Mrs. Dane said.

Well, somebody or something is, Vikki said.

I just can’t believe that, Mrs. Dane said.

Another week went by with no other major disturbances. There were minor ones, like a chair or a table or something being out of place, but nothing like before. Mrs. Dane told the girls not to speak of it for now until they knew more of what was happening, especially to their father and brothers. She didn’t tell her husband because she knew how he would react, or her sons, who would only echo their father’s skepticism and ridicule. She had enough of that over the years and didn’t need to give him a fresh supply to work with. She told the house help to do the same, to keep quiet about anything strange going on and report it only to her, which they did, believing that Patrick and Shaun were the perpetrators behind everything that was going on, trying to frighten everyone into believing that there was a ghost in the house. However, not everything could be explained as merely the boys acting out. There were several cold spots in the house that no one had an answer for. These spots turned your breath white and felt as cold as a winter wind. The worse one was in front of Nicole’s room.

Mrs. Dane really didn’t know what to make of the strange occurrences that were suddenly happening in her home. The logic she had tried to attribute to them at first was now quickly turning into the realm of the unexplained. She didn’t believe that her dead daughter was haunting them. She really didn’t believe in ghosts, but she did believe in hell and the devil, thanks to her Catholic upbringing. They hadn’t had this house blessed like she had all the others they had lived in, mainly because her husband told her not to be stupid when they were moving in. So she hadn’t, and maybe that left an opening for the devil to enter and do his work. Still, it was just nonsense things happening and nothing more.

Two days went by and nothing untoward happened. Mrs. Dane thought that perhaps whatever was taking place had stopped; however, the girls remained skeptical. The following evening, coming downstairs to dinner, Mrs. Dane felt a hand as cold as ice in the middle of her back give her a shove. She almost went down headfirst all the way to the hall, but managed to grab the banister after tumbling down four steps on her knees and ripping her stockings. She mentioned nothing of it to the family, who heard the commotion and rushed into the hall to see what had happened. She lied and told them that she had tripped on the stairs and nothing more. She knew that no one, but the girls, would believe her if she told them the truth.

After dinner, alone with the girls at the table, Vikki stared seriously at her and asked her what really happened.

She was reluctant to tell them, but did. Something pushed me. I felt a cold hand on my back. It tried to shove me down the stairs.

I think we need some help, Trudy said.

4

Natalee Cruz, Paul’s secretary and girl Friday, got up from her office desk and entered the inner office of PAUL RICE, SPECIAL INVESTIGATIONS. Paul was behind his desk putting the finishing touches to a report for Natalee to type up later. After years of juggling two careers, he was finally able to quit his second job and was successful enough to concentrate on just one career.

She closed the door and walked to the desk. Paul, are you busy?

Not really. Just putting the finishing touches to the Moran Case.

The crazy husband trying to frighten his wife?

Yeah, that one.

Can you do without me for a while?

Paul looked up at her. I can never do without you, but I’ll try.

She smiled. I love that answer.

So what’s up?

Ashleigh wants me to join her for lunch, and it might take more than an hour.

Oh? Sounds serious?

I don’t know. It could be. Teenagers always think the sky is falling, but Vikki Dane isn’t known to be prone to hysterics or be theatrical for no reason. She called Ashleigh and wants to meet with the both of us.

Paul put down the paper and pen he was holding. Dane? Is she related to your friend Nicole Dane?

Yeah, they’re sisters. Did you know Nicole?

Yes, tall, attractive, long blonde hair, stunning blue eyes.

Natalee moved to the corner of the desk closest to him and sat on it, crossing her legs in his direction.

You would remember that.

Always vigilant.

Natalee laughed. That I know.

Paul shrugged. Ashleigh introduced us awhile back. We bumped into her a few times after that.

She nodded. She died. Did you know?

Yes, Ashleigh told me. Drunk driver, wasn’t it?

Yeah, maybe when the death toll gets high enough, Wisconsin will finally do something to get the drunks off the road.

He picked up his pen and stared at it for a long moment, then put it back down. Don’t hold your breath. The governor is trying to rectify that, but she’s working with a Republican House and Senate.

Natalee knew Paul and the governor, Claire Thayer-Prescott, were friends. And that’s not working?

Not very well. They’re more interested in breaking up unions and reducing aid to schools and making more poor people, but some people are still dumb enough to vote for them.

Natalee watched him. Are you all right? Ashleigh said you had a bad dream the other night.

Paul made a face. You girls talk about that stuff?

She made a face back. Of course we do. We’re sisters. We compare notes.

Paul shot her a look.

She put her head back and laughed at his reaction. No, we don’t, not about that. But I know you get bad war dreams from time to time. That’s nothing new.

I should have known Ashleigh wasn’t the type to talk about such things.

Natalee stopped laughing and gave him a penetrating look. "Ha, a lot you know. Ashleigh’s changed a lot this past year, thanks to you,