A Summer with the Dead Read online

  He’s following me again?

  Maya remained on the boulder and soon Coty returned. His boots thudded against the soft earth. He slapped a tan baseball cap against his thigh and then he halted, tilting his head the same way the doe had, as if listening with the ears of a wild creature. Then, as if the sound of her heartbeat drew his ear, he turned around. He jumped as if startled and frowned at her.

  “I left my hat by the pond yesterday, while fishing,” he said. “I just wanted to get it before it rained again.” He held the hat up for her to see, as if it proved his words were true.

  “If I take another walk and you show up, I’ll suspect you’re stalking me. I’ll want to know why.”

  “Stalking you?” He jammed the cap on his head, jerked the brim down tight and stomped down the trail. The sound of his boots faded.

  Maya jumped down from the boulder and continued her climb. At the next turn she came to a large fir log. The log spanned a small stream and the stream poured into a green pond. She crossed the log and followed the path around the water. Fat trout circled in the shadows.

  Ahead, the trail divided. One path looped all the way around the pond and the other climbed higher into the forest. Maya continued upward. When she arrived at the top of the ridge she gasped at the view. To her right were the Olympic Mountains, looking as if she could hit them with a rock. To her left were the bays and inlets of Puget Sound dotted with islands and the floating bridge near Port Gamble. Looking further east over the tops of hills she spotted the Seattle skyline in miniature.

  Maya heard someone clear his throat. She turned to find Coty behind her.

  “Look,” he said. “I was rude. I wasn’t following you, but I owe you an apology for yesterday. You really do need to be cautious around here though. There are dangers.”

  Maya shrugged. “Okay, but if you had simply told me, I would have listened. It wasn’t necessary to scare the hell out of me, and you did, you know.”

  “Sorry.” After a moment of awkward silence Coty nodded and retreated down the trail. Maya waited five minutes before heading back down behind him. Halfway down, she paused on the path.

  I should have told him about how for twenty-five years I’ve wanted to visit and explore this place.

  When Maya arrived back at the farm she spotted Coty behind the shed, with an axe raised high over his shoulders. He drove the axe down into a thick round of maple. The maple split into two halves. His strength frightened her. He could have so easily tossed her into the quarry. With a shudder she stepped inside the kitchen door and locked it behind her. She drew the curtains across the window, overlapping them. She straightened them, adjusted the gathers, checked the lock again, unlocking it and then relocking it. She stepped to the sink, counting her steps aloud. “One … two … three … four.” She drew the curtains shut behind the sink.

  “Something wrong, Maya? You’re so pale you look like the devil was chasing you.” Elly entered the kitchen through the dining room.

  “Not the devil.” Maya took a shaky breath. “I should have told you yesterday, how Coty scared the bejeebers out of me at the quarry. He grabbed me and held me right at the edge and he told me frightening things about the farm.”

  Elly asked, “What did he say about the farm?”

  “He said there’s rusty barbed wire and abandoned wells and that a fisherman drowned in the quarry and how his body went over a waterfall and how he was unrecognizable when they found him. But the worst part was being held there—right at the cliff’s edge above that horrible black water. I was so scared I could hardly breathe, and he wouldn’t let me go!”

  “Then what?”

  “Then … I almost wet my pants!”

  “What do you want me to do, honey? Coty is … well … he’s Judith’s nephew. I can’t imagine what she’d say if I accused him of something.” Elly lowered herself into a kitchen chair, twisting and worrying her hands together, her eyes fixed on Maya.

  Maya pushed her bangs away from her sweaty forehead. “He did apologize a few minutes ago, but I don’t understand what he’s thinking. At first he seemed, you know, different, a little odd maybe, but now it seems like he doesn’t want me around the farm. He insists there’s dangers and that I could get hurt. He really scared me, Elly.” Maya waved her hands, trying to erase the image of the black quarry water from her mind. “I could be wrong. I’ve been wrong before.” She heard the tremble in her own voice.

  Maya remembered all the times Benson accused her of being neurotic. “A basket case,” he said, and even Dr. Conover told her to try looking at things from “someone else’s perspective.” Maya had Dr. Conover’s phone number in the zippered pocket of her handbag. If things got worse, if all the counting didn’t help, if she started hearing voices or if she saw things … things that weren’t really there, she would phone Dr. Conover. She always felt better after hearing Dr. Conover’s reassuring voice.

  “Maybe I’m over-reacting,” Maya said. “Boys like to scare girls. Maybe Coty has never outgrown that behavior.”

  “Harlan was never one for pranks or teasing. He didn’t have time for silliness and he was impatient with people who were,” Elly said.

  “Impatient how?”

  “Oh, you know … he’d separate himself from people like that.”

  “Like I’ve done with Benson,” Maya said.

  “Kind of.”

  “That reminds me, do you have any photos of Uncle Harlan?”

  “Yes,” Elly said. “But I’ll have to remember where I put them. Too bad they’re all from when we were both much younger. Harlan didn’t hold still long enough to have his picture taken after we moved here. He kept so busy. He was a serious fellow. A hard worker. But I’ll find those old photos. I’d like to see them again myself.”

  CHAPTER

  SEVEN

  “THE KITCHEN HASN’T BEEN this clean in decades.” Elly stood in the center of the room and turned completely around, smiling. “I used to keep this whole house spotless but that was because Harlan took care of everything outside. He sometimes hired local help during haying season or when he needed help building a shed or a barn. Back then I was young and strong and enjoyed keeping everything tidy and in its place. Sometimes I even helped Harlan outside. I helped build that bridge over the stream and the chicken coop too.”

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Maya said. “I found some canned goods in the hall pantry with expired dates and I threw them out. I’ll pay for replacing them.”

  “No, no, that’s fine. Judith told me it’s easier to sell a house with empty closets and cupboards. She said she got rid of everything she didn’t absolutely need before putting her place up for sale and I plan to do the same.”

  “We’ll sell a lot of stuff at your garage sale.”

  “Oh, that’s right. I forgot about the garage sale. I appreciate your ideas, baby girl.”

  “My pleasure. I’ll start cleaning the other downstairs rooms tomorrow,” Maya said. She carried a basket of clean, folded laundry upstairs. She set Elly’s things on the foot of her bed and then stored the clean towels and washcloths in the hall cupboard outside the bathroom before heading down the hall toward her room with the rest of the clean laundry.

  Coty probably doesn’t realize how terrified I was, and how menacing he sounded. Back in school several boys had been teasers. Some were rough or clumsy, not realizing their own size and strength. Maybe Coty is like that.

  That evening, with the chicken roasting in the oven and the wild rice steaming, Maya wiped down the old Frigidaire, the cupboards and counters again. She wrung out the washcloth and tossed it to the bottom step of the basement stairs. Through the window above the sink she caught sight of Coty striding up the driveway toward the house. He wore a black stocking cap and had two day’s growth of dark beard. His breath steamed in the chilly air as he passed the window. Maya stepped away before returning to draw the curtains closed. Coty entered his bunkhouse door and slam it shut.

  He stays busy around here
, I’ll give him that. He’s not a slacker. Maya was uncertain why her strongest instincts were to avoid Coty altogether. Something about him, in addition to the incident at the quarry, gave her chills. She found herself thinking about him often.

  Across the driveway a blue curtain parted as an Audi rolled up and parked by the back door.

  “Tony Bradley’s here.” Maya felt her cheeks grow warm. Tony was a good-looking guy.

  “You and Tony are both prompt people. Promptness is a good sign.” Elly opened the back door and Maya heard Tony’s voice.

  “Hello there, Elly,” he said. “I brought both red and white wine. I wasn’t sure what we’re having for dinner.”

  “Let me take your coat, young man.” Elly’s cheeks were rosy and her pale blue eyes sparkled. “I’ll get us some wine glasses.”

  Tony smiled at Maya as he stepped inside. He rubbed his hands together and glanced around. “This is a fabulous old kitchen. It reminds me of my uncle’s farm in west Peoria.”

  “You’re from Illinois?”

  “Chicago actually, and that’s about as Illinois as anyone can get.”

  “I’m helping Aunt Elly get this place ready to sell,” Maya said. “There’s a lot to do but we’re making headway.”

  “Selling? Really? It’s sad how old family farms keep disappearing.” He stepped closer to the table and the bay window. “Great view of that gorgeous valley down there. Developers have been known to reroute streams, you know. It can be a tough battle with the EPA but eventually they succeed, because money talks. Money talks louder than anything else.”

  Elly wore a pensive expression. “I won’t let that happen here, Mr. Bradley.”

  “I’ve heard people say that before, but within ten years I’ll bet some developer has built a dozen houses on that field out there. And call me Tony. When people say ‘Mr. Bradley’ I expect to see my father, and he’s been dead for thirty years.”

  Aunt Elly was quiet during dinner and Maya suspected the mention of Tony’s father’s death had reminded her of Uncle Harlan again. Elly seemed to brighten, though when Tony said, “This is the best apple pie I’ve ever eaten.”

  “Thank you. That recipe’s been handed down through generations, except now days, instead of lard I use vegetable shortening for the crust,” Elly said. “It’s healthier.”

  After several more cups of coffee, Tony helped clear the table.

  “You don’t need to do that,” Maya said. “We have a system, don’t we Elly?”

  Tony smiled. “My mother taught my brothers and me how to snuff out candles without splattering wax, how to scrape dishes, and stack them on the counter, and how to gather up the linens and put chairs back under the table.”

  “He’s a keeper, Maya,” Elly said. “Tony, if you don’t mind, I’ll be heading upstairs, but you stay as long as you want.”

  “Elly’s back bothers her,” Maya explained. “She needs to lie down.”

  “Oh, sorry to hear that.” Tony said.

  “Thank you for coming, Tony. It was a treat having you here.” Elly said.

  “The pleasure was all mine. I appreciate the home cooking and the lively conversation with two lovely ladies.”

  Maya heard a slow, drawn out lilt to the way he said, lively conversation, and lovely ladies, not at all like someone from Illinois. His off-center smile and genteel manners reminded her more like a character from Gone With the Wind.

  “You go rest your back, Elly. I’ll talk to you again soon, all right?” Tony said, and as Elly climbed the big stairwell, he added, “She’s a sweet lady.”

  “I love her to pieces. She’s made me feel right at home here.”

  “If it’s all right, I’d like to explore this farm sometime soon, to get an idea of its size and value.”

  “I’ll mention that to Elly in the morning. I have a feeling she’ll want to list the place with you when the time comes. I can’t say for sure, but I’m assuming.”

  Tony retrieved his coat from the row of hooks behind the back door and made a quick, informal bow.

  “Maya, the meal was delicious. I’m openly hinting for another invitation.”

  “Do come again.” Maya opened the door and was surprised by Tony’s touch on her arm. His hand slid down to her hand. He lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed them.

  Not at all like someone from Chicago, she thought.

  He squeezed her hand and stood there for a few seconds, smiling. For a moment Maya thought he meant to kiss her. He leaned a couple inches closer, as if anticipating the same move from her, but then he straightened and stepped outside. The wind ruffled his pale hair as he opened his car door. He waved and a moment later his brake lights blinked as his Audi coasted down the driveway and into the trees.

  “What just happened?” Maya shook her head as she strolled through the dining room and into the living room. She arrived beside the big picture window in time to see Tony’s rear lights cross the bridge and climb the hill to the county road. Tony was so attractive he could have modeled men’s clothing for Nordstrom. He could have made commercials, or movies. She felt her face grow warm again at the memory of the missed kiss. “Did I mess up?” Probably.

  Maya returned to the kitchen. She locked, unlocked, and re-locked the back door. She filled the sink with hot, soapy water. Soon the dishes, flatware, and cookware, were draining in the rack. As she draped a towel over them and glanced up at the kitchen window, she jumped back. She flipped the light off. A pale, shadowy face had loomed in the darkness outside, like an oval moon through fog. She looked again but saw nothing except a black treetop waving back and forth across the face of the moon. Was it the moon she had seen?

  No, the moon I just saw—had eyes.

  Maya checked the door again. Locked. She checked the yellow basement door. Locked. She stood in front of the aged and blistered, yellow door. There was always an odd smell by the door. Maya had examined the floor and the doorframe several times already, with no answer to the mystery of that smell.

  Maya shrugged and then counted six steps across the kitchen to the dining room, six steps to the bottom of the stairs, eight steps to the landing and fourteen more to the second floor. Thirty-four. An even number.

  And I’m wearing my lucky blue underwear.

  On the wide upstairs landing a round window glowed with moonlight. It’s called a rose window. This lavender, stained glass window, resembled the face of a morning glory.

  The door at the far end of the hall was dulled by shadows. To its right, her bedroom door stood ajar. Her bedside lamp cast a golden wedge into hall. Elly must have turned it on for me.

  Maya washed her face at the pedestal sink. She tilted her prescription bottle and rolled a Lorazapam into her palm. She swallowed it down by gulping tap water from the faucet.

  Minutes after crawling between the sheets Maya was asleep. If anyone whispered to her from the darkness, she didn’t hear him.

  CHAPTER

  EIGHT

  MAYA SPRAWLED ACROSS THE frigid bottom of a deep well, while far above a disk of pale light promised freedom. The light looked so very far away. This all felt familiar.

  I know I’m asleep, on my back—my eyes are closed. She could not move or call out. She knew that ten feet away, Benson stood in her open bedroom door, glaring at her, squeezing his fists and clenching his jaw. She felt him in the doorway. She pictured his face, bloodless and pale. She felt his hate, knew he wanted her lungs to stop breathing, for her heart to stop beating, for her mouth to never utter another word. He wanted to be the last person she ever saw. He wanted to strangle her, to hear her choke, to feel her pulse flutter, for her to suffer at his touch.

  Maya struggled against the paralysis, dreaming she had wings instead of arms. She rose, slow as smoke. High overhead, the light grew larger and brighter. She reached the top of the well and gasped awake. She sat straight up in bed and eyed her room. The door was closed. Benson was not there. Dr. Conover had warned her how Lorazapam made it easy to fall asleep but t
hat it could be difficult to wake.

  Her heart raced as she slipped from the covers and opened her bedroom door. The upstairs hall was bright with lavender moonlight through the morning glory window, its triangle panes meeting in the center like the heart of a blossom. Her heart calmed. She guessed it to be two, maybe three o’clock in the morning.

  Today I’ll search and find my watch.

  There were only two clocks in this entire house, one in the kitchen and one in the upstairs bathroom. She needed her watch. Time was important.

  Maya tiptoed down the hall. She eased the bathroom door closed behind her and flipped the light on. Two pink frosted glass sconces beside the medicine cabinet glowed. The clock on the counter said it was two forty-five. At the far end of the bathroom stood a full-length mirror and Maya studied her reflection. Her brown hair tangled around her oval face and across her shoulders. Her feet were bare. Her pajamas were lucky blue.

  Benson hated pajamas. He nagged her to wear short nightgowns, or better yet, nothing.

  “I can’t sleep nude,” she told him. “I keep waking up.”

  “You’re a miserable prude.”

  “I don’t nag you about what to sleep in, Bens. Naked or a snowsuit, I don’t care.”

  The nightmare nagged Maya’s mind. The image of Benson in her bedroom doorway refused to vanish. It was as if he was there, somewhere in the house at that moment, and the thought made her knees shake.

  Maya drank from the faucet again and then, sitting on the side of the bathtub, she listened to the silence. Benson isn’t here. He’s in St. Joseph’s Hospital in Tacoma. Maya turned off the light.

  A pale green light shimmered in the hallway. It retreated, as if it had been waiting for her. It halted outside her bedroom. It formed a human shape, arms, shoulders, a blurry face with almost familiar, penetrating eyes.

  Maya stepped back inside and closed the bathroom door. She backed up until her shoulders pressed against the cold mirror. She stared at the bathroom door, expecting the apparition to follow her, but it didn’t. She tiptoed toward the door again. She paused and leaned against the sink. A moment passed and she opened the door, her breath shaky. The green apparition remained outside her bedroom. It resembled a boy about seventeen years of age with a black Mohawk, tattoos on his neck, a pierced nostril, pierced brow and right ear. He opened his mouth. His lips formed words but he made no sound. He raised one hand, motioning for her. Maya shook her head no.