1 The Ghost in the Basement Page 13

  He grabbed two steps they’d knocked out of the hidden staircase and walked down the main staircase, where Monique and Bosch stood talking.

  “Really, Donovan,” said Monique. “Must you do that now?”

  Donovan stopped and stuck his hand out. “Mr. Bosch, nice to see you again. Excuse me.” He shot Monique a glare and walked on down to the basement, where Hannah was putting a load of clothes into the dryer.

  “Is Monique’s friend still here?”

  “Yep. Hannah, did you tell Monique what I do for a living?”

  “No. Did you?”

  He shook his head. Sometimes the best way to do undercover work was to do it right out in the open. “I wouldn’t mention it to her.”

  “She won’t be here long enough to care. I don’t want her in the house, and I know you don’t want her around Billy.”

  Donovan put the boards down with the others and walked upstairs with Hannah. Bosch had left, and Monique was flipping through the phone book in the kitchen, looking for a place to get a manicure.

  Hannah said, “While you’re looking through the phone book, you’d better find another place to stay, because tonight is the last night you’ll be here.”

  Monique’s mouth hung open in feigned shock, but she wasn’t fooling anyone. “Surely you wouldn’t throw your own mother out in the cold.”

  Hannah crossed her arms. “Watch me.”

  Monique turned on Donovan. “You put her up to this.”

  “If you’re looking for someone to blame, look in the mirror. Why didn’t you tell her Sonny and Virginia were sick? I called you twice, and both times you said you’d tell Hannah her grandparents needed her. But you didn’t tell her, did you?”

  Monique’s lips tightened into a thin slash of red. “You’re every bit as hateful as your father.” She looked him up and down. “Such a waste, since the packaging is so fine.”

  Donovan felt an icy breeze, and Hannah caught his eye. He didn’t know what the spirits were up to, but they weren’t happy.

  Monique hugged her arms. “How can you live in this icebox?”

  Donovan drained a glass of water and set the glass on the counter by the sink. “Feels fine to me.”

  Hannah cocked her head. “There’s another reason for you to move on, Monique.”

  With the dignity of a queen, Monique collected her coat and purse from the living room. “Don’t wait dinner for me, Hannah.” Seconds later, she was gone.

  Donovan hoped Monique would stay gone forever, but she’d left her luggage in the living room, and he knew she didn’t intend to leave tonight.

  Like Billy, Hannah deserved so much better from her mother.

  Peace settled over the kitchen that evening. Monique wasn’t there to complain about what was served, place special orders, and talk about the wonderful meals her last husband’s cook had prepared for them. Donovan didn’t want to say too much in front of Hannah, but Monique’s selfish, self-centered attitudes reminded him of Maggie.

  At dinner, Billy chattered about the Halloween party and school, and Pop and Donovan discussed the work on the house.

  Hannah said, “While you guys work on the new bathroom, I’ll work on the wallpaper in Grandpa’s room. I want to get that room finished.”

  “I’ll help, Hannah,” said Billy.

  Donovan knew Billy would do anything for Hannah. In a few short weeks, the four of them had become a family, not just four people living together in the same house. Only tonight there was a fifth person sitting at the dinner table. Trevor. Hannah’s ex-husband.

  Trevor asked, “Hannah, can I use one of those old trunks in the attic beside my bed?”

  His bed? Donovan glanced at Hannah’s resigned expression and realized she was right. The guy had no intention of leaving in this lifetime. “Did you open those trunks, Trevor?”

  “No, they’re locked.”

  “I couldn’t get them open,” Hannah said, “and apparently Cordelli’s men couldn’t either. The locks are rusted.”

  As soon as they finished eating, Donovan walked upstairs with Trevor and Hannah. Every time he went into the attic, he was surprised at the changes. Trevor had unrolled that piece of carpet and pulled out all the tacks. He’d put the old brass bed on one side of it and polished the metal until it gleamed. The old dresser was on the opposite end of the rug, with the armoire anchoring the corner. Without walls, Trevor had created a bedroom for himself. His suitcases were pushed under the bed, which meant he’d unpacked and moved his things into the dresser and armoire. He’d even found a lamp to put beside the bed.

  Hannah looked around. “Well, make yourself right at home, Trevor. Just how long do you intend to stay?”

  Trevor opened his mouth and then wisely closed it. He reached for the bolt cutters in Donovan’s hand and severed the lock on the bigger of the two trunks.

  Hannah stared at Trevor. “Since when do you know how to use tools?”

  “My uncle taught me. He made furniture and cabinets, really beautiful stuff.”

  “Then why didn’t you look for a job using those skills?”

  “My sister said to use my intelligence instead of my hands.”

  “But you don’t use either one, Trevor.”

  Donovan opened the lid of the trunk, which was filled with old pieces of silver – tarnished pitchers, goblets, trays, and several smaller pieces.

  Trevor picked up a ladle. “Is this real silver?”

  Hannah dropped to her knees in front of the trunk and lifted a pitcher out. “Yes, it’s real. My grandmother used this pitcher one Christmas. I helped her polish it. She said it belonged to her grandmother.” She picked up a little silver bowl and spoon. “This was my father’s when he was a baby. It belonged to his grandfather.”

  Donovan cut the lock on the other trunk, which was filled with handmade baby clothes. The christening gown was a work of art. The lace trim around the bottom of the long gown had been crocheted with fine thread, and the bodice had been tucked with delicate hand stitches.

  “Monique said this place was filled with valuable things,” said Trevor.

  “It belongs to Hannah,” said Donovan. “Everything here belongs to Hannah except the house.”

  “My grandfather’s estate still owns the house,” she said, “and they will own it until next October. You’ll be long gone by then.”

  Trevor looked from Hannah to Donovan. “I’ll work for room and board if you let me stay. I’ll help Pop with the work downstairs and I’ll frame in the two bedrooms and playroom and storage closets up here we talked about. You don’t have to pay me. All I want is a place to live.”

  “For how long, Trevor? How long do you plan to stay in this house?”

  “As long as you need me.”

  Hannah looked up to see Donovan’s eyes on her. Pop said Trevor was doing a good job, and Donovan didn’t seem to mind. “It’s up to Donovan. He’s the one buying the groceries and paying the electric bill.”

  “It’s all right with me, as long as he’s doing his share of the work and helps out with the daily chores.” Donovan looked straight at Trevor. “When the work here is done, we’ll expect you to move on.”

  Trevor smiled broadly, and Hannah sighed. Knowing Trevor, he’d make himself indispensable, so he never had to leave. He had never liked living alone. “Make that four guys leaving the seat up.”

  As Hannah walked downstairs with Donovan, he said, “I told him he could use Pop’s old TV up there. He said he could string the cable connection himself, and Sonny was paying for multiple connections.”

  “He knows how to do that and couldn’t find work?” She shook her head. “In some ways, Trevor is very bright, but when it comes to what Grandpa used to call horse sense, he’s hopeless.” Sometimes she thought Trevor had married her to have someone to take care of him. He’d lived with his sister off and on before they married, and moved in with her when Hannah threw him out of their apartment. He came back a few weeks later, when Hannah was packing to move out. He as
ked if he could sleep on her sofa, and she told him to find a bridge to sleep under or join the Army, because she wouldn’t support him again. Now here he was, living in her house.

  “He and Pop get along pretty well,” said Donovan. “Pop can’t do a lot of the work these days, and it’ll cost less to give Trevor room and board than hire someone.”

  “If he’ll keep working. The longest I’ve known him to work at anything was two months.”

  Donovan stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “Hannah, if he stops working, we stop giving him a place to live.”

  “Yes, okay.” She was living with a cop, an ex-cop, a kid, her ex-husband, and who knew how many ghosts. “Grandpa must be laughing his head off right about now. Where’s his granddaughter’s ex-husband? Living in the attic, of course. All we need is a coffin for Trevor to sleep in and a lock on the door.”

  Donovan chuckled softly.

  “It’s not funny!” There was nothing funny about a man who couldn’t take care of himself.

  Hannah didn’t love Trevor, but she didn’t hate him. If he’d held down a job and paid his share of their bills, they’d probably still be married. They wouldn’t be happy, but they’d still be married.

  Billy was in the library, doing his homework. He brought a folder out to the living room and handed it to Hannah. “Miss Wright said to give this to you. It’s thank you letters for the Halloween party. There’s some for Dad in there, too.”

  “Isn’t that nice. Thank you, Billy. Did you eat all your Halloween candy?”

  “I hid it from Dad,” he said with a grin. “He always eats all the good stuff.”

  Donovan grabbed him and rolled him down on the living room floor. “Just for that, I will eat all the good stuff.” Donovan tickled, and Billy’s giggles filled the room.

  Hannah’s memories of fourth grade left a lump in her throat. They’d moved twice that school year, and she’d spent most of her time trying to make herself invisible. Monique’s attentions were always focused on some man, and Hannah was lonely and miserable. Every time she made a friend, Monique moved them again.

  Hannah’s memories threatened to swallow her like quicksand when Donovan grabbed her ankle and pulled her down on top of him. He raised his head for a kiss.

  Billy made a face. “Ooh, yuk.”

  Pop chuckled. “You won’t say that when you’re a teenager. Go finish your homework. It’s almost bedtime.”

  Donovan rolled Hannah over and kissed her thoroughly, and her body ached for more. She saw the need in his eyes, felt it in his embrace, and tasted it in his passionate kisses, but Pop was in the room, and Billy could walk in any minute.

  “Not here, Donovan,” she whispered.

  After another kiss, he stood and pulled her off the floor. The moment was over, but she knew there would be another.

  While Donovan helped Billy with his homework, Hannah sat with Pop and read through the thank you letters from Billy’s class. The one from their teacher was sweet. She thanked them for not only having the party, but for teaching the kids important lessons about police work and history. One letter said:

  You’re the best. If I could pick any mom in the whole world, I’d pick you.

  Billy’s letter left Hannah teary-eyed and wondering what would happen to her favorite kid at the end of the year, when their pretend family broke up.

  Chapter Ten

  That night, Hannah sat in her bedroom with the diary from 1918 and the tablet she’d been using to write the words so others could read them. She read two more pages and wrote the words on the tablet. Reading this book took so much time. If she asked, would Charity give her another vision and speed up the process?

  Holding the diary, Hannah asked, “Charity, was Andrew someone special to you? He looked like a kind man.”

  This time Hannah wasn’t asleep when the vision began. She closed her eyes and watched Andrew saw lumber and hammer nails. A little boy brought him nails and handed him tools. The kid wore short pants and suspenders, and when he turned toward her, she saw her grandfather’s face. He looked happy.

  A woman called, “Sonny, Andrew, it’s time for lunch. I hope you’re hungry.” That must be Charity’s voice. Hannah wondered where her great-grandfather was that day. Did Cal know Charity fixed lunch for Andrew? No, probably not.

  Did Andrew work on the house? He looked strong and healthy, probably from working outside in the fresh air. Lifting those big beams, pounding nails, and sawing wood would have made him very strong. They didn’t have power tools in 1918, did they?

  Andrew walked toward her, his hand on Sonny’s shoulder. They were both smiling. Andrew had a little hitch in his walk, a slight limp.

  She listened to a woman’s laughter and the buzz of muted conversation as they ate their lunch together. Charity’s face wasn’t visible, but Hannah had a glimpse of her skirt as she served thick sandwiches to Sonny and Andrew at the makeshift picnic table. It sounded like a happy family. But Andrew wasn’t Charity’s husband.

  The vision faded, and Hannah opened the diary. The pages flipped and stopped on a page dated April 2nd, 1918.

  Cal is away on business for a few months while they build the house. Thank God he’s gone. I’ll have some peace. I wish he’d stay gone forever. Sonny loves spending time with Andrew, but he can’t when Cal is here. Cal won’t allow it. I wish Sonny had a father like Andrew. I wish I had a husband like Andrew. I know he wouldn’t beat me.

  The more pages she read, the easier the words were to read. Hannah wrote them on the tablet and closed the book. So Cal was gone and Charity found another man. Did they have an affair? Was that the reason for the hidden staircase? She was about to ask Charity for more answers when Donovan tapped on the open door and called, “Hannah?”

  “Come in, Donovan.”

  As he walked into the room, she said, “Charity gave me another vision. Grandpa was such a cute little boy. He was helping Andrew, bringing him nails, handing him tools. Andrew showed him how to do things, like a father would instruct a son, and Charity brought them lunch.”

  “Where was her husband?”

  “According to the page in the diary she showed me, he was away on business while the house was being built. He was gone for months. I wonder if Andrew was working on the house. He was building something.”

  He motioned toward the diary in her hand. “It’s probably in that book somewhere. No scary visions this time?”

  “No, nothing scary this time.”

  Billy came in for a goodnight hug, as he had every night since Hannah told him she loved him. The kid soaked up affection and gave it back tenfold. Just like his father, said the little voice in her mind.

  Donovan took Billy to bed and kissed him goodnight.

  “Jason’s mom is getting married again,” said Billy.

  “I didn’t know she was divorced.”

  “Yeah, last year. Jason’s dad moved to Texas. He’s gonna go stay with him next summer and maybe for part of Christmas vacation.”

  Donovan knew this wasn’t really about Jason’s mom. Billy was working around to something.

  “Are you and Hannah gonna get married?”

  Donovan knew his son would ask that question at some point. “I don’t think so, Billy.”

  “Don’t you love her?”

  That was a question he wasn’t prepared to answer. Did he love her? Maybe he did, but it didn’t matter, because he couldn’t do anything about it. “Billy, your mother left me with a whole bunch of bills. I can’t afford to get married again.”

  “But Hannah wouldn’t cost much. She doesn’t have those funny fingernails or wear fancy clothes, and she doesn’t care if she gets messed up. And she’s rich, ’cause she has all those gold coins.”

  “Yeah, she’s rich.” So was he. He had a nine-year-old son who thought of him as his hero, a kid who trusted his dad to fix everything, a boy who desperately wanted a mother. “Go to sleep now, Billy. I’m going out for a run, but Hannah and Pop are here.”

  “And
Trevor?”

  He laughed. “Yeah, and Trevor.” Some people had a brother-in-law they couldn’t get rid of. They had Hannah’s ex-husband.

  If he had to choose between keeping Trevor and keeping Monique, he’d keep Trevor. He was a nice enough guy, and Pop needed his help on the house. Monique didn’t help with anything. All she did was complain.

  The harvest moon hung in the sky like a giant glowing beach ball, illuminating the streets and draping the city in whispery shadows. Donovan’s breath came out in little clouds of steam. Leaves crisp with frost crunched under his feet as he loped down the sidewalk under bare branches that made web-like patterns in the moonlight.

  Except for his college years, Donovan had lived in River Valley his entire life. In spite of the dirty politics, he’d never had a desire to live anywhere else. One of these days, Tony Porcini would be gone, and without the old man at the helm, his organization would fall apart. Tony’s two sons, Vinnie and Al, didn’t measure up to their old man. They pushed their weight around from time to time, but most people ignored them. They couldn’t hold the organization together without Tony.

  Six blocks from Livingston Avenue, the section of town commonly known as The Mansions began. High fences and thick shrubbery separated the estates from the streets and from each other. Old-fashioned streetlights lined the wide streets and ornate iron gates kept strangers out.

  Donovan kept running past the home of his mother-in-law. He hadn’t seen Eleanor since the funeral, when she’d stood in the church filled with his family and friends, and accused him of killing her precious little girl.

  Maggie’s father died when Billy was three or four, and her mother devoted her life to making Maggie happy. Eleanor had never liked Donovan and didn’t approve of their marriage. She’d told him he wasn’t good enough for her daughter, and then did everything she could to drive them apart. Every time he and Maggie had a fight, Eleanor’s interference made it worse. When Donovan chastised Maggie for her uncontrolled spending, Eleanor encouraged her to spend more. And when Maggie cried to her about being pregnant, Eleanor offered to pay for the abortion. She said Maggie was too delicate to give birth.