Deb Baker - Ding Dong Dead

Gretchen laughed. That was part of it. “We might get lucky and find another clue. Do you really think Nina saw a ghost come from this trunk?” she asked, feeling the travel stickers beneath her fingers.

“Nina’s paranormal experiences began when she was a child. At first they scared her. She told us about them, but no one in the family believed her. I pretended to. Sometimes, I really did believe her. She’s been on target with her predictions enough times that I have to wonder if she has some special talent to see the future.”

Gretchen smiled to herself. “Maybe our ghost was trapped inside the trunk for years and Nina released her.”

Caroline laughed lightly.

They lay quietly for a time. Then Caroline said, “Isn’t it special that we still spend quality time together at our ages?” She gave a tiny chuckle. “Mother and daughter on a sleepover.”

Gretchen laughed along. “It’s funny when you put it like that. A sleepover in a haunted museum. You rock as a mom, just so you know.”

“Thanks. I try to keep it interesting. And speaking of interesting, you seem to be fascinated by that trunk.”

“I am, though I’m not sure why.”

“Go ahead and sleep. I’ll take the first shift. In the morning, if our ghost hasn’t given us answers to help solve Flora’s or Allison’s murder, we’ll plan our next move. I can’t believe I’m doing this. We must be awfully desperate.”

Gretchen was tired. Her head throbbed, but lying down helped.

Caroline reached over and massaged Gretchen’s shoulder. “You know,” she said, “your father was an amateur geologist. He had an identification book and a few tools to crack rocks. Do you remember when the two of you would go out in search of fossilized stones and pore over that book?”

Gretchen stretched out. “I forgot all about that!”

She yawned and closed her eyes. A soft sound of a light breeze playing against wind chimes rode on the air. She drifted along with the melody.

The night hours passed slowly. Gretchen was restless. The house sounds were unfamiliar to her, and she had one ear tuned to every little noise.

She had finally drifted off when Caroline clutched her arm.

Gretchen’s eyes flew open.

“I heard something coming from the other side of the door,” her mother said, staring at the closed door. “It woke me.”

“Is it Flora?” Gretchen whispered. “Or someone else?”

“Let’s find out.”

They leapt to their feet, palming the only protection they had: pepper spray. Gretchen tiptoed over, opened the door without making a sound, peeked out of the bedroom, and heard the tinkling of chimes again, the same sound that had calmed her earlier.

Her mother stayed beside her. They approached the staircase, moving silently on bare feet. The sound had started inside the room then moved into the hall. What was it?

Gretchen heard a creak below. In the dim light from the moon, she could make out the shape of someone climbing the stairs. The chimes had stopped. No one else was in the hallway with them. They waited for the person coming up the steps.

Whoever was on the stairs paused as though listening. Gretchen held her breath, taking a second to glance behind her at Caroline. The quiet, stealthy sound coming from the steps was different from the one that had alerted her mother.

Below them, the person continued up.

Gretchen had more immediate concerns than tinkling bells. Clouds passed in the sky, obscuring the moonlight and making the intruder on the steps invisible. She got ready to strike, torn with indecision.

What if the person was a friend?

But why would a friend sneak up on them?

You snuck up, she thought to herself.

Her mother touched her with a light hand. They stared at each other. Gretchen was sure they were having the same thoughts, both hesitating to harm the wrong person.

“Who’s there?” Caroline said softly. “Identify yourself.”

Nothing. The clouds shifted and Gretchen could see movement, still coming up at them, faster now that they’d announced their presence. A friend would have spoken up, reassured them.

They were facing an enemy.

The women nodded at each other. They released their sprays at the same time, blasting two thin directional streams. Gretchen heard a male voice, a groan. He fell to his knees three steps from the top of the landing.

Gretchen took two steps down and crouched briefly by the man, spray at the ready.

“It’s Jerome,” she yelled, sliding past him, almost losing her footing in her haste to get away.

“Who’s Jerome?” Caroline said as they banged down the steps and ran out the door.

“The play’s new light technician. He’s been working with us.” They stopped outside, breathing heavily. “We have to go back in.”

“You’re crazy,” Caroline said.

“Otherwise he’ll get away. We don’t want that.”

Caroline didn’t look so sure.

Gretchen tugged on her arm. “Come on. We’ll tie him up and then call the cops.”

“I hate it when you’re right.”

“Me, too. But we don’t have a choice. He’ll recover and get away if we give him a chance. He has to be stopped.”

“I agree. But what was that sound we heard? We didn’t meet anyone when we went down the hall. What if there are two of them inside?”

“He’s alone,” Gretchen said. “The ghost must have alerted us.”

Now she was sounding like Nina, who would have said that was the only explanation.

Caroline stared at her for a second.

“I’ll deny ever saying that,” Gretchen said.

“Let’s get this over with,” her mother said.

Jerome sat on the same step, cupping his hands over his eyes. Gretchen gave him another blast for good measure while Caroline ran to get the toolbox filled with doll repair supplies from behind the counter.

“He has a knife,” Gretchen said, spotting the weapon. It was open, and close enough for him to reach it if he could see. She pushed it away with her foot, careful to avoid the blade. “A switchblade.”

He moaned before reaching out to grab her ankle. She backed up. “Stay still, unless you want more of the same.”

“You’re making a big mistake,” he said, beginning to cough.

“You aren’t in any position to make threats.”

Caroline came back with strips of leather, remnants left over from repairing a doll’s kid-leather body. “I hate to waste it on him,” she said ruefully.

Jerome tried to protest, but his eyes were clamped shut and he was overcome with uncontrollable coughing.

“I think I saw this man at the accident scene,” Caroline said. “I remember the gray overalls. He was talking to a group of homeless people.”

“More evidence against him.”

“At least I think it’s the same man.” Caroline handed a piece of leather to Gretchen.

Within minutes they had Jerome trussed up like a turkey ready for the oven.

“Catching bad guys,” Gretchen said, standing back and admiring their work, “is kind of fun.”

Gretchen stood next to the World of Dolls Museum sign. She glanced curiously at the old house’s windows while her mother called to report the captured stalker.

Was he a murderer? Had he killed Allison Thomasia?

Gretchen shuddered at the thought. He had inserted himself into their group. He could have struck at any moment. Any of them might have been his next victim.

Jerome, if that was even his real name, wasn’t going anyplace at the moment other than jail. Houdini wouldn’t be able to get out of the knots they’d tied. Their repair expertise was paying off in more ways than one.

She wondered how long the effects of the pepper spray would last. Thirty minutes to an hour at least. Gretchen was amazed at how well it had worked, dropping him almost instantly.