Cat Adams - Demon Song

I only realized that Dawna had left the car when I saw her halfway across the parking lot, heading for the library entrance.

Well, either I could sit here and keep staring at the ticket until my eyes bled or I could do something constructive. First on the list was calling Gran.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t home. She’d been home a lot less since she’d moved, but I was glad she was spending time with friends. I waited for the beep, then said, “Hi, Gran. Sorry I missed you. I’ve got great news. Queen Lopaka said that Mom’s problem was being separated from the ocean. She convinced the judge to move Mom to the Isle of Serenity to finish her sentence. They’re going to get her into alcohol treatment and give her counseling. Isn’t that wonderful?” God, I hoped she thought so. “I’ll be out of town this weekend with Dawna and Emma, but give me a call. My phone should be on.”

I clicked off the call and heard the chime that told me someone had called while I was leaving the message. Typical. I expected it to be Gran because that usually happens. But the number was one I didn’t recognize. It wasn’t even a California area code.

I called my voice mail and heard a male voice: “Ms. Graves? This is Mick Murphy.” He let out a frustrated sigh. “I know you’ve been working really hard on our behalf, but Molly and I have been talking and we’re starting to think that … well, that maybe it would be better to just stop this whole thing. It’s ruining our life. It really is. I don’t know the laws in California, but I’d imagine there’s a way to refuse a bequest in a probate. I know there is here in Arkansas. Anyway, I just wanted to call and let you know. We’ll be calling the lawyer tomorrow to see how to get the paperwork started. Thanks again. We both appreciate it.”

Oh, crap. I mean, I understood what he meant. My bequest was a major pain in the butt—just thinking about owning a building and being responsible for the grass cutting, the perpetually leaky roof, and all of the other things that I usually had handled by the owner. His bequest was just cash, but it was a lot of cash.

And none of us knew the reason Vicki had left the Murphys all that money. Even Vicki didn’t know, though she insisted there was one.

I hit the calls-received list and dialed his number. He picked up on the first ring. “Hello?”

“Mick? It’s Celia Graves.”

He let out a small, embarrassed breath of laugh. “You know, I was actually relieved when I got your voice mail. I didn’t want to have to defend our decision.”

I wasn’t going to pick on the guy. “Hey, it’s hard. I understand. The whole idea of that kind of money messes with your head.”

The sound he made was a sort of laugh but really closer to a donkey bray. “It isn’t my head as much as everyone else’s. The calls have been non-stop since it made the press here.”

“Press? What press? Nobody was supposed to know about the probate while the court case was going on.”

“This is a small town, Ms. Graves. Nothing, and I mean nothing, goes unnoticed in Fool’s Rush. Someone like your investigator comes to town and everyone knows the story before lunch.”

I winced. I knew all about bad press and people calling at all hours. “Everybody in town has probably called asking for loans, huh?”

“Or trying to sell me something I don’t need or want. People started out happy for us, but now they’re getting aggressive and pissy. I mean, yeah, it’d be nice to give my girls some security—a college education and a trust fund. Maybe buy a new house or expand the restaurant. But we get by okay. It’ll get worse if we keep going. I know it—”

A noise started in the background on his phone, making it hard to hear the last few words. “Sorry. I couldn’t hear that last part. There’s a really odd sound in the background, like a cat yowling on a fence.”

He let out a burst of sound that was part laughter and part struggling not to laugh. “It’s sad, but that really is what it sounds like. I’m at the school Christmas pageant. I didn’t want to take the call in the auditorium, so I stepped into the hallway. You just heard my daughter Beverly singing a solo. I love my baby to pieces, but she can’t carry a tune in a bucket. I know the choir director wants to be fair and give everyone a chance, but it’s torture to listen to.”

My face felt hot because that’s just what Gran and Mom used to say about me. “I can’t really comment because I have the same affliction and remember really well the music teacher wanting to be fair with me. I wished she would have been realistic, not fair. If anything, Beverly sounds better than I did. Does your younger daughter … Jody, was it? Does she sing any better?”

There was a creaking sound and the background music dimmed. He must have gone back into the hallway. “It’s Julie and yeah, she has a better voice. She got most of the talent in the family, in fact. I love them both, but they’re very different girls. Beverly’s kind of standoffish and scored nearly zero on the standard paranormal tests. But Julie is outgoing, smart, can sing and dance, and has an affinity with ghosts.”

I felt a cold chill crawl up my spine. “She’s a necromancer?”

“Nah,” he said, and I breathed a little sigh. “Does a little channeling. Remember I said at the Will reading that my granny’s ghost stayed in the house after she died to show us where her Will was?” I did and said so. “Julie communicated with her to get the information. She was just a little thing back then, but it was pretty spooky to watch. It doesn’t seem to bother her as much now that she’s older.”

I was getting an awful feeling there was a really good reason why Vicki picked this particular family. Two daughters, one twelve and one eight, one who was odd and couldn’t sing, the other talented, with an affinity for the dead? That was just too close for comfort. “Mr. Murphy, could you give me a few days before you call the lawyer to refuse the bequest? Talking to you just now, I had an idea why Vicki might have left you the money. But I need to talk to a few people. I’ve got to go out of town this weekend, but I promise I’ll call you on Monday. Can you wait until then to do anything? Please?”

There was a pause where the only sound was children singing “O Christmas Tree” in high, clear unison. The notes were pure and bright. Beverly must have been mouthing the words. Finally, Mick sighed. “I don’t suppose it’ll do any harm to give it a few more days. Okay. I’ll talk to Molly and we’ll hold off doing anything until Monday. But whether or not you call, we’ll be contacting the lawyer then.”

The door of the library opened and I saw two figures emerging. Anna was slinging her purse over her shoulder hurriedly, and Dawna was loaded down with a stack of books that reached her chin. “I understand. We’ll talk more once I ask some questions of a friend of mine. Thank you and thank your wife as well. And I know it’s none of my business, but I suggest you let Beverly complain about the music teacher on the way home. I’m betting she’s fully aware of how bad she sounded and needs to get the frustration off her chest. I remember how much I hated seeing the pity in people’s eyes when someone forced me to sing.”

I remembered only too well Gran cautioning me to “be nice” and not to talk back or complain. My embarrassment had made me furious and I wished I could have just talked to them about how horrible it felt to be put on the spot like that.

His voice sounded thoughtful, with just a touch of worry: “Y’know? I remember her saying that once after another concert. Never thought much about it. But I saw pity in a man’s eyes once when he looked at me, and I didn’t much like it. I’ll give it a shot, let her speak her mind, and tell Molly to hush about politeness. Never hurts to give a horse its head every once in a while. Thank you, Ms. Graves.”