“It’s beautiful,” Helen said. “You’ve got a lot of lovely things.” She walked around a bit, stopping to pick up sad irons, to touch a treadle Singer sewing machine. Then she approached Aggie.
“Looking for anything in particular?” Aggie asked.
“I actually stopped in hoping you could help me with directions,” she said.
“Sure. You on your way to the college? Or out to the bed-and-breakfast?”
“No, actually, I’m looking for the farmhouse the Gray family used to own. I’ve got an address, 202 County Road, but couldn’t seem to find it. Maybe the address I’ve got is wrong, but—”
“No, you’ve got the address right. The house isn’t there anymore. Stood empty for a long time, no one wanted to touch it. People said it was haunted. I imagine if any place was going to be haunted, it would be that house. I think houses hold memories, don’t you?”
Helen nodded, said, “Absolutely.”
“Anyway, it fell into neglect, then a doctor from out of state bought the place last year, had it all torn down—the house, the barn, everything—so he could build a fancy log house with a whole wall of windows.”
“Oh yes, I saw that,” Helen said.
Aggie nodded, stepped over to a table full of knickknacks. “One of those big prefab things trucked in. He put in a pond, stocked it with trout so he can fish whenever he wants. He comes up a few weekends a year. Place sits empty most of the time.” Aggie’s voice dripped disdain. She began to fiddle with a collection of old brass bells on the table, arranging them from largest to smallest.
Helen nodded sympathetically, said, “That’s too bad. People should be fixing up the old farmhouses, not tearing them down.”
“It’s a rotten shame, if you ask me,” Aggie continued, still moving the old bells around. “The Gray place, it had history. Some of it a bit dark, mind you, but that house, it had character.” She leaned down, gave Mulligan a pat on the head. The dog leaned into her. “Isn’t that right, Mulligan?” Then she looked up at Helen and asked, “Why were you looking for it, anyway?”
“I’m doing a history project. A family tree of sorts. I’m trying to trace any living relatives of the woman who used to live on the land my husband I bought in Hartsboro. Apparently, Ann Gray was her granddaughter.”
Aggie shook her head. “Terrible what happened. It’s kind of local legend around here. The worst crime ever to happen in Elsbury—well, the only crime really, if you don’t count a few breaks-ins and the gas station being robbed.”
Mulligan squeaked his toy, and Helen leaned down to give his ears a scratch.
“Do you know any details about what happened?”
Aggie gave a deep sigh. “Oh, sure. I guess everyone around here knows just about every gruesome detail…Sam was an alcoholic, for one. And the farm was going under. It was the family farm and it fell to him to keep it going, but he couldn’t manage. He’d sold off most of the cows, even subdivided the back acreage and sold some off, but he still wasn’t able to pay the bills. Not that those are excuses for what he did, but they provide the background.”
She’d moved over to a desk and was neatening a pile of old photographs now—sepia-toned portraits of people no one could name.
“It was a murder-suicide, right? Did it happen in the house?”
Aggie nodded. “He shot his wife, then himself. Right in the living room. She was an odd one, his wife. Some said she was crazy. And of course it didn’t help that she went around calling herself a witch.”
“Awitch?” Helen practically shouted. “Really?”
Aggie nodded. “She actually made a little business out of it, you know. People would come visit her in her parlor and she’d read their tea leaves, palms, do spells to help them with love or money. She even self-published a little book about the spirit world and divination. If only she’d been able to see her own future, to know what was coming and find a way to stop it.”
“Maybe it doesn’t work that way,” Helen mused.Maybe it’s like everything else,she thought;it’s hardest to see what’s right in front of us.
“I guess not. A shame, though. Just terrible. He shot her right in front of their kids.”
“Do you know what happened to them? The kids?” Helen stepped closer to Aggie. “Are they around here still?”
“The poor things—neither of them could have been much older than ten when it happened. Jason. That was the son’s name. And the daughter, let’s see, I can’t say I recall her name. They didn’t stick around. Went off to live with relatives.”
“Do you know where?”
She shook her head. “Afraid not. Out of state, I think, but I’m not sure.” There was a pause. “You know, it’s a funny coincidence, but that mantel you noticed when you first came in? It came from the Gray farmhouse.”
“You’re kidding.”
“My husband and I managed to salvage a few things out of it before the contractors tore it down—some shelves, all the doors, and the mantel. We’ve got a set of shelves and a couple of doors left, too.”
