The PolterPal continued to giggle, then asked, “Will you be my friend?”
“And that’s the EMF reader.” Oscar leaned forward slightly. “I think Gloria likes the doll.”
The giggling went on intermittently for a few minutes, then stopped. “Nothing more from the PolterPal the rest of the night.” Tina minimized that video and brought up the view of the cat ball in Ullman’s room. “Around three in the morning, this happened.”
The cat ball lit up, flashed wildly, and rolled an inch or two before stopping.
“Do you think he got so mad he kicked it?” Chris wondered.
“If so, that took everything he had, because it didn’t move again.” Tina paused the video and sat back.
Nigel pondered. “We have definite activity, but everything is pretty mild so far.”
“It’ll ramp up, if our experience was anything to go by,” Lawson said darkly.
Montague had other things on her mind. “Was there any sign of Robin?”
That was why they were there, after all. To free her spirit, if it lingered. If Montague’s dreams had been more than just old trauma rearing its ugly head after all these years.
“Not yet.” Oscar’s tone was gentle. “But if she’s here, we’ll find her.” He hesitated, then added, “Can you tell me where she died? I know a window was involved.”
Montague focused on the frozen image on the monitor rather than look at any of them. “Gloria pushed her out of the tower.”
“I suppose we’re giving up on worrying about influencing our medium.” Lawson glared at her. “But at least don’t influence him with lies. You don’t know which spirit it was—you were downstairs, and I was coming back on the boat when it happened.”
Montague’s jaw tightened, grief giving way to annoyance. “She is the real problem here. Robin knew that. I don’t know why you have to disrespect her memory by claiming otherwise.”
Well, this was getting awkward. Nigel tried to find somewhere else to look, but they were crammed in tight around Tina, and walking away would only make things even more awkward.
“You always have to push,” Lawson muttered. “Fine. I’m sorry.” As if to prove it, she turned to Oscar. “Anyway, Robin fell from the fourth floor of the tower, just below the cupola. Down to the…the veranda below.”
Nigel kept his horror off his face, or tried to, anyway. The unforgiving pavers wouldn’t be kind to a skull striking them, and it was hard not to imagine what Montague and Lawson had seen that night.
“We should let them view the taped interview with the Vanderwalls,” Montague said, seemingly appeased by Lawson’s apology.
“So is this Gloria Ullman or a different girl with the same first name?” Nigel asked, hoping to shift the conversation away from Robin’s death.
“Can we talk this over more spread out, please?” Tina asked. “I’m getting antsy with so many people hovering over me.”
“Sorry, Cabeza.” Lawson patted her on the shoulder. “Let’s chat in the trailer with some cold drinks. Then we’ll send over the TV and VCR for y’all to watch.”
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
The lemonade was just as good as Oscar had hoped—though of course, nothing could really recapture the childhood memory of sugar and tartness, the red prize of a maraschino cherry gently staining the liquid around it. He, Nigel, and Tina sat with Ms. Montague around the trailer’s miniscule table, while Chris filmed and Ethan served refreshments. Dr. Lawson chose to lean against a door he assumed led to a small bathroom, maybe still a bit miffed with Montague for telling him so much.
But this wasn’t an ordinary investigation. They were here to do a specific job, and knowing more about the spirits would surely help with that.
Though he hadn’t sensed anything negative from Gloria when they interacted. Of course, that didn’t mean her mood couldn’t turn. Living children could swing from acting sweet as honey to being little sociopaths in an instant; surely ghost children would be the same.
“At Ruthie’s insistence, I didn’t mention that Gloria is here,” Ms. Montague began. Dr. Lawson frowned but was ignored. “As you surmised, she was Ullman’s daughter who died in a fall.”
The child died in a fall…and, at least according to Montague, might have killed Robin by pushing her from a height. Was she just recreating her own tragedy?
“Of course—did she die here?” Nigel asked. “I thought you said it was in the winter.”
“It was winter, and no, she did not pass here, but rather at the family mansion back in Winston-Salem. Long torn down now, I’m afraid, but judging by the pictures I’ve seen it was quite beautiful.” Montague lifted her glass of lemonade, and the ice cubes clinked together as she drank. “Seth Ullman was devastated by her loss. She was his youngest child, the apple of his eye. So when the Pack convened here in the summer of 1911, he suggested they turn their energies toward a pursuit other than fishing and boating. Specifically, he wanted to hold seances to communicate with his deceased child.”
