The Ghost Files

Chapter Thirteen

"This is so NOT a good idea, Mattie Louise Hathaway!" Dan glares at me again. God, he's been harping at me since I told him where we were going. I roll my eyes even though he can't see me. The lock is simple and I can get it if he'll just shut up for two seconds.

"You didn't have to come," I snarl.

"Did you expect me to just let you go by yourself?" he all but shouts and I wince.

"Keep your voice down." I sigh and keep a weak hold on my temper. "Look, Officer Dan, I have a juvie record already. If I get caught, no big deal. They'll write it off as emotional distress due to Sally gone missing. My shrink will testify. If you get caught, you're a cop. You'll get into a lot of trouble, so..." I spluttered, "you can leave or wait in the car. But SHUT up."

"I'm not gonna wait in the car while you break into somebody's house!"

"Then shut up or we'll both get caught!" That did it. Blessed silence. Thank God. I seriously am not taking him along on any more B&E adventures. He's a pansy. Well, he is a cop, so he does have to at least protest, but he does it with such vigor. I swear I can strangle him here and now and die happy. I might feel bad about it later mind you, but not right now.

I hear the lock click and grin. "Haven't lost my touch after all." I pocket my handmade jimmy and stand. Dan glowers at me. No high five? Oh, well. I roll my eyes again, softly open the door, hurry Dan inside before closing the door behind us. "Kitchen. Ugh." It's so dated; the lime green walls do nothing for the orange-flowered cloth on the breakfast table. The room smells slightly and that's when I see the flies circling the garbage can. No one has been in to do any kind of cleaning yet. Great.

"Have you ever been in here before?" I ask Dan.

"Why would I?"

"I don't know! Your mom seems to have known her. I thought maybe she'd dragged you over here or something."

"Well, I haven't."

"Are you always this grumpy?"

"Only when I'm forced into criminal acts by high-strung teenage girls."

"You are such a pansy."

"What?  I am NOT a pansy just because I'm worried about getting caught and going to jail!"

I shake my head and leave the kitchen. Now I'm in the living room.  The furniture here hasn't been updated since the early seventies. The walls are paneled in a deep brown and the brown carpet has definitely seen better days. There is an old brown leather couch and two chairs in the same leather flanking a coffee table. The old floor model TV is off, but I bet if I turn it on, it'll be on the game show channel. Old people, I've discovered, are notorious for watching their shows. You don't stand between them and Wheel of Fortune if you know what's good for you. So says this Voice of Experience.

There is a small door on the right wall; next to the door is a montage of pictures. I open the door and find a bathroom. The walls are pink. Seriously. Pink. The woman needed an interior designer in the worst way. Gag. I shut the door on the pink horror and look around the living room again. There's a small door on the opposite wall. It blended in so well with the paneling, I hadn't seen it when I first came in. There's a deadbolt and it's locked. Strange. I unlock it and open the door. There were steps going down. Bingo. "The basement." I tried the light switch and a fuzzy yellow light blared to life at the bottom of the steps.

I glance at Dan.  "Are you coming?"

He nods and I start down the steps. It reeks down here of mildew. I'd bet money the old woman has mold growing down here. It is certainly damp enough. The first thing I see is the washer and dryer. A laundry basket full of towels sits on top of the dryer, ready to be put away. For just a second, I feel bad for the old bat. She hadn't asked to die. She'd planned on coming home and putting away her towels and then probably feeding Oliver.