A Haunting Is Brewing Page 2

  Although there were several volunteers who showed up on-site from time to time, a core group called Spooner House their second home. In addition to Adam there was Byron, who had a stocky, football-player physique. Tess was a raven-haired, big-eyed beauty who looked like she could play the cheerleader to Byron’s quarterback. Duff was quiet, tall, and blond; very Nordic looking. Riley was the nerdy academic to Tess’s cheerleader: She wore heavy glasses and tended to hunch over, her face shielded by lanky, muddy-brown hair. She seemed smart but unsure of herself.

  The core group palled around in their vintage clothes and, with the exception of the ever-present phones in their hands, looked very much as if they belonged to the Spooners’ era. The only one not in costume today was Adam’s uncle Preston, who was thirty years old if he was a day. Preston was a tall, golden-haired man who would have been attractive had he not spent his days hanging around with college students a full decade younger than he. Preston also had a way of holding one’s gaze a little too intently, smiling a tad too broadly, agreeing to tasks way too obsequiously.

  “Hey, guys,” I yelled. “How about some help boxing up the rest of the items? That way you’ll be able to start decorating first thing tomorrow morning.”

  The group got to their feet slowly, swiping at their backsides to rid themselves of grass and twigs. I hoped such casual treatment wouldn’t ruin what looked like authentic period outfits, but I kept my mouth shut. For one thing, the costumes weren’t really my concern. For another, the students already knew me as a nag, and Spooner House would be hosting the Haunted Halloween Ball in a few days, creepy mannequins in the attic or no. We were a bit under the gun.

  I squared my shoulders and went back inside, the students following behind me.

  The entry foyer was marked by a sweeping stair that hugged one wall, which was studded with a series of stained glass windows. Each window depicted an episode from a classic fairy tale: “The Pied Piper,” “Hansel and Gretel,” “Rapunzel.” A huge chandelier hung from the ceiling in the center of the stairwell, its crystals reflecting a rainbow of colors from the stained glass in the late afternoon. The newel posts on the staircase were intricately carved with knobs and curves and the occasional cherubic face. The parlor, library, and dining room featured fireplaces with fine wood mantels beautifully carved with acanthus leaves and angels. Throughout Spooner House, the tall ceilings were accentuated by egg-and-dart and dentil crown moldings, and the huge windows were framed by green, red, and gold velvet curtains that swept the floor.

  “Okay, folks, gather around and choose your poison.” I started reading off the remaining items on my to-do list. Among them was packing up the demonstrations of skills from another time: tatting, needlepoint, and quilt making for the women; guns and fly-fishing for the men. The students finally settled in to work, and for a little while I was surrounded by the sounds of busy hands taking care of business. Maya and Duff gathered the breakables, and Tess and Riley carefully wrapped them in newspaper and packed them into boxes. Preston set these at the foot of the stairs, and Byron and Adam took turns carrying them up the two flights to the attic.

  The industrious silence didn’t last long.

  “Hey, isn’t there a legend that says at night the Spooner mannequins come alive and go about their business?” said Preston.

  “No way,” Tess scoffed. “Somebody’s yanking your chain.”

  “That’s how I heard it,” said Adam with a sage nod and a hint of a smile. “They say the dolls interact and carry on at night, just like the Spooner family used to do.”

  “You guys,” whined Tess.

  “And on Halloween night, I hear, they’re particularly active. That’s the night the spirits can come and wander around freely. . . .” continued Uncle Preston.

  “Hey, Adam,” said Duff. “Dare you to spend the night in here.”

  “That’s Byron’s kind of stunt,” replied Adam with a grin, and he tossed a ball of wadded-up newspaper at Byron.

  “They’re coming to get you,” said Byron in an eerie voice, coming up behind Tess and tickling her.

  “Stop it,” said Tess. “Creeper.”

  Riley rolled her eyes at their antics and kept her head down as she wrapped a Tiffany-style lampshade.

  “Hey, that’s not a bad idea, Adam,” said Preston. “You should totally spend the night. Dare ya!”

  “Hey, you guys,” I said. “Don’t fool around in here. For real.”

  Now they all rolled their eyes. I was a nag and a killjoy.

  Everyone fell silent for a few moments as they resumed packing and hauling boxes.

  “So, you guys know the history of the family that lived here, right?” I said in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Want to practice your docent skills on me? I’d love to know more about the history of the house.”

  The group perked up at the opportunity to show off. Riley went first, explaining what I already knew about Thaddeus Spooner inheriting a copper mining fortune, becoming a famous doll maker, building this house as a wedding present, and bringing his bride, Miriam, to San Francisco from Boston. Thaddeus and Miriam had three children, and the family lived in the house with Thaddeus’s sister Hazel and her husband, Frederick. At some point Hazel and Frederick moved into their own house, now razed, down the street.

  “And then they all died,” Tess finished with a dramatic flourish.

  “I’m sorry?” I paused, handing a leather-bound journal and a silver filigreed pipe to Tess. “They all died?”

  “Everybody dies at some point,” Maya added sensibly.

  “Not like the Spooners did. It’s why Spooner House is the perfect Halloween haunted house,” said Riley. “’Cause everybody died tragically and . . . whatever.”

  “What happened?” Maya asked.

  Tess glanced around and spoke in a whisper. “Some say . . . the whole family caught the flu or something. But others say it was Reginald.”

  “Reginald, the Spooners’ son?” I asked.

  Tess nodded.

  “You’re saying Reginald killed his family?” I clarified.

  “Yep. According to the servants, the whole family was fine, and then one day Reginald sent all the help away. And when they came back, the family was just . . . gone. All except Reginald. Hazel and Frederick, Thaddeus’s sister and brother-in-law, accused Reginald of causing their deaths, though it’s not clear how they thought he did it. Reginald denied it all, of course, and insisted he would never hurt his family. Nothing was ever proven, but there was no denying that all the Spooners were dead. Except for Reginald . . .”

  “And then what?” I urged, intrigued.

  “He lived in the house by himself for a while,” said Duff with a shrug. “Never married. Lived off the money he inherited and did his magic shows.”

  “He wasn’t brought up on charges?”

  “He claimed it was the flu,” said Byron. “That was 1918, when millions of people died.”

  “At some point, I guess Reginald decided he couldn’t take it anymore,” said Adam, gesturing toward the front foyer. “He was found right there, in the foyer, swinging from that big chandelier. He hanged himself. On Halloween.”

  Great. Just . . . great, I thought, doing a mental head slap. Seems it was my destiny to get involved with every haunted house in San Francisco. When would I learn to ask for a detailed history of a house before agreeing to work on it?

  On the other hand . . . except for the creepy mannequins in the attic, I hadn’t encountered anything more disturbing than the numerous porcelain figurines. They were icky. But no tormented ghost of Reginald-the-murderer-turned-suicide, no spirits of murdered family members trying to make contact. For which, I thought, I am grateful.

  “Well,” said Maya in a blatant attempt to change the subject, “at least we don’t have to clean this place, right? The spiderwebs just add to the Halloween atmosphere.”

>   “True.” I lifted a clock from the bureau, leaving a rectangle in the thick dust.

  “Hey, Mel,” said Adam, handing me a pewter-framed photograph in sepia tones. “Take a look at this: a Spooner family portrait. Don’t you think the dolls resemble the family pretty well? Thaddeus was a gifted artist.”

  I immediately recognized Thaddeus and Miriam, who sat on stiff-looking chairs in the center of the portrait. To the left and slightly behind Thaddeus stood a woman about his age who looked a lot like him—his sister Hazel, I presumed. Next to her was an older man, probably Uncle Frederick. To the right and slightly behind Miriam were two teenage girls, pretty in their frilly white finery. One girl rested her hand on her mother’s shoulder. And standing directly behind his parents, staring straight into the camera, was a young man dressed in what appeared to be a silk cape.

  “Why do they all have long hair?” I asked. “I expect that of the women, but why the men?”

  Byron smiled. “That’s the best part: Thaddeus insisted they grow their hair long so he could use it for the dolls.”

  “Ew,” said Tess. “What a bunch of weirdos.”

  “It’s just hair,” Riley said. “I mean, it’s not like he used their blood to paint the dolls’ faces or anything.”

  “Are you sure he didn’t?” Duff teased.

  “And the young man in the cape is Reginald?” I asked.

  “That’s what Mrs. Gutierrez said. According to her, Reginald always wore his magic cape. See the special ‘S’ embroidered at the throat?”

  “Magic cape?” I asked.

  “It was for his show,” said Tess. “’Cause he was a magician, remember?”

  “Oh, right. Speaking of Reginald, have any of you seen him around here?” I asked.

  “Reginald . . . Spooner?” Tess asked.

  I nodded.

  “He’s dead,” Riley said.

  “Yes, of course he is. I was referring to his mannequin.”

  They seemed to relax. I wasn’t sure if they were on edge because they thought the house really was haunted or because they were afraid the contractor was a crazy lady.

  Tess shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Me either,” said Riley. “Do we know for sure his doll was here to begin with? I don’t remember seeing him.”

  She had a point. “I’ll check with Mrs. Gutierrez,” I said. “I saw her car in the driveway. She must be hiding downstairs.”

  Mrs. Gutierrez was the head docent who functioned as the liaison between me, the board, and the student volunteers. She was a short, worried woman who seemed alarmed by the energy of youth. I had dealt with her a fair amount in the course of fixing up the place but still hadn’t learned her first name. In the Bay Area, in this day and age, that said a lot.

  “Hey, d’ya think Mrs. Gutierrez always looks scared ’cause she has to work with Lurch?” commented Byron.

  “Dude, it’s possible,” said Adam.

  “Be nice, guys,” said Tess. Byron shrugged, but Adam blushed.

  “Lurch” was what the students called Ed Gaskin, the tall and dour-looking head of the Spooner House’s board. I didn’t approve of them making fun of him, of course, but had to admit he did look a lot like Lurch from the classic Addams Family movies and television series.

  “You guys keep going. I’ll be back in a minute,” I said and headed down the stairs to the basement, passing by another large doll in the shadowy corner. This was not a mannequin but a real doll: a large, almost life-sized, redheaded puppet. Since it had been mass-produced, the board had decided the students could decorate it and allow it to stay where it was for the party. It was kind of creepy, too.

  Just past the doll was a tiny room with the soaring high ceiling and multipaned windows common to Victorian architecture. These features made the small basement room airy and roomy, despite its dimensions.

  Mrs. Gutierrez was sitting with her back to the door. The sixtyish head docent was plump, with incongruously pitch-black hair she did up in a stiff helmet around a pleasant face.

  “Mrs. Gutierrez?”

  “Oh!” Her desk chair squeaked as she started, and she placed one hand over her heart.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “Lord in heaven,” she said, and looked past me.

  I glanced over my shoulder to make sure I wasn’t about to be set upon by zombies—or Reginald’s mannequin. But this was just Mrs. Gutierrez’s way—she avoided eye contact.

  “I, um . . . I was wondering if you have an inventory of the house contents? I want to be sure we put away everything the board is worried about. We’re prepping for the party, and—”

  “I don’t approve of Halloween,” Mrs. Gutierrez said in a breathless rush. “I think I’ve made that clear.”

  I didn’t know how to respond. In fact, Halloween had always been my favorite holiday. When I was a kid I would wage war with my mother to be allowed to start wearing that year’s costume on October 1, and at the end of the month I was rewarded by receiving candy—and praise for my costume—from strangers. I mean, seriously . . . what did “not approving” of Halloween even mean? A candy- and costume-fueled holiday? Yes, please.

  Halloween had become a huge blowout celebration for adults in the Bay Area, an excuse to don costumes and go out on the town and pretend to be someone—or something—we weren’t. I blamed it on the lack of a local Mardi Gras tradition to allow grown-ups to indulge their love of make-believe. In addition to the partying, a vibrant contingent of local pagan and Wiccan folks kept the ancient traditions of Samhain alive, leading sacred circles and spinning witchy tales. It was all good fun, in my view.

  “Well,” I said with the upbeat tone I adopted when dealing with difficult clients, “in any case, since the board has decided to hold this fund-raiser for the museum and the youth center, I guess we’re all going to get behind Halloween this year, right?”

  “So it seems. What can I do for you, Ms. Turner?”

  “I was wondering if you knew where Reginald Spooner’s doll is?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “There’s the whole family of dolls, but I think Reginald’s is missing.”

  “It’s missing?”

  “Yes, I think—”

  “Oh my Lord!”

  I wondered whether she was more afraid of the rogue mannequin or Ed Gaskin’s reaction to the news.

  “I’ll check with Ed directly, shall I? I mean, maybe there was never a Reginald doll in the first place.”

  “Oh dear . . .”

  “All righty, then, see you later,” I said, suddenly anxious to leave. Mrs. Gutierrez’s nervousness made me nervous.

  Speaking of which . . . as I turned right at the end of the hall, I saw something move out of the corner of my eye. For real this time.

  The doll in the corner jumped out at me.

  Chapter Three

  “Boo!”

  “Aaah!” I screamed.

  Byron started laughing so hard he dropped the doll, which landed flat on its face.

  “What in the world’s going on?” cried Mrs. Gutierrez as she fluttered out from her miniscule office.

  We heard the thunder of footsteps on the stairs, then Adam halted at the bottom step. “Is everything okay down here? What happened?”

  He leaned down to pick up the doll, which still lay prone while Byron leaned against the wall, snickering.

  “Byron was . . . fooling around,” I said with a grimace. “Got me good.”

  “That’s not nice,” said Adam. “Cool it, Byron.”

  “Hey, can’t anyone around here take a joke?” Byron said, recovering his composure.

  “Scaring people isn’t funny,” Adam said. “You two okay?”

  “Not at all,” said Mrs. Gutierrez. “He scared the wits out of us!”

&n
bsp; “What in heaven’s name is going on here?” demanded Ed Gaskin. The group fell quiet as Lurch appeared.

  Mrs. Gutierrez was the first to break the silence. “I don’t approve of this Halloween party, Mr. Gaskin. Not one bit. It only leads to hijinks such as these.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Gutierrez, you’ve made that clear,” said Gaskin. “However, we need to raise funds for the museum, and the board has decided this is a good way to do it.”

  On the one hand, I was impressed by the seriousness with which the head docent and the Spooner House board members took their responsibilities. On the other, I couldn’t help thinking they were taking it all a little too seriously. But then, as my ex-husband used to say about academia: People were so vicious to one another because the stakes were so low. Maybe the same could be said for nonprofit organizations.

  “Hey, sorry about that,” said Byron. “Just trying to keep things jumping.”

  “Everyone’s fine,” I said. “No big deal. However, I do think we should all get back to work.”

  Byron and Adam climbed the stairs, leaving me with Gaskin and Gutierrez.

  “Ed, do you know where the Reginald Spooner doll is?” I asked.

  “There’s no need to worry about that, Mel.”

  “I wondered because we’ve stored the rest of the family dolls in the attic, as the board stipulated, but that one appears to be missing.”

  No response. I looked from his somber face to Mrs. Gutierrez’s worried one, but neither spoke.

  “Okay . . . I guess I won’t worry about it, then.”

  “How are the preparations going?” asked Gaskin. “Will everything be ready by Saturday? We’ve made arrangements for the catering and the parking and security, but none of it will matter without the proper preparation.”

  “We’ll be ready,” I said confidently. “Jeremy’s on schedule to finish the porch today and the stairs tomorrow. I have a few small tasks left on my repair list, and we’re packing up the items you specified and hauling them up to the attic. We should be finished by the end of the day, and then the students can decorate.”