Page 30 of Giving Up The Ghost
Ezra nodded, staring after Mick. “Ever feel like you’ve wandered into an episode ofMidsomer Murders? Because I often do.”
We paid our respects, Ezra noting how many faces he recognized from running around with Oscar under Violet’s watchful eye. “There’re so many gone,” he murmured as we ducked out of the chapel behind a tangle of older folks all muttering about the flowers, the eulogy, Price’s suit.
“All mediums?”
He started to shake his head, paused, nodded, then sighed gustily. “The ones I’d have recognized, definitely. But who knows how many others Price knew outside of Violet’s circle, or who he’d been hanging around since she died and everything broke up?”
It was my turn to sigh as we picked our way across the uneven churchyard to the parking lot. “I wonder why Charlotte was so hot to trot to go to this. I mean, if she was really so set on showing up and showing out for the Fellowes family here, wouldn’t she have come anyway, even though we were here?”
“You’d think,” Ezra muttered darkly. “It was just an excuse though, wasn’t it? She wanted us to think Oscar was out of the house.”
“Whythough?”
He stopped, fiddling with the keys as he stared at some spot in the distance, jaw working mutely. “My nonprofessional opinion? She’s mad as a hatter.”
I snorted, resuming our walk to the car. “Either she wanted us to think Oscar was gone so we’d leave without him, or she wanted us to think Oscar had left without us and had turned his back on us for the time being.”
“You think?”
“Honestly? God only knows,” I said, stopping beside the rental. “But it was weird. And there’s too many little weird instances in just the past three days for it to be anything but a problem.”
“Want to know the real kick in the pants? If Oscar had just said he was going to be busy this morning, I wouldn’t have made us wait around. Hell, we’d have set out early enough to see some stuff, grab some food, then head back in time for tea. Give him the whole damn day to do his thing.” Ezra huffed, handing me my cane as I climbed into the passenger seat of the rental car. “I just wanted to show you some of the places Oscar and I hung out when we were snot-nosed little prats running around town. Oscar had wanted to take you to our old haunts in London this week—we’d talked about it before, planning.” He leaned against the open car door, staring back up the low hill into town, towards The Box, twisting his silver rings in thought. “We both hated it here, whenever Violet would come to Avesdale and bring us. My family was here—is here still. And Oscar just didn’t like how it felt. He always said it was too quiet.”
“Too quiet? Like the house?”
Ezra hesitated. “I’m not sure. He never explained why, and at the time it wasn’t important to me outside of the fact we both hated coming here.”
“Violet hated going to the house, right? Oscar said she thought it was too suburban?” Something was prickling in my brain, ideas trying to find edges that matched, pull themselves together into a cohesive whole.
“Yeah. We only stayed there once or twice. Maybe three times? Usually, we’d stay in this old cottage outside the town here.” He pointed toward the direction we’d come from. “If you stay on this road, it eventually turns into an old main road in and out of Avesdale, and the cottage is past the town limits. It’s not one of the Fellowes’ properties. Belonged to Violet’s family, the Morrises.”
“Violet Morris,” I mused. “Doesn’t have the same ring to it as Violet Fellowes, does it? For someone so tied to her identity as Violet Fellowes, she really went of her way to avoid the house.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Ezra demanded. “Her husband died there. Knowing Violet, she just didn’t want to admit that was the reason why she avoided the place.” He shrugged, moving to shut the car door for me. “Why do you think that’s important?”
“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “Something just feels like it’s missing there, about the house. She spent a lot of time here in Avesdale, didn’t she? Enough that she had that circle of mediums.”
“Well.” Ezra scratched his stubbly jaw and made a so-so motion with his hand.
“Hm.”
Ezra sighed, giving me a look that told me exactly how weird he thought I was being, and let himself into the driver’s side of the car. “Try Oscar again,” he suggested as we got underway. “I can’t believe he hasn’t returned a single message yet. It’s been hours.”
There was no answer from Oscar, which made us exchange an uneasy look. “No messages other than several from Heinrich,” I noted. “The last three just sayCall me. Damn it.”
Ezra rolled his eyes and started the car. “Well, call him, damn it.”
Heinrich answered on the third ring. Ezra had insisted we head back to the house instead of stopping anywhere else, and I agreed—something was very pear-shaped and, historically, we had very bad luck when things went pear-shaped. “Julian darling.” Heinrich sighed. “I do hope this is vital. Do you know what time it is here?”
“A bit past 6 a.m. And you just texted me, so I don’t think you care much yourself.”
“Rude. I accept apologies in the form of public praise and adoration.”
I didn’t have the patience for his persona today, I decided, and drove right to the point. “We just left Landon Price’s funeral.”
“Poor old thing.” He sighed. “I do hope they didn’t bury him in that awful chartreuse suit of his. He loved that thing, but it made him look like a sprout. I told him as much last time I saw him!”
“Out of curiosity,” I asked, a thought tumbling free from the tangle in my head, “how much does Oscar know about the mediums in your and Violet’s circle? You told us that a few had died this summer. But there’re more, aren’t there?”
