Shallow Graves (The Haunted Book 1) Read online

  “Yes, well, my wife died—a car accident. I just—I just need to put a claim in?”

  Fucking idiot.

  The words sounded so strange out loud, and they only served to intensify his guilt.

  Keep it together, Rob. You did nothing wrong—it was Wendy who wronged you.

  He sighed.

  And now you’re blaming your dead wife.

  “Mr. Watts, I am very sorry to hear about your loss.” The woman’s words rang hollow, more scripted than a high school musical.

  “Thank you,” he replied.

  “Let me just…” He heard clacking of a keyboard. “Ah, yes, I see here that your wife recently called to change the policy…it was a car accident, you said?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, well you’re covered for up to 50k for accidental death.”

  Robert made a face and shook his head.

  “Only fifty? I thought it was more…” He could barely believe the words that were coming out of his mouth now. “I mean, I thought—“

  “Lemme just…ah, I see here that the primary policy holder downgraded from 250k to 50k less than six months ago.”

  Primary policy holder…that, of course, was Wendy.

  Robert looked skyward. It was just his luck.

  And then he scolded himself for considering his bad “luck” when Wendy was the one who was dead.

  What the hell is wrong with you?

  He cleared his throat.

  “So, what is the next step? I mean, do I have to send you something?”

  “You need to send us a copy of the death certificate, and then we will begin our investigation. You just send us a photo of the certificate, if you would like.”

  A photograph? I need a blood sample to access a human via their phone system, but I can send a photograph of the death certificate?

  None of this made sense to Robert.

  “Okay, fine,” he said, feeling a headache starting to build behind his eyes. “Wait, did you say an investigation?”

  “Yes, Mr. Watts. Every vehicular death needs to be investigated for possible intoxication.”

  “No, my wife, Wendy, she wasn’t drinking, she—”

  “It’s just policy, Mr. Watts.”

  Of course. Policy.

  “It will take a week or so, then we will get back to you with our decision.”

  Robert thanked her and then hung up.

  He felt dirty, like he needed a shower, which was exactly where he was headed when a knock at the door stopped him in his tracks. The sound startled him, and his heart skipped a beat. He was immediately brought back to the stormy night when Officer Dwight had arrived at his doorstep with the news of Wendy.

  It’s nine fifteen…who could be knocking now?

  As he made his way to the door, he had visions of one of the neighbors with a casserole dish standing on the stoop. But even before he pulled the door wide, he knew that this wasn’t the case.

  Having only lived in their home for a few months, they had never even met the neighbors.

  He wasn’t disappointed.

  The man on the doorstep was of medium height and build, with a square jaw and closely cropped blond hair. He was wearing a worn navy pea coat that covered a slick black suit, black tie, and white shirt, all of which was much too warm for the weather.

  “May I help you?” Robert asked suspiciously.

  “Robert Watts?”

  “Yes,” he replied, instinctively blocking the entrance to the house with his body.

  The man extended a hand, but for some reason Robert hesitated. When he saw that the man was only offering a letter, he breathed more freely.

  “What’s this?”

  “A letter. From your aunt.”

  Robert was in the process of reaching out for it, but the man’s words gave him pause.

  “Aunt? I have no aunt.”

  The man ignored the comment and pulled his black slacks up at the thighs before crouching on his haunches.

  “Hi there,” he said, his previously deadpan expression becoming a grin.

  Robert turned and was surprised to see Amy standing in the foyer.

  “Amy, what—?”

  But then he saw the fear in her face, and a large, dark stain started to form on her crotch. Before he could run to her, she looked up at him with her big blue eyes.

  “I don’t like him, Daddy,” she whispered.

  Chapter 9

  Robert rushed to Amy and swept her off her feet.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, turning back to face the blond man in the doorway. “We’ve been through a lot lately.”

  He glanced down at Amy in his arms, trying to get her to look at him, but her eyes were locked on the man with the letter.

  He kissed her forehead gently.

  “It’s okay, sweetie,” he whispered. This time, her eyes flicked up to him. Like her forehead, they were cold and pale.

  “I don’t like him, Daddy.”

  Robert’s brow furrowed, but he bit his tongue.

  How can you not like him? You’ve never met him before.

  Turning his back to the man at the door, making sure that Amy could no longer see him, he said, “Go on upstairs, sweetie. Go get changed. Daddy will only be a minute.”

  Amy needed no other encouragement, as she basically scrambled her way out of his arms to get to the floor and then bounded up the stairs, not looking back. Robert watched her go, a look of concern on his face.

  He shook his head and then turned back to the man at the door, offering him a weak smile as an apology.

  “I’m sorry about that,” he said again.

  The man held up a hand.

  “No, that’s perfectly all right. I understand.”

  The choice of words seemed strange to Robert, as he couldn’t read in the man’s face if he had meant the comment in a colloquial sense, or if he somehow knew of Wendy’s passing.

  Robert jammed his hands into his jean pockets and shrugged.

  “I’m sorry…you said something about an aunt? A letter?”

  “Ah, yes, I came bearing a letter from your aunt.”

  Again he held out the slightly off-white envelope and this time Robert took at.

  “Why don’t you come in?” he said, his attention focused on his name on the front of the envelope. There was no stamp, no return address, only his name—Robert Watts—in bold black letters.

  He flipped it over and observed the back.

  Again, it was nondescript, only marked by a small dot of glue in the center holding it closed. When he detected no movement in his periphery, Robert raised his gaze.

  “Please,” he repeated. “Come in.”

  The man nodded briskly, then stepped into the house and closed the door behind him.

  “What’s your name?” Robert asked as he threaded a finger under the glue on the back of the envelope.

  “Sean. Sean Sommers. I work for your aunt—run errands, drive her around if need be. But, as you will see”—he indicated the letter with his chin—“she hasn’t been out in a while.”

  “Well, Sean, sorry to disappoint, but I don’t have an aunt.”

  Robert scanned his face for a reaction. There was none.

  “Your name is Robert Watts, is it not?”

  Robert nodded.

  “Always been. But my father was an only child, and my mom’s sister died a long time ago.”

  An uncomfortable silence fell over the two men. But then Sean smiled, a tight smile that was as unnerving as the silence had been, and he held up both palms.

  “I don’t know what to tell you, Robert. But Ruth was adamant that you are her nephew.”

  Ruth?

  Robert flicked the envelope with his finger, releasing the glue. He reached inside and pulled out a piece of reinforced paper.

  “You sure it’s me? I mean, there has to be more than just one Robert Watts in the—”

  The man’s smile grew, and Robert became increasingly uncomfortable.

  May
be inviting this man into my home wasn’t such a good idea.

  A vision of Amy as she wet herself flashed in his mind.

  I don’t like this man, Daddy.

  “It’s you, Robert.”

  They locked eyes for a moment, and Robert was convinced that Sean believed what he was saying to be true. It couldn’t be true, of course, but this man believed that it was true.

  His eyes flicked down to the letter and he started to read.

  Robert,

  We have never met, but I am your aunt. I am old and ill, and I need someone to take care of me in my final days. I also require your help in arranging a few of my last affairs before I pass on.

  As the last of my kin, and in return for your service, I will bequeath you my estate.

  I do not want to die alone.

  If you are to come, you must do so soon. I fear there is not much time.

  Regards,

  Ruth Harlop

  On the back of the simple letter was an address—a street that he didn’t recognize, but in a borough he knew to be just a few hours north of the city.

  The letter was simple and to the point, which was worth something, at least. He carefully put the paper back inside the envelope and then tapped the corner against his palm, his eyes still downcast.

  After a pause, Robert took a deep breath, then held the envelope out to Sean.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t have an aunt. And besides, it’s really not the right time for me.”

  Sean’s face didn’t change.

  “Keep the letter. And if you change your mind, I would advise you to hurry. The house—the house is…”

  He let his sentence trail off, and Robert waited. Eventually the man continued.

  “You should consider coming out to take a look, Robert. Just a look.”

  Robert didn’t respond, and the man turned and opened the door and saw himself out.

  “Goodbye, Robert. It was pleasant to meet you.”

  “Sean,” Robert said with a nod.

  This whole encounter was starting to give him the creeps. He watched the man make his way slowly down the driveway and then get into an idling black Buick with dark tinted windows.

  The man never looked back.

  For several minutes, Robert watched the space where the car had been parked. Then he took out the letter and read it a second time.

  As the last of my kin, and in return for your service, I will bequeath you my estate.

  Estate…not house or home.

  Robert imagined a sprawling, three-story colonial painted a decadent white. Pure opulence, pure class. He shook his head, and then made sure to lock the door before quickly making his way upstairs. He was outside Amy’s door when his cell phone suddenly rang.

  “Jesus,” he murmured, his heart racing. He clicked accept and brought the phone to his ear.

  “Robbo? You all right?”

  Robert leaned his head against Amy’s door and closed his eyes.

  No. Not really.

  “Same as before,” he said, conscious of the fact that Amy might be listening. “I just had the strangest visit, Cal.”

  He told him an abbreviated version of Sean Sommers’s visit, leaving out parts about his aunt being on her death bed, and instead opting for her going on an ‘extended vacation,’ with the hopes that the man would catch his meaning. Judging by his friend’s follow-up questions, he had caught his drift. Cal was a different kind of person; sometimes he picked up on the subtlest of nuances, while at other times he was as oblivious as a blind otter in a gator tank…particularly in social situations, which had let to many an awkward encounter.

  “Huh. And you don’t remember any aunt?”

  “No, Cal. It’s not that I don’t remember an aunt, it’s that I don’t have one.”

  Cal made a hmph sound.

  “And how can you be sure?”

  This response took him by surprise, and he didn’t have an immediate answer.

  “Look, what could it hurt? I mean, even if you aren’t blood relatives, she thinks you are, right? An old, dying woman trying desperately to find someone to share what she has in the world with someone…and that someone is you. Besides, don’t you think it would be good to get out of the house for a while? Get away from the things that remind you of—”

  “Take my mind off things by going to see”—Robert cupped a hand over his mouth—“a dying woman? How does that make sense?”

  He could almost hear Cal shrug.

  “Not the same. She’s old. I would just consider it, is all.”

  Robert chewed his lip, the vision of the stately home coming to mind…one that didn’t come with a mortgage that he couldn’t pay.

  “Maybe…”

  “I can come with you if you want,” Cal offered.

  “Maybe,” he repeated.

  A whimper came from inside Amy’s room.

  “Listen, I gotta go, Cal. We’ll take soon.”

  He hung up the phone before Cal could respond and then he pulled the door wide.

  Amy was sitting cross-legged on the floor, holding Mr. Gregorius’s arms out to his sides. She was in her underwear.

  “Amy? You okay, sweetie?”

  She turned to look at him, the fear that had been in her eyes evidently having passed.

  “Fine.”

  He walked over to her and slowly teased the bunny from her grasp.

  “What would you and—” He tried to make rabbit noises, but they came out more like pig snorts. Amy laughed, which made Robert smile. He couldn’t remember the last time he had heard his baby girl laugh. “What would you and Mr. Gregorius say about going on a bit of a road trip up to Hainsey County?”

  Something passed over her face, something reminiscent of what had happened downstairs when she had uttered, ‘I don’t like him, Daddy.’ It was as if her usually crisp blue eyes had fogged over, becoming just slightly opaque. But before he could focus on them, they regained their usual clarity.

  “Sure,” she said. “And Mr. Gregorius doesn’t make pig noises, Daddy. Or rabbit noises.”

  Robert tossed the rabbit at her and she caught it.

  “Well, then, Mrs. Zoologist, what sounds does he make?”

  Amy shook her head.

  “Mr. Gregorius talks, Daddy. He talks just like you and me.”

  Chapter 10

  Amy had recovered quickly; whatever had spooked her when Sean came to the door had been fleeting, it seemed. A manifestation of the stress from the funeral, from everything since Wendy had died.

  Robert didn’t blame her.

  The drive to what his map called the Harlop Estate was pleasant enough, and it served its purpose: with the windows low and music chirping from the speakers, for a brief time Robert was able to clear his head, to not think about death or bills.

  But as he neared the end of the two-hour drive, he realized that the sky was getting progressively darker. He rolled up the window and instructed Amy to do the same.

  By the time he pulled up to the large wrought iron gates outside 344 Central Lane, the only house at the end of an otherwise empty rural street, he feared that not only was it going to rain, but it was going to pour the way it had the night Wendy died.

  Robert shuddered.

  Wendy…

  Her face, as it had been in the morgue, flashed in his mind in that moment, and he felt a pang of sadness. Regardless of the fact that Wendy had been sleeping with Landon, she hadn’t always been unfaithful—she couldn’t have been. He missed the way she used to be, the way they used to hug and kiss and hang out naked in their dorm room in what seemed like another life.

  There was a Wendy that he loved, and although she had become more introverted and generally severe over the years, and her sleeping with Landon hurt him deeply, Robert knew that there was a part of him that would always be empty now that she was gone.

  Empty…

  Robert’s eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror and they fell on Amy’s face as she stared out the wind
ow at the large, ornate wrought iron gates in near wonderment.

  She has Wendy’s mouth, he realized. When he concentrated further, mentally superimposing Wendy’s face over top of hers, he realized that they shared more than just the same plump lips. Although Amy’s face was heart-shaped while Wendy’s had been more angular, they had the same smallish nose and large blue eyes. Even their hairlines, complete with a short widow’s peak that could only be seen when their hair was pulled back, were the same.

  Robert sniffed and forced the sadness away.

  Be strong.

  “Sweetie, what do you think?”

  “It’s…interesting,” Amy replied hesitantly, her eyes glued to the window as she spoke.

  Her response pretty much reflected Robert’s opinion exactly.

  Despite the darkening clouds and sky, he was still able to see through the gates and up the winding drive that was at least seventy-five feet long. The fence, which like the gates was made of ten-foot-tall wrought iron, extended in either direction and contained a vast expanse of overgrown lawn within. With a little spit shine and elbow grease, Robert imagined that this would make for a pretty impressive entrance.

  The house itself, however, was another story—and far from his visions of a pristine colonial.

  Robert couldn’t help but tilt his head, and he barely managed to stifle a whistle.

  Aunt Ruth, or whoever the hell she was, lived in a massive two-story estate, the front of which was slightly recessed relative to the two sides and flanked by what appeared to be old, leaden widows. The front was punctuated by large wooden double-doors that stood nearly ten feet tall. Although it was difficult to tell in the foreboding sky, the estate appeared to be a pale gray. Despite being in a serious state of disrepair, complete with cracks in both some of the windows and the massive bricks that made up the exterior, the Harlop Estate was still an impressive sight, if mostly due to the sheer size of the footprint.

  In front of the estate, the drive swooped around an eight-foot oxidized green statue that stood proud in the center of a dried up fountain. It was hard to tell, but from Robert’s vantage point from the driver’s seat, it looked like a cherub, short and stout, with small wings pressed close to his back.