Hologram: A Haunting Read online

  And then—in the obituaries of July 17th, 1911, she found the death notice for little Claude. It yielded little, however: age, parents, visitation times at the Springfield Street home, church service and burial site.

  Meg clipped through nearly a full decade in an hour, striking paydirt in a 1918 paper: a cluster of three Reichart obituaries within five days—those of Jason Reichart and his twin sons, Robert and Peter. The cause of the deaths was listed as “influenza,” this at a time when the front page was carrying headlines proclaiming a citywide epidemic.

  Meg shuddered. So, just seven years after losing Claude, Alicia lost the rest of her family in one blow. Her family had been decimated. What a burden it must have been! For a brief moment, the dark and unrelenting grief that had been Alicia Reichart’s seemed to wash over and through Meg in galvanizing waves. In that moment, Meg didn’t have to imagine the woman’s pain and despair—she felt it.

  She pushed on with her work.

  She had just one hour’s time left before the Calumet Room closed when Kurt walked in.

  She looked up in surprise and her heart quickened a bit, mostly in pleasure. He had come!

  His face seemed so very serious.

  Meg smiled. “You did take a day off, Kurt. I’m glad.”

  “A few hours only, Meg, then I have to dash back. I borrowed a car.”

  “Oh—Okay,” Meg said tentatively. Something serious had prompted him to drive out in a borrowed car.

  Kurt looked around. A young man researching his family and Miss Millicent, who glanced up from her desk now, were the only others in the room. “I think we should talk outside,” he said.

  “All right.” Truth was, Meg felt bad about losing precious research time.

  They went downstairs and outside the double doors, stepping into the parking lot to stand face to face.

  “I didn’t come out by choice. Mrs. Shaw threatened to drop us unless she gets cooperation.”

  “Mrs. Shaw? Huh? What cooperation?”

  “Yes, Meg. First, there’s the matter of the For Sale sign, and then she said you were uncooperative and rude to her on the phone.”

  “No—well, I might have been. But she can be pushy and rude herself.”

  “She said you haven’t answered the phone or responded to her messages.”

  Meg raised her right hand. “Guilty, your honor.”

  “This isn’t funny. Meg, she’s got someone interested in the house, and— ”

  “Who?” Meg became immediately on edge.

  “That couple that tried to bid against us after we made our offer. We can’t louse this up.”

  “What about the spirits? I mean ghosts?” She had no idea why this tactic was the first that came to her.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do we tell them?”

  “We don’t even know— ”

  “Oh, yes we do. According to Krista— ”

  “You’re on first name terms with the shrink? No! For God’s sake, we don’t tell them. We want to get rid of the house, Meg, without having to give the damn thing away!”

  “So it’s ‘Buyer Beware’?”

  “Exactly! I suspect that was the situation with us.”

  Meg glared at Kurt. “I’m not quite ready, Kurt. You know, I’m making real progress. I’m on my way to solving this—to putting the ghosts to rest.”

  “Listen to yourself, Meg! Good God!”

  “They’re troubled— ”

  “What do you think this is—Hamlet? I’ve read it, too, Meg, believe it or not. It’s a play, with medieval notions about ghosts and why they can’t rest.”

  Meg started to speak, but Kurt lifted his finger in a shushing motion. “We’re selling the house, and that’s all that needs to be said. On Friday night you’re coming back with me. We’ll hire someone to pack it up. Oh, and no funny business in between.”

  “Funny business?”

  “Yeah, like the For Sale sign.”

  “What about it?”

  “Don’t be coy—it disappeared.”

  “It’s gone? Well, I didn’t touch it. Maybe some neighbor kid— ”

  “Meg,” Kurt interrupted, “I found it in the basement—in the old coal room!”

  Meg stood staring.

  “Don’t look so shocked.”

  She bristled at the insinuation. “How dare you, Kurt Rockwell!” Hard to ignite, her temper flared and burned brightly when it did. “I may not always do the right thing. I make my mistakes. But I can tell you one thing—I tell the truth! What about you? Are you truthful? You with your ‘Buyer beware’?”

  Kurt stood stunned by Meg. He had never seen her get so angry.

  “Do you have moral integrity, Kurt?” Meg continued.

  “What?” Kurt looked perplexed.

  Meg paused, allowing a woman to pass them and enter the library. She hadn’t meant for the subject to come up in this way, but it had.

  “I’m talking about faithfulness, Kurt. You have not been the faithful husband!”

  “Huh?” Kurt registered complete surprise. He drew in a sharp breath. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about you. Tell me, just why did your first wife sue for divorce?”

  He paled at once.

  “Why?” Meg pressed.

  Kurt tried to collect himself. “I—I was having an affair.”

  “Adultery.”

  He nodded. “Is that what this is about?”

  “What’s the cliché about leopards and their spots, Kurt? I bet you know that one.”

  “What do you mean? I can assure you, Meg, that— ”

  “I mean your sordid little affair with Valerie Miller, for God’s sakes! Or was it just a little one-night stand? How many others have there been, Kurt?”

  “Valerie Miller! Meg, the woman is— ”

  “I have a witness!”

  “A witness—to what?”

  “A romance in the White Hen! Then a rendezvous in her condo. Couldn’t you be a little more discreet? And Valerie Miller! Let’s throw in discerning, too!”

  “Oh, for God’s sake who told you this?”

  “What difference can it make?”

  “I want to know who!”

  “And I want to know why!”

  “Meg, it’s not true! I’ve been faithful to you.”

  “Right. You know I could forgive you, Kurt, for a weak moment or a stupid choice. But not your lying to me. I won’t!”

  Meg spun around and hurried into the library.

  Kurt stood numbed by the exchange that had just played out. He couldn’t believe the turn his visit had taken. He had to talk to her, to settle this.

  Yet, to go back in after her—there would be a scene, a very public scene. And he had to get the car back to his friend Delaney in Chicago. More importantly, there was a late afternoon one-on-one meeting with the president of the hospital. He couldn’t miss it, didn’t dare.

  And to complicate things, there were important meetings scheduled through the weekend. God only knows what spin Meg would put on that, he thought.

  He moved toward the silver Lexus now, feeling more than ever that events were spinning out of control.

  Meg sat at her microfiche station, shaking with emotion. Sensing Miss Millicent’s curious eyes upon her, she started working with the machine, praying that the woman would not come over. After a few minutes, she lifted her head and stared at nothing in particular.

  She could not get the vision of Kurt’s face out of her mind. At the mention of Valerie Miller’s name, something had stirred in his expression. Something like recognition? Guilt? There was something to it, Meg thought now. Her heart sank.

  It was true—or was it?


  NINETEEN

  Kurt was not surprised that Meg did not pick up the phone or answer his messages all day Friday. The intensive series of meetings with visiting bigwigs at the hospital precluded the usual end of the week trip to Hammond on the South Shore line.

  On Saturday morning he tried again, from the condo and then upon arriving at work. Still no answer. And the phone machine was not operating. The frustration worked on his blood pressure. He knew no one on Springfield Street whom he could call—and even if he did, what would he say to them?

  He would have to wait until he was able to get away early in the week.

  At 10 a.m. Monday morning, Kurt dialed Wenonah Smythe from his office. He knew she worked three to elevens and hoped she would be awake by now.

  She was having her coffee, she said.

  “Wenonah, would it be all right if I come over for a short visit. I’d like to talk to you.”

  There was a pause, long enough for him to wonder if he hadn’t been cut off.

  “About Meg?” she asked at last. Her voice was oddly tentative, so unlike her.

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “In half an hour, if that’s all right.”

  “Well—I guess so— ”

  He had taken her off guard, that was obvious. “Good. See you then.”

  After the goodbyes, he called Enterprise Rent-a-Car and set up a rental for 5:30 p.m. He wasn’t about to screw around with the train today, and he needed a full size car to bring personal belongings back to Chicago. If Meg could be convinced to come back, her car would not be big enough.

  Had he taken the train, he had to wonder if Meg would pick him up at the station. He had never seen her so angry. Would she agree to come back?

  Kurt now put in a call to Doctor Krista Peterhof.

  Yes, the doctor was in, he was told, but she was with a patient and could not be disturbed. The secretary took his name, saying the doctor would return the call later in the day.

  Kurt asked that she call back after 11:30, expecting that he would be back from Wenonah’s by then. The doctor would be given the message, he was told.

  He slammed down the phone. Disturbed, my ass! She should try my shoes.

  More frustration. He wanted to know what went on in their session, what frame of mind Meg was in, what advice the good doctor had given her.

  Reaching for Wenonah’s bell, he realized he was nervous and this surprised him. He had never been completely at ease with Wenonah, and he didn’t know quite why. It wasn’t her brash humor—he rather liked that. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

  Wenonah buzzed him in.

  Kurt had never been in The Pattington, and he scarcely noticed the vintage ambiance now: the tiled vestibule, the wide stairway, the huge windows on each half landing, the scent of varnish and age.

  Climbing the fourth flight, he thought maybe it was Wenonah’s attitude toward him that put distance between them. And now, of course, he was on the defensive, and that was an unsettling thing.

  “Hi,” Wenonah said, her tone serious. She was dressed, but he could tell she had not been out of the shower long.

  “Sorry for the short notice, Win.”

  “That’s okay. I need to get up and take care of business. Morning TV is downright addictive, you know?”

  “Can we sit?”

  “Oh, sure. Sorry. Come on in. Want some coffee? It’s still hot.”

  “No, thanks.” Kurt sat on the sofa. The TV was on, but set on mute.

  Wenonah settled into a lounge chair to the side and a bit removed. Her face was a mask that revealed little. She was nervous, too, he realized. She waited for him to speak.

  Kurt drew in a long breath, then spoke. “Wenonah, Meg seems to think I’ve had an affair or am having one—or some damned thing.”

  He paused, assessing her. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t register surprise—only what?—a subtle discomfort? She was waiting for him to continue.

  Kurt fully described Meg’s accusation.

  Wenonah simply took it in. And when he finished, she said bluntly: “And you think I’m that witness?”

  He nodded. “I think it’s a strong possibility. I know I used to see you at the White Hen, now and then. Hell—yes, I do think it.”

  Wenonah fastened her dark eyes on Kurt. “Look, I want your marriage to succeed. Meg is my best friend. She’s very, very special, and I want to see her happy.”

  “Did you tell her those things?”

  “I told her what I had seen and—believe me—it killed me to do so. I put it off as long as I could, but my conscience finally won out.”

  “Your conscience?” Kurt turned sarcastic.

  “I gave her the information, just what I had seen, without any editorial commentary. In fact, I cautioned her that what I had seen was merely circumstantial, that it may, after all, have been innocent.”

  “I see.” Kurt’s eyes moved from Wenonah to the TV. Some soap opera played silently.

  “Was it, Kurt? Innocent?”

  Kurt was taken aback by her boldness. Her initial nervousness had made him forget for the moment how direct she could be. He looked at her squarely in the face. Her gaze was as direct as her question. “Yes,” he said, finally, “nothing happened that night, or ever.”

  Wenonah nodded, but the hint of skepticism lay like a delicate scrim over her eyes. “I hope you understand it was something I had to do.”

  “Point taken. And I’ll defend myself. Nothing happened! I love Meg. And this could not have happened at a worse time! You have no idea, Win.”

  Wenonah’s face folded into an expression of concern. “Has anything happened—since that worker fell?”

  Kurt went into the details as he knew them. He brought Wenonah up to date on the construction worker’s mishap and the child-ghost the man said he had seen, the visit to the nursing home and the death of the Clinton woman. The longer the litany became, the more he felt he was doing the right thing in insisting Meg move back to Chicago.

  “How terrible,” Wenonah whispered. She had paled.

  “I feel she’s in some kind of danger, Win. She’s got to stop pursuing this—whatever the hell it is. If there’s anything you can do, any way you can influence her, I’d appreciate it.”

  Wenonah sat forward in her chair. “Kurt, she needs to move back!”

  “Don’t I know it? I’m going to do everything I can to get her back tonight.”

  “I’ll call her.”

  “Would you? Today? That’d be great.”

  “Yes.”

  “And maybe put in a good word for me?”

  Wenonah smiled.

  “I don’t know if you believe me, Win— ”

  “I believe you love Meg, Kurt, or you wouldn’t be here. I’ll let her know that.”

  Kurt wanted to stay, wanted to shake Wenonah’s doubts free, but he was at a loss as to how. Instead, he smiled, stood, thanked her, and left.

  Kurt swore aloud when his secretary told him he had missed Doctor Peterhof’s call by five minutes.

  He called her office immediately. Too late, she was already in conference with another patient.

  “Yes,” he was told, the doctor would return his call at her earliest convenience. He hung up and cursed again.

  At one o’clock, he was on the third floor of the hospital when he was paged to the phone. He rushed to pick it up at the nurses’ station.

  “Mr. Rockwell?” It was a woman’s voice.

  “Doctor Peterhof? Yes.”

  “Who? No this is Mrs. Shaw. Is that you, Mr. Rockwell?”

  Damn! Of course, the voice came across now as familiar. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Shaw. I was expecting someone else.”

  “Listen, Mr. Ro
ckwell, we’ve got a real problem out here. Do you know the sign has been removed again?”

  “Has it? Well, not to worry—I’ll be out this evening.”

  “Well, that’s not the most important thing right now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your wife doesn’t answer the phone or the door. I’ve been out to the house twice today, once last night.”

  Kurt could feel the heat of his blood pumping up through his neck and to his temples. “You’ll have cooperation once I get there, Mrs. Shaw, I promise.”

  “It’s more immediate than that, Mr. Rockwell, or I wouldn’t have called you at work. The Robbins are still very much interested in the place. But we need to do business this afternoon.”

  “Oh, come on— ”

  “No, really. They’ve got a six o’clock plane out of O’Hare to Orlando. It’s the start of a three-week vacation. They’re not about to change their plans.”

  “And?”

  “And they’ll write a check out for a deposit and sign a proposal on the spot if they can see the house again—and talk to you or your wife.”

  “About?”

  “I suspect they want to know why you’re giving it up so soon.”

  “I see. Okay, Mrs. Shaw, I’m renting a car today. I’ll get the time moved up and come out as soon as possible. I’ll meet you at the house, say at three?”

  “Fine. You know, your wife could assure them instead if I could only get a hold of her.”

  “No, no, Mrs. Shaw.” Good God, no! “That’s okay, Mrs. Shaw. See you at three.”

  “All right, then.”

  Kurt arranged for the car and was just about to leave work to pick it up when Doctor Krista Peterhof called back.

  The strange voice and accent threw him for a moment—he had actually forgotten about the call.

  “I wanted to know about Meg, Doctor Peterhof,” he explained.