Relatively Dead Read online

  Abby opened her eyes. Once again her face was wet with tears. Ned moved closer to her and laid a hand on her arm. “Look,” he said, pointing to the stone.

  For the first time, she read the inscription. Erected in memory of Deacon Samuel Reed who died June 16th 1807 in his 56th year.

  “Are you all right?”

  Ned’s voice was so kind. She really had to stop crying. She nodded, since she was having trouble speaking. “It’s another Reed,” she whispered.

  “Then I think we need to know more about the Reed family, don’t you? That’s the same name as at Concord.”

  Abby hadn’t realized that she’d been holding her breath, but she let it out now with a sigh. “Yes, it is.” She looked around and found several other Reeds nearby, in the same row, and in another not far away. “I seem to have some sort of connection with these people,” she said, surprised to find that her voice was shaky.

  “I think you’re right. And maybe that will help you—you can take these names and work forward, and maybe that will tell you something.”

  “Oh, right. Then I’d better get the details.” She pulled a small notebook from her purse and jotted down the names and dates, and then sketched out the relative locations of the tombstones—who lay next to whom. By the time she was done, she felt steadier. Maybe she was getting used to being swamped by ghosts.

  That word stopped her. These weren’t ghosts. They still didn’t see her. She’d prefer to say that these were real people she was seeing, only from the past. How, and why? She had no idea, yet here she was, standing in a cemetery, and she was surrounded by them. This was getting a bit too bizarre.

  Ned’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Ready to go? You look cold.”

  “I guess I am.”

  Ned took her arm again as they crossed the street and helped her into the car. When he was seated, she turned toward him.

  “You don’t see anything, do you?”

  “I believe that you do.”

  “I wish I knew why. Why me? Why now, why here? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Have patience. There’s more you can find out. And I’m glad you’re not trying to shut out . . . whatever this is.”

  “I’m not so sure I’m glad. I didn’t ask for this.” Abby fell silent, and remained silent most of the trip back to Waltham. Ned didn’t interrupt her thoughts. It was not until they pulled into her parking lot that she roused herself to speak.

  “Thank you, again.”

  “For what?”

  “Well, for the job lead, for starters. But for . . . well, for being there. I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have someone to bounce this off of.” Brad would be useless, she knew.

  He looked at her for a moment. “I’m happy to help. Look, give me a call after you’ve talked to Leslie and let me know how it goes, all right? And let me know if you find anything interesting about the Reeds.”

  She watched him leave. You’ll be the first to know, Ned, she said to herself. And quite possibly the only one. She turned to go up to the apartment.

  12

  Brad had come home in time for a reasonable dinner, pumped up both by the game he had watched in the testosterone-rich atmosphere of Rich’s bachelor apartment (Shanna having apparently opted to find something else to do) and by his incredible thoughtfulness at remembering Abby’s request to be home early. She had decided once again not to mention her excursion with Ned, not that there was anything suspect about it, but because Brad would probably find some way to misconstrue it. Since things were going nicely and Abby wanted to keep them that way, saying nothing was the safest course. Time enough to fill him in when she figured out what these bizarre visitations were, or if anything came of this possible job lead that had materialized out of thin air.

  She called Leslie Monday morning. She wondered whether she should call first thing and catch Leslie before she was fully engaged in her day, doing . . . whatever it was she did; or give her time to settle into her regular Monday routine. In the end, she opted for a compromise, and called at 9:37. Leslie answered on the second ring.

  “Leslie Walker.” The voice was slightly breathless.

  “Uh, hello? This is Abigail Kimball. Ned Newhall suggested that I call you about a possible job?”

  “Right, yeah. What time can you be here?”

  “You mean today?”

  “Yes. How about . . . no, I’ve got a meeting . . . can’t do three . . . how about four o’clock?”

  Abby swallowed. “Fine. Where will I find you?”

  “You know where we are? Look at a map. Stop at the desk in the lobby—they’ll know where I am. Four o’clock.” She hung up before Abby could say anything, much less protest.

  Apparently she had a job interview. She knew roughly where the museum was. Now all she had to do was fill the next five hours or so, without driving herself into a state of total dither. Back to the computer, then. She printed out a fresh copy of her résumé and then returned to the elusive genealogy, which was proving to be a wonderful way to eat up time. Who were the Flaggs? The Reeds? And why were they drawing her in, all over the place?

  It seemed that the next time she looked up it was nearly three, and she needed to shower and change if she was going to be on time for her meeting with Leslie.

  She made it to the museum in Concord with five minutes to spare, and then had to wait in the lobby. She hadn’t seen the inside of the museum before, although she had noted the discreet sign when Ned had driven her past it. What she could see from her bench in the lobby pleased her: lots of light and air, and modern exhibit cases that made her itch to go exploring. Later, maybe—if she was lucky.

  Leslie Walker finally emerged from somewhere backstairs, issuing apologies before she was ten feet from Abby.

  “You must be Abby. I’m so sorry, everything just keeps piling up, and I’ve been falling behind since I got out of bed this morning. Oh, I’m Leslie, obviously. Follow me.”

  Abby had not yet managed to say a word. She followed Leslie obediently, taking in her unruly blond hair, the handsome suit that hugged her generous curves, and the scuffed leather shoes. It was as though Leslie was fraying in all directions, just a little. She led Abby through an unmarked door, up a set of stairs, turned, turned again, and then threw open another door—apparently her office. She threaded her way through the piles of books, artifacts, posters, extra shoes, and general office supplies to throw herself into the protesting chair behind the scarred wooden desk. “Here, sit. Oh, sorry, that chair’s sort of buried—just put the junk on the floor, there.”

  Abby managed to clear enough space to sit. She stared at the dynamo in front of her. Leslie returned her stare, frankly appraising her. “So, what do you know?” Leslie asked.

  “What? You mean about the job? Ned just said someone had left unexpectedly and you needed some help, and he thought my qualifications might fit. Maybe you should start at the beginning?”

  “I wish I had the time. Okay, short version: my director of education just found out she has breast cancer, and she’s freaked. I think she’d do better staying on the job, keeping busy, but she wants to go smell the roses while she can, and I gave her my blessing. Which leaves me at the start of the school year with no one to manage the school programs. Ned said you have teaching experience?”

  “Uh, yes, two years in the Philadelphia school system. Then a year at a foundation in Philadelphia.”

  “You like it?”

  “Teaching? Yes. I taught first grade—the kids were great, but the system was a mess. Like any big-city school district.”

  “Why’d you leave?”

  “My, uh, boyfriend got a good job offer up here, and I decided to come with him. I wasn’t exactly on a fast career track where I was, and I’ve always been curious about Boston.”

  “Huh. What’s your undergrad degree in?”

  “English. At Swarthmore.”

  Leslie gave a discreet snort. “Look, here’s the bottom line. You look decent, respons
ible—although I’m not sure I’d recognize a serial killer if I met one. I need somebody like yesterday. The calendar for the fall term is all set up, but I need someone to stand up in front of the school groups and give the patter about history, the Revolution, all those literary types in Concord, that kind of thing. We’ve got some good canned texts to work from, so you wouldn’t have to reinvent the wheel, but you could tailor them later if you wanted, once you get comfortable. Assuming you last a week—but then, I guess you know about the energy levels of a busload of kids on a field trip, right? You want to give it a shot?”

  “Yes.” The answer was out of her mouth before Abby had time to think, but she realized that she meant it.

  Leslie beamed. “Great. Look, I’ve got someone lined up to cover tomorrow’s sessions, but you could come by, get comfortable with the collections and the layout here, and watch the run-through. Could you start day after tomorrow?”

  “Uh, sure.” Things were moving very fast, Abby thought.

  “Oh, yeah, details. The pay sucks”—she mentioned a number so low that Abby had to stop herself from laughing—“the benefits are lousy, but we’ve got a really great group of people here, good volunteers, and a supportive board. And it’s a nice town to work in, if you beat the rush-hour traffic. You’ll figure it out. Hey, look, I’m thrilled that you’re willing to give it a shot. If it doesn’t work out, you can walk away, sadder but wiser. But I think you’ll be fine. Welcome aboard.” With that, Leslie stood up and extended her hand. Abby took it and they shook.

  Three minutes later Abby found herself in the small parking lot adjacent to the museum. She felt completely bewildered. What had just happened? Well, apparently she had a job. A real job. Just like that. And she had Ned to thank for it. And maybe, she thought, casting a glance over her shoulder toward the other end of town, those Reeds in the cemetery there. Somebody was looking out for her, anyway. Could the dead Reeds pull strings?

  Driving home, she realized that she knew very little about what she was getting into—she hadn’t asked a lot of questions. Who did she report to? Leslie, or someone else? What was Leslie’s position? What time was she supposed to show up? Still, even with all these questions buzzing in her head, she felt good. Maybe thinking and planning were much overrated and she was just supposed to “go with the flow” here. Besides, the place had a good feel to it. Hold it, Abby—are you relying on intuition here? Well, it was as good as anything else she’d tried. And she’d have something to tell Brad. He’d be pleased . . . providing his dinner appeared on time. Although maybe she should inflate the salary, just a little, for now. Abby looked at the clock in the car and accelerated cautiously.

  Leslie had been right about rush hour in Concord, and the roads were crowded, although most people were coming out from Boston rather than heading in her direction. Driving back to Waltham, Abby tried to figure out what to tell Brad. She’d found a job. Plus. Was it sufficiently impressive to compete with all the lady friends of his work buddies? Minus, maybe. Would he get on her case about making such a snap decision, without doing a lot of research and planning? Or consulting him? Double minus there. And how on earth was she supposed to explain how she had heard about it and come to interview for it without even telling him first? She’d have to say something about Ned, and the fact that she’d seen him again, but she wasn’t sure what.

  She bounced from one mood to another. Heck, if it didn’t work out, Leslie had said she could just walk away, right? What was the downside? Somebody else had done all the work of setting the programs up, or at least that’s what Leslie had told her. All Abby had to do was walk in and take over. Oh, God, what had she been thinking? She couldn’t run anything. Would Brad step up to the plate and tell her she could handle it easily? Sometimes she wondered what he really did think of her and her professional abilities. He certainly hadn’t held her teaching job in very high regard, even though she’d been happy doing it. She’d gone along when he had told her about that foundation position that he had scouted out for her, which paid better. But she hadn’t enjoyed it nearly as much as teaching. She sighed and realized she was already home, with nothing resolved in her head.

  She was putting a meat loaf in the oven when Brad walked in. He gave her a squeeze as he passed her on the way to the refrigerator to get a beer. With the beer in hand, he disappeared toward the bedroom to change into his at-home clothes. Abby still hadn’t decided how to tell him her news, but decided to wait until they were sitting down at dinner, so she could talk to him face-to-face. That bought her another half hour’s reprieve. She set the table, digging out some candles, trying to make things nice. She could hear the sound of the television in the next room as Brad checked the sports news.

  Half an hour later she surveyed her handiwork. Food on the table, candles lit. She turned off the overhead light and called out, “Brad? Dinner’s ready.” She poured herself a glass of wine and sat down.

  Brad came in pumped up about something he’d seen on the news. Abby listened with half an ear as she dished up dinner. She smiled and nodded, thinking that she resembled a geisha. She waited patiently for Brad’s monologue to subside so she could find an opening for her announcement. Finally he slowed down, but only so that he could chew.

  “Brad? I think I’ve got a job.”

  It took a moment for her statement to sink in. “What? Hey, that’s great. Did you talk to Shanna?”

  “No, this is at the Concord Museum, working with school programs.”

  “Sounds up your alley. How’d you hear about it?”

  Here we go, Abby thought. “You remember Ned, the guy who gave me the tour last week? He knows one of the people at the museum, and she told him that someone had left there suddenly and she really needed someone fast, and Ned remembered that I’d said I used to teach, and he gave me her number, and I called her . . .” Abby realized she sounded like a runaway train and really ought to take a breath. She also realized that Brad was staring at her.

  “Whoa, babe. When did this happen? You didn’t say anything about it over the weekend.”

  “Well, I saw Ned yesterday, and that’s when he told me about the job.”

  “Yesterday?”

  “Yes, while you were off watching television with the guys.”

  There was a moment of silence. Abby braced herself for Brad’s response and watched his face. She could almost outline the thoughts that passed through his head. Hmmm . . . another guy . . . should I be jealous? Nah, I saw him . . . nothing to worry about there—a real nerd. Job status . . . museum is good, Concord’s a nice place, but more towheaded kiddies? Can’t pay much . . .

  “What’s it pay?”

  Abby almost smiled—she’d nailed it. But then she realized she had to answer him. When she told him the truth, she knew he would argue. “Jeez, Abby, that’ll barely cover your gas. I’m sure you could do better in the city, and you wouldn’t have to work with kids.”

  “Brad, I like working with children,” she said quietly but firmly.

  “But some nowhere museum? Why didn’t you talk to me first?”

  She cocked her head at him. “Why, so you could talk me out of it? Look, I like Concord, it’s a nice museum, and Leslie and I hit it off. It felt right to me. I’m the one who’ll be working there, so it’s my decision.”

  Brad stared at her as though she had grown a second head. The silence spun out for several seconds, and Abby had to restrain herself from rushing in to fill it with apologies.

  Finally he said coldly, “Well, you might as well play out the hand, see how you like it. It’ll give you something to do, instead of just sitting here bouncing off the walls. Speaking of walls, Bill was really pissed about the new office layout . . .” And Brad was off on some anecdote. Abby’s momentous news had been examined and filed, probably in a folder marked “Irrelevant to Brad.” Abby found she was both relieved and disappointed. She would like to have talked a bit more about Leslie, her first impressions of the museum, what it would be like to teach his
tory on the very town where it had happened, but obviously Brad wasn’t interested. Oh, well, there would be other opportunities. She listened with one ear to his convoluted story while thinking about what to wear tomorrow. And, oh yes, telling Ned. Should she call him tonight? That way Brad would be sure to see that everything was aboveboard with him. But then she couldn’t say anything about her genealogy research. Then she remembered that it was Monday, and there would be football, and Brad would be oblivious. She could call Ned after the game started.

  Predictably Brad was ensconced in his favorite chair before nine, ready for kickoff. Abby retreated to the bedroom to make her call. No one answered, until the recording came on. As she listened to the brief message, she tried to figure out what she wanted to say.

  “Ned? It’s Abby. I met with Leslie today, and she offered me the job—I’m going in tomorrow. I can’t thank you enough—you’ve been a real help.” She floundered briefly, wondering if she should say anything else about her research, then deciding against it. “I’ll try to get back to you over the weekend, or next week, and let you know how things are going. Thanks again.” She hung up reluctantly, dissatisfied, then slowly went into the living room to join Brad.

  13

  The next morning, Abby decided to head for Concord early, erring on the side of caution. She wasn’t a blue-jeans-for-everything person, so she chose a modest knit sweater and pale wool pants, with a tailored jacket over it. She was sitting in her car in the parking lot at the museum by 8:30, wondering when she could go rap on the door. Which door, for that matter? She was relieved to see Leslie emerge from another car that pulled in. It didn’t surprise her that Leslie was a morning person, given the high energy that she had exuded yesterday. Abby got out of her car and waved tentatively.