Page 38

REN

Siren Song, Maine

T he local police station was a converted fishing cottage with a wide front porch, two rocking chairs, and a picnic table. A row of shuttered French windows bracketed the front door. Ren and Stella stood on the threshold of the entrance and looked around.

Stella chuckled. “Gotta love small-town police forces.”

Ren agreed, “Come on.”

Inside, an efficient-looking, forty-something woman in jeans and a red cardigan greeted them without looking up from the book she was reading.

“Help you?”

“Is the sheriff in?”

The receptionist set her book on the desk. “Chief Ramsey is at the podiatrist, but Sergeant Sellers is here.”

“Can we speak to him?” Stella asked.

“Sellers isn’t a him; she’s a her.”

“Sorry. Can we speak to her?”

“You already are.” The woman stood from her chair and walked over to another desk at the far end of the room. After removing the sweater to reveal a blue police uniform, she sat and propped her elbows on the desk. With a bright smile, she said, “Ellie Sellers. What can I do ya for?”

“We’re staying up at Cliffside House.”

Ellie’s eyes lit with understanding. “You the guy Franklin’s son left the house to?”

“How did you know that?” Ren asked.

“Siren Song is a small town. Word gets around.”

Ren chuckled. “Iggy’s mom used to call the gossip around here the Bullet Train. One time, she slipped on ice and broke her wrist, and by the time she got home from the hospital, there were three casseroles in her kitchen.”

The sergeant shook her head. “Sounds about right. You must have been pretty close to the family.”

“I grew up coming here in the summers with them. Iggy was my best friend.”

“Condolences.”

“Thanks.”

“What happened? He was so young.”

“Motorcycle accident.”

Ellie grimaced. “That’s awful. Those helmet laws exist for a reason. Just a shame.”

“Yeah,” Ren agreed.

“Are you here to introduce yourself, or was there something else?”

Stella stood and walked over to the notice board. Ren held out his hand. “Name’s Ren. I stopped by because there was a remnant of crime scene tape hanging from the towel rack in the kitchen. Iggy never said there was anything suspicious about his father’s death, so I was curious.”

Ellie stood and filled a cardboard cup with coffee from the glass pot on the sideboard.

She gestured to the beverage set-up, but Ren waved her off.

After returning to her seat, she blew on the drink and took a small sip.

“Nothing to worry about if that’s what you’re thinking.

Franklin killed himself. It was five years ago on the Fourth of July.

Right in the middle of the fireworks show out in the bay, he walked out of his house and threw himself off Siren’s Cliff. ”

“Suicide? Really? He didn’t seem like the type.”

“You know, something about that whole thing didn’t sit right with me. I wanted to investigate further, but the chief shut that idea down real quick.”

“The Chief did? Why?” Ren asked.

“He had a point, I guess. Franklin wasn’t the same after his wife died. Moved up here permanently ten or so years ago. Didn’t do much of anything except putter around that house, watch his precious birds, and come into town for groceries and such. I wouldn’t describe him as a ball of happiness.”

“So why the crime scene tape in the kitchen?”

“Hmm?”

“You said he jumped off the cliff.”

“Oh, right. That’s what I thought was fishy. A few minutes before it happened, Franklin called nine-one-one.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing. Pushed the buttons and left the receiver dangling. The Chief figured he called for last-ditch crisis help, changed his mind, and ended it. To your question about the crime scene—there was blood on the kitchen floor—nothing major. As I remember, it was several half-dollar-sized drips. Coulda cut a finger chopping onions.”

“Were there onions out?”

Ellie rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. It wasn’t a bloodbath in there, just a few drops. Chief thinks he maybe tried to kill himself that way.” She mimed slicing her throat. “And couldn’t do it. So he opted for the cliff.”

Ren remembered the missing knife in Franklin’s kitchen but decided not to mention it.

“And you know for a fact he voluntarily walked out there and jumped to his death?”

“That, we’re sure of.”

“How?”

“Because thirty people watched him do it. Ginny Whelan was hosting her annual Fourth of July party. The chief, the mayor, and a bunch of responsible, 20-20-vision individuals saw Franklin Wabash stagger out of his house, follow the bluff walk to Siren Cliff, and jump to his death.”

“I see.”

“So, to answer your question, the crime scene tape was precautionary. Just pull it off and toss it. Nothing nefarious happened up there—sad, but not nefarious. You’re as safe in that house as your mother’s lap.”

If she only knew. Ren thanked Ellie Sellers and jerked his head to the door for Stella to follow.

Once outside, Ren asked, “Did you catch all that?”

“I did. Which part at the end made you wince? The house being safe or your mother’s lap?”

“Fuck off. I didn’t wince.”

“Ah, so mommy’s lap then.”

“Stella,” he warned.

“Sorry, sorry, just curious.” She paused. “Ren.”

He turned to face her with a murderous expression. “I told you to drop it.”

Stella jerked him into an alley beside a bakery.

“What now?” Ren barked.

Stella tipped her head to the street. “We’re being followed.”

R en peered around the corner and faced a middle-aged man in denim overalls and a stained sweatshirt. Ren pulled him into the alley by the bib.

“Hey, now. Take it easy.”

“Are you following us?”

“Guilty.” The guy held up his hands.

“Who are you?” Stella asked.

“Name’s Lowell. I’m doing some repairs at the The Claw.” He gestured behind him with his thumb. Heard you say you’re staying at Cliffside House.”

“And?”

The guy freed his overalls from Ren’s grip and smoothed it down. “Most of the townies don’t think much of tourists. What I mean is I’m not trying to scare you off or nothin’.”

“But?” Stella said from beside Ren.

“How long you stayin’ up there?” Lowell asked.

Ren shoved his hands in his pockets and took half a step back. He wanted this man to keep talking. “It’s my house. I inherited it from Franklin’s son.”

Lowell ran a pudgy hand down his face. “Oh, man.”

“Just spit it out,” Stella snapped. Ren placed his arm around her shoulder—a silent plea for patience.

“I never believed in ghosts or demons or none of that. Still don’t.” He grabbed the back of his neck and exhaled. “Something is not right about that house.”

“In what way?” Ren asked.

“I was there the night he died—up on the bluff. I’m telling you, something possessed him.

We were next door at Ginny’s annual Fourth of July party.

Franklin appeared on the bluff walk out of nowhere.

” Lowell gesticulated as he spoke. “Firework, nothing. Another firework, there he was, walkin’ like a zombie to Siren Cliff.

It was like watching an old movie. Darkness, then the sky would light up, and Franklin would be a little farther along the path.

He got to the end and jumped. Like it was nothin’. ”

“And he was alone?” Ren asked.

“Well, yeah. Nobody pushed him if that’s what you’re askin’. Nobody human .”

“But a ghost might have pushed him?”

“Not pushed.” Lowell leaned closer. “Maybe compelled .”

“Compelled?” Stella furrowed her brow.

“By the Siren Song. Callin’ out to him. Pulling Franklin to his doom.”

Ren swiped his hand down his face. “You mentioned the house.”

“Right. I’m a handyman and a carpenter. I’ve done work on that house for twenty years. It’s always had its quirks. The wind and the cliffs can make some unusual sounds. But after Franklin passed, things got weird.”

“How so?” Stella asked in a gentler tone.

“The son, Iggy, called from out of town and hired me to do routine maintenance and fix what needed fixing. I think he was planning on selling it. I heard he died.”

“Yeah, traffic accident,” Ren said.

“Shame.”

After a moment, the man continued, “I’ve been going up there once a month since the—” he whispered, “— accident . And things are not right.” Lowell stared at his paint-splattered boots. “I think the place is haunted.”

Ren couldn’t see her, but he was certain Stella was rolling her eyes. At least they had one thing in common.

“Can you be more specific?” he asked.

“Look, I know it sounds ridiculous. I hear the words, and I want to swat my own head. I’m a Mainer for Chrissake. We’re level-headed people.”

Stella stepped to Ren’s side. “So, what makes you think Cliffside House is haunted?”

“The first time—this was about a month after Franklin died—I was fixing a pipe in the upstairs bathroom. When I turned on the faucet to check the water pressure, this dark liquid started dripping out.”

Ren interjected, “You thought it was blood.”

The handyman stroked his thick beard. “Then there were the footsteps. I was in the kitchen painting, and I heard someone walking around upstairs, and not just the bump, bump, bump of shoes—the floorboards were creaking.”

“Seems like a ghost would be lighter on his feet,” Stella deadpanned.

“I went upstairs thinking it was a kid or maybe a thief, but the place was empty.” He held up both hands. “I still didn’t believe it was anything supernatural. I chalked it up to my imagination or maybe a prank.”

The handyman snapped his fingers, “Oh, and there was music. Franklin had a CD player. The thing must have been thirty years old, but it still worked. I came in one day, and it was on. Playing that song about being happy.”

Stella said, “Pharrell?”

“No, no, older. It’s from a musical.”

Ren stepped back. “ Put on a Happy Face ?”

“That’s the one.” Lowell checked his watch. “I gotta scoot, but I thought you should know. I don’t know how or why, but there are goings-on up on those cliffs.”

Ren stood immobile as Stella thanked him and walked him back to the sidewalk. She returned to his side and said, “Now you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Iggy’s mom loved that song. When we were kids, she’d make smiley face pancakes and play that song.”

“So the ghost is your friend’s mom?” Stella wiggled spooky fingers.

Ren cleaned his glasses with his shirttail. “The person fucking around is intimately acquainted with the family.”

“Don’t be such a party pooper. I mean, it wouldn’t be a dramatic clifftop murder scene without a ghost.” Stella shoulder-checked him.

“That’s dark.” Ren guided Stella with his hand at the small of her back. “Come on. We need supplies.”

Stella moved in front of him and walked backward. “Garlic and silver bullets?”

“That’s for a vampire.”

“Ah ha!” She pointed an accusatory finger. “So you admit supernatural creatures exist lurking in the night.”

Ren grabbed both of her shoulders, that familiar energy crackling between them. He turned her to face forward a little too gruffly. “This isn’t a vacation, Stella. Let’s stay focused.”

She stiffened beside him. “You know, walking backward isn’t just casual and mildly flirtatious. It’s also a way for me to have a better visual of our surroundings subtly. Maybe you missed that in your PhD research.”

Frustrated by his irrational behavior, Ren snapped, “And what did you determine? Is there a gang of angry lobsters coming after us?”

“A risk.”

“What?”

“A group of lobsters is called a risk.”

Ren pinched the bridge of his nose.

Stella gave him a little shove. “No lobsters in pursuit, but I am realizing one significant fact.”

“And what’s that.”

“They don’t seem to like strangers.” Stella tipped her head to the side. Across the street, a woman sweeping in front of the pharmacy was giving them side-eye. Stella jerked her chin toward a man sitting in a Cadillac, peering at them over half glasses.

“Isn’t that strange for a tourist town?”

“Who said it was a tourist town?” Ren asked.

“I just assumed. I mean, look at it.”

“That winding cliff road is the only way into town coming from the south. It tends to discourage tourism. Siren Song gets a few treasure hunters diving for shipwrecks and some brave travelers looking for a hidden gem, but it’s mainly an isolated fishing town.

There are too many charming coastal spots with easier access and more accommodating locals.

I think that’s why Iggy’s family liked it so much.

They only spent summers here, but Iggy’s great-grandmother owned all that property along the bluff, so they were welcome. ”

Stella tugged on Ren’s elbow. “Let’s walk down to the dock. And before you shake your finger at me, it’s not to sightsee. In an area with limited access, we should explore alternative means of escape.”

He started to comply when the all-too-familiar buzz of a drone overhead had him tugging Stella under the awning of a flower shop. “Another day. Let’s get what we need and head back to the house.”