The Smoking Gun

The whispering was back.

Georgia took a sip of hot coffee from the same mug she always used and tilted her head slightly to the left, listening intently. There was a chip on the rim of the mug, right beside the handle. A casualty of small hands, more interested in soap suds than the actual washing. It was a familiar little notch, and Georgia often found herself tracing a finger along it when mulling something over. It was automatic. An indulgent tick she’d developed during long hours of detective work when a case had gotten away from her.

Like this one had.

Georgia pulled out a worn pad with a spiral wire that had seen better days. One end was loosened from where she had wedged in a plain BIC pen—the type with the cap. Lately, Georgia found herself drawn to the mundane. It was simple, dependable, familiar.

Flipping through the pad to an empty page, Georgia began scribbling. It was rare for the whispers to form themselves into distinguishable words. More often they were a jumble of mishmash sounds. Sometimes, Georgia could sense emotion behind them. This time, though, there was a word.

Marcie.

Whenever the whispers took form, Georgia recorded them. A practice born from years on the force. Memory could be unreliable. Best to get it in writing.

A handful of words and a stray phrase or two littered the page she’d been using to record the whispering and the strange things that had been happening around the house.

Never Forget.

Smelled of Cinnamon.

Birthday orchids.

Appointment.

Little red pills.

Marcie.

Georgia reread the last word, tracing every lilt and stroke with her mind.

Marcie.

It was the first time the whispers had spoken a name. Georgia couldn’t help but feel a bubble of excitement as she ran the end of her pen up and down along the notepad’s spiral ring. The rhythmic clicking soothed something in her as she mulled the name over, searching the recesses of her memory for a spark of recognition.

Marcie.

Had one of her coworkers been called Marcie? The new girl in homicide?

Click, click, click, click.

Or was it, Marcene?

Georgia sighed and reached for her mug, swallowing some brown, rejuvenating liquid before very nearly spitting it back out. For a moment Georgia stared at the familiar mug with the words, Best Mom Ever, inscribed onto a floral decal on the front. Her eyes drifted to the chip.

Same chip.

Same mug.

She frowned, holding the mug high enough to scan the bottom.

Love you forever, mommy.

Taryn.

Right there. Scribbled in permanent marker and later sealed to make sure the inscription didn’t fade. The mug her daughter had given her last year for Mother’s Day. It was a big gift for such a little girl and Georgia would know it anywhere.

But it was cold.

The coffee was cold.

Georgia flipped the page on her notepad, ignoring the gooseflesh pricking against her skin. The pen tip scraped across paper, leaving inky trails as she wrote.

Whispering—7:14 a.m.

Cold coffee. Same mug confirmed.

Was the liquid switched?

Connection to whispers unconfirmed.

Warrants further investigation.

The clatter of dishes clinking in the sink startled Georgia out of her thoughts. Her head whipped up. A woman stood near the refrigerator. Georgia hadn’t heard her come in. She was average in every way one could be average. Except her eyes. There was something about them that bothered Georgia, but she couldn’t put her finger on it—like an itch from a phantom limb that bears scratching but proves itself impossible to ease.

Georgia’s eyes slid to the dishrag in the woman’s hand and narrowed. She was certain she hadn’t left the door unlocked.

The housekeeper stared at Georgia a moment, then turned towards the refrigerator.

The chair Georgia had been sitting on clattered to the linoleum.

Georgia was not usually known for her speed. She was more likely to ruminate on a thought in the same fashion that a bovine might chew a cud, but when the housekeeper’s fingers brushed the picture pinned against the refrigerator by a little school bus magnet, Georgia’s body moved on its own.

“Don’t touch that!”

The housekeeper’s brows lifted as Georgia snatched the picture out of her hand, checking for damage.

“That’s my daughter’s school picture. Don’t you have any manners?” Georgia snapped, a little more brusquely than she’d intended.

The housekeeper’s eyes shifted to the photograph with an odd sort of expression that made Georgia bristle, but it was gone before she could be sure she’d seen it at all.

With barely veiled frustration, Georgia carefully placed the picture back on the refrigerator and secured it with the cheery magnet. Taryn had always hated that picture. Georgia imagined Taryn’s face puckering when she ran to the fridge for her after school snack. With one last tiny shift, Georgia righted the photograph, then frowned slightly.

She budged it again. It was straight, but it felt crooked somehow. She studied the picture, frowning slightly at her daughter’s smile. A big toothy mouth full of braces beamed out at the room. Taryn hated her braces. She usually smiled with tight lips if she could help it.

Georgia shook off the feeling of unease that had crept around her shoulders like an unwanted cat, then dropped her hand from the photograph and turned towards the housekeeper.

She was gone.

Probably off to touch more things that didn’t belong to her.

Not for the first time, Georgia was relieved the housekeeper came before her daughter was released from school. She would rather Taryn not be around her. Something about the woman gave Georgia the creeps.

Releasing an annoyed huff, Georgia stepped across the kitchen to the table. Her chair sat neatly in place. At least the housekeeper had some measure of decorum. Georgia grabbed her notepad from the tabletop, pocketed it, then went still.

Steam rose in twisty white spirals from her mug.

Georgia’s skin felt clammy as she reached for the handle, eyes fixed on the chip.

Same chip.

Same mug.

The coffee was hot.

With shaking fingers, Georgia pulled out her pad. Her teeth held the hard plastic cap in place as she pulled the pen tip free, then scribbled a new note.

The coffee is hot. Same mug confirmed.

No visible movement detected.

Georgia paused, pen hovering over the notepad before she set her jaw and scrawled.

  Primary suspect. The housekeeper.

Pocketing her pad, Georgia slipped towards the long hallway, leaving the steaming mug right where it festered. If she’d learned anything over her years as a detective, it was that people weren’t to be trusted. Georgia had seen seemingly ordinary people convicted of horrendous crimes too often to believe otherwise.

It was Roy who had insisted on a housekeeper. After the Klein case. Georgia had argued at first, but in the end, her husband had won. She’d been too exhausted to put up much of a fight. Georgia winced at the memory. All those days at the office. Night after night that bled into early mornings, following clues that led nowhere. Kristy Klein’s murder had never been solved.

Georgia shuddered as she shoved the memories down. It was no time to dredge up past cases. Not when something sinister was happening in her own house.

Peering into the dark hall, Georgia searched for signs of movement in the shadows, then slipped off her house flats and crept towards the master bedroom. If the housekeeper was behind the strange happenings, Georgia would discover her in the act.

The walls held framed photographs. Most were of Taryn, but there were some family pictures too. Georgia paused at one black frame and frowned. The housekeeper had on a thin-lipped smile as she stood with one arm around an older woman and the other around a small girl.

Taryn.

Georgia’s eyes bulged. When had that woman taken a picture with Taryn?! The thought of the housekeeper being so close to her daughter without her knowledge ignited every protective instinct in Georgia’s body. Anger rippled in hot waves under her skin as Georgia plucked the frame off the wall.

This had gone far enough.

The light at the end of the hallway was on and Georgia marched towards it, barging into Taryn’s bedroom. She had every intention of confronting the housekeeper and demanding she leave the house immediately, no matter how Roy might react to the news later.

But the room was empty.

To the untrained eye, the bedroom looked undisturbed. But Georgia was no amateur. The lamp was across the room. Taryn was afraid of the dark and she always had it on the nightstand beside her bed in case she needed it. It had been Roy’s idea. Light always defeats the dark, he’d said. Wrong, of course, but Georgia found his optimism endearing. The lamp should be beside the bed. And the dresser—

Georgia brushed a finger over the surface, gathering a gray film on her fingertips. She wiped the grime on her pants and frowned. Taryn cleaned her room yesterday. Georgia had performed the dust swipe herself. Clean as Sunday morning. Perhaps she’d missed a spot? With a sinking feeling Georgia jerked open the top drawer.

Bare wood with torn bits of wallpaper lining stared back at her. Roy had installed that lining. Taryn picked it out. Blue hydrangeas.

All gone.

The wood creaked as Georgia yanked each drawer into a wide yawn. Extra tablecloths, towels—not a single pink jumper or pair of white socks with frilly lace.

Georgia’s breath shivered free as she pulled out her pad, scanning the room for more evidence.

Misplaced lamp.

Unknown residue on dresser. Dust?

Missing clothes.

Misplaced linens.

When she’d finished, Georgia made a mental note to call Roy. He’d need to swing by Sears to grab some clothes. Taryn would have nothing to change into when she got home. Perhaps he could find a similar wallpaper to pick up as well. But first—

Georgia flung open Taryn’s closet and tried to swallow her shock.

It was filled with bins.

Everything had been ripped from the rack.

Georgia reached for the closest bin. If the housekeeper had hidden the items in this closet, surely, she would come back to the scene of her crime to collect her stolen loot before Taryn returned home from school to ruin her plans.

The lid of a storage container clacked open. Then another. Items littered the floor in haphazard piles as Georgia searched. Finally, she emerged, clutching a camera. Taryn’s old Polaroid. Georgia checked the film pack, then slung the rainbow strap over her shoulder.

She’d catch her in the act. Hard to argue with a photograph.

The whispers never announced themselves. They slipped into a space, as innocuous as a breeze. Here one moment, receding into the hallway, next. Georgia ducked out after them. At the bathroom door, she stopped.

The light was on.

Georgia crept nearer and the whispers grew bolder like a mumbling, waning echo, or someone speaking over a phone with a bad connection. Georgia leaned closer to the door, trying to pick apart the sound to find intelligible words buried among the noise. Hardly daring to breathe, she slid the door open a crack.

Georgia’s hand slammed over her mouth, stifling a gasp.

There was a man.

At the sink.

The older man’s head turned. Georgia felt affixed to the floor, like a piece of bolted-down furniture. Her hand traveled slowly across her torso to where she always holstered her weapon. Had she forgotten to strap it on this morning?

The man’s face was half covered in shave cream, but Georgia could see his lips curve into a wan smile underneath all that white. He took a step towards her and Georgia’s feet remembered themselves.

Her shoulder slammed against the wall as Georgia careened towards the master bedroom where she knew her weapon lay, tucked into a locked drawer by her nightstand. Her hand flew towards the doorknob—

Then it turned.

The housekeeper stalked out of her room, carrying a stack of linen and a surprised expression as Georgia barreled into her. White sheets landed in crumpled heaps between them. Georgia felt hands gripping her side and arm. As soon as she was righted, Georgia shoved free from the housekeeper.

“Out of my way! There’s an intruder!” Georgia snapped, rushing into the bedroom and feeling for the small key she kept taped to the underside of the nightstand drawer.

Bare wood brushed her fingertips.

No key.

Georgia let out a cry of frustration as she tried the drawer. It jostled loose and Georgia’s hand dove inside, searching for the familiar weight of her firearm.

Pressure on her shoulder tore a shriek from her mouth.

Georgia spun, knocking a small mirror and a bottle of pills from the bedside table. Her fingers clasped around the first thing she could find. Brandishing the camera, she swung at the intruder. The housekeeper’s eyes widened as she took a step back. The older man stood behind the housekeeper, shaving cream dripping from his whiskered chin. Georgia’s arm shook as she pressed the camera button. The Polaroid clicked and whirred as a square of film protruded from the base and dropped to the floor.

“Stay back!” Georgia cried. “Both of you!”

The housekeeper eyed the camera. Georgia gripped the strap, allowing the heavy device to drop as she swung it menacingly through the air. The housekeeper turned to the man behind her and said something Georgia couldn’t hear. The man rubbed a weathered hand over his temple, then left the room without a word.

Good. One less perp to have to deal with.

Georgia glanced at the small square where white blobs slowly melted into full color. Soon enough, there would be proof. Whatever happened to her. That, at least, was a comfort.

The housekeeper opened her mouth, and Georgia’s triumph ran as cold as her blood.

Whispers yawned loose from the woman’s mouth, murmuring and familiar, like a shiver running down your spine, or a shadow lurking in your peripheral vision. Georgia shrunk back, knees knocking into the side of the bed.

“Stay-stay back,” she rasped.

The housekeeper took a step forward, then paused as her foot brushed bits of broken glass in a twisted black frame. Georgia watched the woman carefully as she stooped down, gingerly sliding the picture free.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then the woman held the picture out, her eyes moist. At first, Georgia did nothing, sure it was a tactic to throw her off her guard. A tear slipped down the housekeeper’s face and Georgia’s resolve buckled. Careful to leave herself room to escape, Georgia reached for the photograph.

Scratches where the glass nicked the resin cut divots into the picture. Georgia recognized it. The photograph she’d taken down from the hallway. Had she carried it with her?

Georgia’s finger brushed over an uneven texture on the back. She flipped it over.

Mom and me.

Love you forever, mom. Taryn.

As Georgia stared at the inscription, the words seemed to rearrange themselves into incomprehensible shapes, intent on pulling her into madness. How was her daughter’s handwriting on the back of this photograph? Had the housekeeper forced her?

Georgia ached to pull out her notepad to record everything that had happened. It had always helped her organize her thoughts in the past. She slipped a hand into her pocket to retrieve it, but her grip faltered and the pad dropped to the floor. Keeping one eye on the housekeeper, Georgia knelt to grab it, her fingers brushing against something cool and flat. She glanced down and froze.

The old lady from the photograph stared at her from the mirror’s reflection.

The whispers grew louder as Georgia reached a trembling hand to her own cheek.

The old lady mirrored her exactly.

Memories flooded over her as if someone had poured a bucket of ice water into her brain. Georgia gasped and stumbled back, eyes wide and wild as she zeroed-in on the woman. Tears streamed down, leaving shimmery trails on her freckled cheeks.

Georgia’s mouth spoke the word before her brain could override it.

“Taryn?”

“M-mom,” Taryn sobbed, dropping to her knees on the carpet beside Georgia and flinging her arms around her neck. “You’re back.”

Georgia let her daughter cry into her shoulder for a moment before gently pushing her back to cup her face. “How long was I gone this time, sweetie?”

Taryn wiped her bloodshot eyes. “Too long.”

Georgia’s stomach dipped as she nodded her understanding. “I think I scared your father.”

Taryn let out a small laugh. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Georgia snorted, then quickly pulled out her notepad, cringing at the unintelligible scribbles she’d perceived as organized notes just a moment before. She flipped to a blank page. “Tell Roy I love him, will you?” Georgia scribbled a few quick words and ripped out the page. “Give this to Marcie.”

Taryn nodded, reading the note, a soggy smile creeping up her face. “She’ll love it, mom. She adores her grandma. I thought if I hung up her school picture, you might...” Taryn’s voice faltered.

“I know, sweetie,” Georgia said, patting her daughter’s hand. “Just remember, no matter what, I love you all. And that’s forever.”

“I love you too, mom.”

Georgia stared at the hand she held for a moment too long. The corner of a paper was just visible beneath the fingers.

Her notepad paper.

The Polaroid she’d taken was nearby. Georgia reached for it, then stood, clutching the small square. “You can destroy my notes if you want, but there’s no use denying it now.”

The housekeeper’s face was blotchy and red. Georgia wondered if she’d been crying. Something about the knowledge buzzed and nagged at her, but she brushed the sensation away like she was swatting a mosquito. Her jaw flexed as she waved the developed Polaroid at the housekeeper.

Finally, she had her smoking gun.