Page 20 of The House on Haven Way

“Stop fucking doing that!” I hiss, narrowly holding onto the laptop. “This isn’t even proper research. I’m just... Googling.”

“What the hell is that?”

“It means I’m just starting to look up things, not dig too deep. I, um... I found your obituary and a picture of you. You wanna see? I would understand if you didn’t.”

“No.” Johnny’s voice is soft, then it grows stronger, a note of forced nonchalance in it. “No, I can take a look. Not like I don’t know what it says.”

I turn the screen towards him so he can see the picture in the Pine Ridge Community Library’s online archive of The Pine Ridge Gazette, the local paper.

“It doesn’t say anything about how. Just ‘died tragically.’”

“The caption says ‘unexpectedly,” I point out, pointing at the line of text under the picture.

“Unexpectedly, tragically, it’s bread and butter. Goes together,” he mutters. “Search up Harry Rogers.”

I do, and groan. “There are hundreds of Harry Rogers. Which one am I looking for?”

“Uh... Try Harry Rogers, Korean Conflict, Army Medic.”

“Oh! Hey, that worked. Died in 2005. Saratoga Springs. Survived by Nancy, his wife of nearly fifty-one years, their three daughters, Pamela, Nora, and Harriet, and their two sons, Robert and Paul. Umm... Optometrist. Career in nursing before return to school in the 1960s to start a second career... Donations sent to the VFW and Books for the Blind.” I scan the text and mumble what I find, gradually aware that the room is getting hotter and hotter.

When I look up, Johnny isn’t next to me. He’s across the room. Filling it. He’s now the size of a double-wide mattress, and heat and anger radiate from him. I close the laptop slowly. “Should I be afraid right now?” I whisper, knowing full well that I can’t run, and yeah, this guy is a ghost, but he can absolutely hurt me.

“He married her. He married Nancy, that bastard! Look them up, look up when,” Johnny snarls. “Harry Rogers and Nancy Benson. Look up when they were married!”

“I... Okay, okay.” I feel like now is not the time to point out that the internet isn’t always reliable, but sure enough, “Harry Rogers and Nancy Benson marriage record, New York” pops right up. “December 10th, 1954,” I whisper. “In Saratoga Springs. Looks like they moved away from Pine Ridge.”

“Looks like,” he replies in a dark, bruising voice, body and heat shrinking. “Not even cold. Three months later! Not even three whole months later. He came to my house the night I was going to propose. Told me I didn’t love her. Just liked her because she was... She was ideal. The perfect kind of wife.”

“Oooh.” That tea just spilled—or rather, my less fright-addled brain can now sip on it. “You think Harry wanted Nancy, so he bumped you off?” I ask in a hushed, excited voice.

Johnny glares at me. “Yeah, Sherlock. I had always hoped I was wrong. Was never sure. But now that I know they ended up together? Murder. Had to be.”

I bite my lip and mutter, “Sorry. That was the wrong reaction, I know. It’s exciting to follow along when a detective solves a crime on television, or in a book, you know? I sometimes forget that murder happens to real people. People like you.”

Johnny shrugs. “Thanks. But being angry at you isn’t going to help. We need to find out why they didn’t think it was a murder. I was a young guy! In great shape. Sure, I’d been a little sore in the belly that last week, but that was cold feet. I was gonna propose. That’s a big deal. Of course my guts were acting up. Happens to everyone.”

“Does it?” I know I sound bitter.

“Doesn’t it?” Johnny spreads his hands, and now there’s a new layer of glaring—me at him.

“I just think that if you’re a man and you love a woman enough to have sex with her—”

“Hey, hey! We rounded the bases, but Nance and I never slid home, if you know what I mean.” He holds up his hands in protest.

“I wasn’t done, Mr. Interrupting Ghost. If you love a woman enough to sleep with her or to think she could be your wife, to live with you forever, have your kids, and all that... You trust her, right? You wouldn’t be nervous to ask her, because you would believe she’d say yes.”

“I thought she’d say yes! She came on to me, not the other way around. I was meeting Harry Miller one night, over at Jack’s Roadhouse—”

“Jax Alley? The roadhouse outside of town?”

“I think technically it’s in town, but outside of town proper, sure. Anyway, good to know it’s still kicking along. Anyway, I’d only moved in a little bit ago, made fast friends with Harry Rogers, a medic in the service, about my age, who worked at the hospital. I worked at Manny’s Garage—”

“Manny’s Automotive! That’s where the gas station is, too. It’s still there, still near the hospital.”

“Yeah, well, we used to eat our sandwiches in the field, and I bummed a cigarette off of him once, and we got to be buddies. He was a madman on the dance floor. Big, good-looking guy, wide smile, a little wave in his hair, complete charmer, an all-around good one—”

“Mm. They don’t make enough of those anymore,” I sigh, thinking of Devon and the way his muscles felt against my back. Haven’t thought about him in months. Not like that.