I moved away from him. I was eager to put as much distance between him and the feelings he was roiling up inside of me as possible. I could not have a crush on the new town thug. My mother would have an absolute fit.
Landon watched me as I angled past him and toward the chief’s office door. “You’ll grow to appreciate me,” he said.
I turned to him and saw the knowing look on his face. I found it infuriating, not cute. Okay, maybe it was both. “You have a pretty high opinion of yourself.”
“You will, too. I promise.”
With those words, Landon turned and left the building. I watched him leave. A few seconds after the door closed, I heard the motorcycle outside fire up and take off out of the parking lot. The bike clearly belonged to him.
Great. Hot man. Hot ride. This wasn’t going to end well. I could just feel it.
I sighed as I pushed into Chief Terry’s office and tried to force thoughts of Landon and his ridiculously shiny motorcycle out of my head. He didn’t seem surprised to see me.
“I figured you would stop here on your way to work,” he said.
“I ran into Landon in the hallway.”
Chief Terry dismissed the statement with a wave of his hand. “I just needed him to clarify something from yesterday.”
Under normal circumstances, I would never suspect Chief Terry of lying. The fact that he averted his gaze from mine, though, made me suspicious.
“What did you need him to clarify?”
“Nothing important.”
“Why are you being evasive?”
“Why are you butting your nose into things that don’t involve you?”
We were in a stand-off. I decided to move on from the Landon debate and broach the Shane subject.
“Have you identified the boy in the field?”
“Yeah. His name is Shane Haskell. He’s from Beulah.”
Good. I wouldn’t have to try and lead Chief Terry to the truth. “How did you find out?”
“Dental records.”
“How did he get here? Beulah is like an hour away.”
“We don’t know. The state police are interviewing his mom right now.”
I paused, unsure how to ask the next question. “How did she take the news?”
If Chief Terry was suspicious of my motivations for asking the question, he didn’t acknowledge it. “Not well. The boy was her only child. Her husband died a few years ago. She’s devastated.”
“Did you tell her how he died?”
“We had to.”
Well, that had to be ten kinds of awful. “Do you have any other leads?”
“Not yet. The crime lab is still testing results. The problem we have is that fifty people were probably legitimately in that area of the corn maze – and we have no idea what is evidence and what is incidental.”
“So, what’s the next step?”
“The state boys have practically taken over the investigation,” Chief Terry said bitterly. “They’re not letting me do much. They’re keeping me in the loop as much as they can, I think, but I don’t think they’re telling me everything.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I don’t know, just a gut feeling.”
My mind flashed to Landon for a second, but I quickly returned to the conversation at hand. “Do you think it’s someone from the town?”
“God, I hope not,” Chief Terry replied truthfully. “The problem is, how would a tourist know the area well enough to do what he did?”
That was a good point.
“Maybe they scouted the area beforehand?”
“Maybe. That still doesn’t explain why they picked this kid – and why he went missing from Traverse City two days ago and was taken over here to dump the body yesterday. We have more questions than answers.”
I sat quietly for a few moments, unsure of what to say next. Finally, I got to my feet and moved to leave the office.
“Keep me informed with anything you find out.”
“I’m not exactly at the center of the investigation,” Chief Terry said. “But I’ll do what I can. I always do.”
I thanked Chief Terry and exited his office. My thoughts were decidedly dark as I made my way outside. So Shane had been in Traverse City when he’d gone missing. Somehow, he ended up forty-five minutes away and dumped in a corn maze. That didn’t make any sense. Of course, he was also missing his heart when he was dumped. Maybe finding rational answers in an irrational crime was something that simply wasn’t possible. Maybe I would drive myself crazy before all of this was said and done.
I called Thistle quickly on my cell phone and told her what I’d found out. I could hear her relaying the story to Shane, who seemed relieved that his mother had been notified of his death.
“At least she’s not worried about me being late coming home now,” I heard him say sadly. “She knows now that I’m never coming home. Never. That’s got to be better than worrying, right?”
“Right,” I heard Thistle respond to him. There wasn’t much conviction in her voice, though. I figured she was thinking the exact same thing as I was. At least when he was missing there was still hope. What hope did this woman have now? And where was Shane’s heart?
Nine
After I left the chief’s office, I headed to the newspaper. I knew I would have to write something up on Shane’s death, but since the deadline for the next edition was still five days away I figured I had time before I had to file a story.
Instead, I logged on my computer and sat down at my desk. I pulled up my Internet browser and Googled Shane’s name.
I was surprised to find that the first link that came up was an online memorial for him on Facebook. I clicked on the link and entered the site. I was stunned to see there were already fifty memorial messages. That was quick.
I scanned the messages with vague interest. Somehow, I doubted that whoever had killed Shane was now posting on Facebook about it. It never hurt to look, though.
Most of the messages were the generic ruminations of empty-headed teenagers.
“I didn’t know Shane all that well, but he’ll be really missed at school.”
“I wish I’d gotten to know him better.”
“He was a really sweet guy.”
“He was a really smart guy.”
“He was a really funny guy.”
After sifting through all of the messages, I realized that not one person who actually knew Shane really well had posted. That actually didn’t surprise me. In the dramatic world of teenagers, they often create high profile ways to make themselves feel more important when tragedy strikes those amongst them. Teenagers are an example of narcissism at its finest.
Edith had wandered into the office and was now looking over my shoulder as I read.
“Doesn’t seem very genuine, does it?” I looked to her expectantly.
She was enthralled by the page, though. “It’s really wonderful that all these people are mourning that poor boy.”
I guess she didn’t see what I saw. “You don’t think it seems a little fake? None of these people actually seem to know Shane.”
“I think that maybe you’re a little too cynical,” she pointed out.
She had a point. I reread some of the messages. No. I was right, after all. “Not one of these messages actually conveys a genuine feeling for the person Shane was – or the mother he left behind.”
“These people have the right to grieve, too,” Edith said. “They’re teenagers. When something like this happens it makes them question their own mortality. This is how they do it.”
“I think they’re just looking for attention.”
“That’s your cynicism again.”
After leaving the Facebook page again, I checked out a few other links that had come up when I’d typed in Shane’s name. None of them were of interest, though. One was from a small paper in Beulah that had a picture of Shane from a robotics tournament. The other had nothing to do with Shane at all. When I was done, I closed out of
the Internet browser and ran the case through my head.
We knew that Shane went missing from Traverse City two days ago. We knew that he had been found in Hemlock Cove yesterday. Even though we didn’t have an exact time of death yet, he probably hadn’t been in the field all that long. That meant that whoever had killed Shane had kept him alive – for at least several hours. What had they done to him during that time? Why had they cut out his heart? And where was his heart?
I was jarred from my thoughts when my cell phone rang. I dug it out of my purse and grimaced when I recognized the number from The Overlook on the screen. Great. I knew better than not answering it, though. My mom would take that as a personal affront and either start calling me non-stop or actually show up at the office. Neither of those alternatives was acceptable to me, so I braced myself and answered the phone.
“You have to come over here right now!” It was my mom – and she sounded excited.
“Why? What’s going on?” I was naturally suspicious. What my mom considered an emergency was often just an inconvenience in my world.
“There’s about to be a catastrophe here.” I couldn’t quite make out the ruckus in the background, but I could hear my Aunt Marnie yelling at someone.
“What’s the catastrophe?”
“Just get over here, young lady,” my mother snapped.
“I’m a little busy right now. Maybe … ?” The phone had gone dead. She’d hung up on me. “I hate it when she does that.”
I’d walked to work again, so it took me almost a half an hour to get back out to the inn. When I entered through the back door, I found the living quarters empty. It also didn’t look as if anything was on fire and there wasn’t a police presence – so it couldn’t be a real catastrophe, at least not where my family was concerned.
I heard raised voices in the dining room and followed them to see what was going on.
Twila and mom were standing defiantly in front of Aunt Tillie – who was making little jumping movements in the direction of Emily, the girl who had discovered Shane’s body with me. She looked like a hacked off – and deranged – rabbit. She was the Monty Python rabbit, I thought to myself. The thought made me smile.
I noticed that Marnie was trying to grab Aunt Tillie from behind, but Aunt Tillie kept slipping away from her.
“Grab a hold of her,” my mom ordered.
“She’s slippery,” Marnie shot back.
“She’s eighty-five years old. How slippery can she be?”
I noticed that my mom and Marnie were doing all the work. Twila was merely feigning interest in the situation.
“What’s going on?” I stepped into the room and regarded the four of them suspiciously. Emily, who kept moving around the dining room table and pulling chairs out to put between her and Aunt Tillie, looked relieved to see me.
“Your Aunt Tillie is a little ... disgruntled,” my mom finally said.
“What else is new?”
Aunt Tillie glared at me. “No one needs you here little miss- know-it-all. You can just go back to work. I don’t know why they called you.”
Neither did I. Aunt Tillie listened to me about as much as she did the doctor – which is to say she didn’t listen to me at all.
“She’s crazy,” Emily shrieked.
“I’ll show you crazy,” Aunt Tillie promised, escaping from Marnie’s clutches again and launching herself on top of the dining room table. She only made it about halfway. I guess – no matter how she liked to spin it – you can only jump so far when you get to be a certain age.
“What is going on?” I asked the question again.
“Your Aunt Tillie is just out of sorts.”
“She’s always out of sorts. What set her off this time?”
“Set me off? I’m not a bomb.” Aunt Tillie looked indignant.
“You’re more dangerous than a bomb,” I told Aunt Tillie. “A bomb can’t be irrational – or vindictive.”
Aunt Tillie extended her index finger at me threateningly. “Do not get involved in this, girl,” she warned. “You won’t like it if I have to curse you.”
I paused for a second. She had a point.
Mom saw my hesitation. “I may not curse you, but I will nag you until you want to be cursed if you don’t help us,” she threatened.
Mom was scary in her own way. “What do you want me to do?”
“Calm her down!” How could she be mad at me about this situation? I still didn’t know what was going on.
“Tell me what happened.”
Marnie had moved to my side to pause and get her breath. She looked tired. Chasing an eighty-five-year-old woman can do that to you. “She thinks that Emily stole her necklace.”
“What necklace?”
“That mini-urn one. The one where she keeps your Uncle Calvin’s ashes.”
I turned to Aunt Tillie in disbelief. “Why would she steal that? It’s not even valuable.”
“She knows that it’s powerful,” Aunt Tillie said through gritted teeth. She was trying to climb on the top of the table again.
“How is it powerful?”
“It’s full of magic,” Aunt Tillie replied.
I regarded her suspiciously. “What magic?”
“Don’t you worry about that,” Aunt Tillie replied. “I just want it back.”
“What makes you think she has it?” I looked over at Emily, who was crouching in the corner by the grandfather clock. She was annoying, yes, but a thief? I had my doubts.
“I was wearing it earlier and then it disappeared. She’s been the only one around.”
“Are you sure you just didn’t take it off and leave it somewhere?” I was trying to speak to her in a tone that didn’t reflect my irritation with this whole situation. If she thought I was irritated, that would just make her more anxious.
“Are you calling me senile?” So not where I wanted to go – even if I did, in fact, think she was senile.
“Of course not,” I lied. “I think, maybe, you just took the necklace off and put it on a table or something and forgot about it.”
“What’s the difference between that and being senile?” Aunt Tillie’s green eyes were narrowed dangerously. If I wasn’t careful, she’d turn her wrath from Emily to me. As much as I didn’t think Emily was a thief, I also didn’t want to end up on Aunt Tillie’s bad side. If Emily had to be the sacrificial lamb, so be it.
“I just want to make sure that the necklace has actually been stolen before I call Chief Terry – and alert the National Guard.”
My mom and my aunts swung on me suspiciously. “You’re not calling Chief Terry,” Marnie warned me.
Aha! I knew it. They thought she’d lost the necklace, too. They had just called me out here to be the sacrificial lamb for them.
“Theft is a serious offense,” I said carefully.
“Do you really think this girl stole it?” Twila looked doubtful.
Emily looked at me desperately. Could I really sell her out? I turned to Aunt Tillie. I saw her rubbing her fingers together anxiously. She was desperate to curse someone. Screw it. Better Emily than me. “I think we should let Chief Terry sort this out,” I said finally. “He is a professional, after all.”
My mom glared at me openly now. She knew I’d figured out her plan. “We are not calling Terry.”
“Then I don’t know what to tell you,” I said simply.
“You’re dead to me,” she snapped.
I tried to hide my smirk, but it didn’t entirely work. This was a regular occurrence in my family. We were all dead to one another at least once a week. I sat down at the dining room table and poured myself a cup of tea as I watched my mom and her sisters return to their task of trying to wrangle Aunt Tillie into submission.
At a certain point, Emily took advantage of Aunt Tillie’s distraction and bolted upstairs. It took Aunt Tillie a full twenty minutes to realize she was gone.
“Where did she go?”
“She left.”
“Where?”
<
br /> “I don’t know. Probably to her room.”
Aunt Tillie sat down in the chair next to me. I was surprised to see the look of calm that was on her face. I poured another cup of tea and pushed it in front of her. Aunt Tillie drank it down gratefully.
My mom and aunts were watching Aunt Tillie warily, but they each took a seat at the table and started sipping from their own cups of tea. No one could figure out why the storm had suddenly passed.
“Have you talked to the dead boy’s ghost?” Aunt Tillie asked me suddenly.
“Yes.” I didn’t see any reason to lie to her, especially when she wasn’t being judgmental or temperamental.
“Does he know how he died?”
“No.”
“He’ll remember eventually,” she admonished me.
“I know.”
I took another sip of my tea and watched Aunt Tillie skeptically. “You never lost the necklace. Did you?”
Aunt Tillie didn’t answer. She couldn’t entirely hide her small smile, though.
“Why did you make such a fuss?”
“I didn’t make a fuss,” she argued.
My mom was suddenly suspicious, too. “Was that all an act?” She was glaring at Aunt Tillie dangerously.
“I don’t know why you’d think that.” Aunt Tillie was averting her gaze from everyone at the table.
I finally pushed my chair back and got up. “She just wanted attention.”
“That’s not true … .” Twila regarded Aunt Tillie, her concern evident, for a second. “Is it?”
“Of course not,” Aunt Tillie scoffed. “I’m not an attention seeker.” All evidence to the contrary.
I moved to leave the room. Whatever the catastrophe had been, it was now over. My mom and aunts were now steadfastly studying their Aunt Tillie, though. They realized I was right about her motivations - -and they’d been played.
“Keep the boy close to you,” Aunt Tillie offered. I could see she was basking in the outcome of her afternoon performance.
“I will.”
“It’s important,” she warned me.
“I know.”
“He’ll remember. And when he does, you need to be there to help him.”
I turned back to Aunt Tillie with an important question on my lips. “Why would they take his heart?”
Witchy Dreams Page 8