by B. T. Lord
Now, as the moon threw off dark silhouettes on the lawn, she approached the window. She frowned when she noticed she’d forgotten to pull the shades down. It was something she always did as soon as she entered her room at night. It was as automatic as turning on the light.
If she’d forgotten that, she was screwed if she also forgot to leave the window unlocked. The last thing she needed was to walk through the front door and have her parents see her coming home so late. Even though she was twenty years old, they still acted as though she was a child.
“As long as you’re under our roof, you’ll do what we say,” her father said over and over until she was ready to vomit. She couldn’t wait for her and Tim to earn enough money to get their own place so she could get the hell out of there, and live her life the way she wanted.
The moon disappeared behind a cloud, throwing the yard into darkness. She didn’t care; she knew exactly where her window was. Giving it a tug, she breathed a sigh of relief when she felt it slide open.
DeeDee swung her leg over the sill and was halfway inside when the moon abruptly reappeared, throwing a bright light over her surroundings. She swiveled her head and looking through the glass, caught her breath when she saw herself lying on her bed fast asleep, her favorite tan and red blanket snuggled beneath her chin.
What the hell?
Her eyes quickly took in the scene – her jeans and ice blue colored turtleneck sweater she’d worn that day draped over the corner of her dresser. Her hiking boots lying haphazardly near the foot of her full-size bed.
What’s going on? How can I be asleep in my bed when I’m out here trying to climb through my window?
She raised her hand and rested her palm against the cold windowpane. She peered inside, still unsettled at what she was seeing when she slowly became aware of a reflection over her right shoulder. Her heart began to hammer in her chest when she realized the dark figure of a man was standing directly behind her.
A feeling came over DeeDee that she shouldn’t turn around. Shouldn’t try to confront him. Yet she couldn’t remain half in and half out of her bedroom window. She was too vulnerable. She had to do something.
Raising her gaze to his reflection in the glass, it was then she noticed his eyes. She’d never seen anything like it. They glowed a deep red as they seemed to penetrate into her heart, her mind, her soul.
She watched helplessly in the windowpane as he drew closer. To her horror, she saw his shadow expand out, gathering the darkness to himself. She felt his malignancy creep over her, prickling her skin, squeezing her breath from her lungs.
Then he was there. His face pressed against hers. She whimpered feebly as an unfathomable cold slowly oozed through her limbs, fusing with every muscle, every vein, every bone in her body. She felt his weight pressing against her back, pinning her to the window. His icy breath blowing on the nape of her neck, paralyzing her. Taking her over until there was nothing left.
DeeDee’s strangled cry awoke her. She shot up into a sitting position and flailed wildly at her arms and legs, her breath ragged in hysterical bursts. It took a few moments for her to realize she was alright. She was in her bed. There was no darkness eating her up alive.
It had been a dream. A horrible, whacked out dream, brought on no doubt by the events of the day and her own fears of being killed.
She waited until her heart stopped racing and her breathing returned to normal before she laid back down. Just before she closed her eyes, she glanced at the window. And shot up in bed again.
The shades were open.
She was sure she’d closed them. It was part of her routine. She flicked on the light switch, went over to the window, shut the shades, then either got ready for bed, or continued texting her friends on her phone. It was what she did every night.
She nervously pulled her hand through her hair as she started second guessing herself. Had she closed them tonight? Her brain was so burned out over the events of the day, it was entirely possible she’d forgotten. It wasn’t often you were told your best friend had been murdered. She needed to cut herself some slack.
Pushing back the covers, she swung her legs out of bed and walked over to the shades. Before pulling them closed, she glanced out and was amazed by how bright the backyard looked in the moonlight.
She grabbed the drapes and started to pull when she jumped back so quickly, she fell back onto the floor.
“No, no, no, no,” she moaned as she stared at the window pane.
It couldn’t be true! This wasn’t happening. It had been a dream. That’s all. Just a stupid, horrible nightmare.
But the large imprint of a man’s hand told her otherwise. The unmistakable shape of a hand on the inside of her window.
CHAPTER SIX
I’ve never enjoyed waste. It takes up unnecessary space and clogs the machinery, so to speak. I believe you either have a purpose in life, or you don’t. You contribute to the machinery, or you clog it up. It’s as simple as that. Mallory clogged the machinery. She did nothing useful, and never would do anything useful.
It was her misfortune to anger me. To indulge in fantasies that had nothing to do with reality.
There are others of course that serve no purpose whatsoever. There are always others. Their time is coming.
I relish the anticipation.
Just as Chandra had warned, the squall hit just as he was starting his third cup of coffee for the day. He’d taken her advice and left Sarke Island earlier than normal, grateful that he wasn’t out there, battling the turbulent seas.
He’d arranged for Richard Huntson and John Harper to come by to be interviewed. As part of the group who were at the bonfire the night Mallory disappeared, they’d been out fishing the day before, making it impossible for him to question them.
Glancing out the window at the wind-driven sleet, he wondered if they’d show up. They still had an hour before they were supposed to arrive, but the weather was turning nastier by the minute.
March. In like a lion, out like a lamb.
All he knew of the young men was what he’d been told by their friends. Unlike their reticence when it came to describing Mallory, they all eagerly portrayed Richard and John as the kind of men you could depend on in an emergency – a crucial and admirable trait on an island where relying on each other was the key to survival. The two were the best of friends who’d think nothing of giving you the shirt off their back. While Richard was a natural leader, John was portrayed as a natural follower which suited their respective personalities.
Richard worked with his father on his fishing trawler. He was a hard, conscientious worker and hoped to take over the family business one day. John pitched in to help whenever an extra hand was needed. Otherwise, he could be found working at the local gas station.
To Ellis’s investigative mind, they sounded too good to be true.
He’d arranged to speak to Richard at 9:00 am and John at 9:30. With the clock ticking closer to the time they were supposed to arrive, then past it, he wondered if they were going to use the weather as an excuse not to show up.
Which raised all kinds of red flags.
Before his thoughts could grow darker, the office phone rang. Thinking it was one of the young men calling to either cancel or tell him they were on their way, he picked up the receiver.
“Deputy Ellis Martin.”
“Good-morning, Ellis. It’s Chloe. I finished checking out the social media accounts you asked me to look into.”
“Terrific. What did you find?”
“Well, I now know what every shade of pink nail polish manufactured within the last two years is called. I can also sleep easier knowing the names of Kate Middleton and Meghan Markle’s fashion designers and where to buy knock-offs of all their clothes, shoes, handbags and probably underwear as well.”
Ellis chuckled. “Are you trying to tell me that’s the total sum of Mallory Angleton’s conversations?”
“I didn’t think you’d care about her long dissertation on what l
ipstick color to wear on your first date.” He laughed. “She was obsessed with fashion and spent hours texting and messaging others about it. However, that wasn’t all the victim was obsessed with. I emailed you some screen shots of her more animated conversations with someone called DeeDee Reid.”
“That was her best friend.”
“I think you’re going to find it makes for compelling reading. As for any friend requests, there were none. I looked up Bradford Monroe. On the night Mallory was killed, he was enjoying himself at a bar with friends in Charlottesville. If the photos he uploaded are anything to go by, he was having a damned good time. Maybe he was blowing off steam. He’s a student in the School of Architecture at the University of Virginia. When I went through his homepage, I found pictures he posted from the family vacation on Eagla Island last summer. Mallory appears in none of them.”
“So DeeDee was right that he had no interest in Mallory.”
“There’s no mention of her at all in any of his posts. And he was keeping up a steady stream of messages on ‘what I did on my summer vacation’.”
“Did you find anything on Dara?”
“Now she’s a strange one.”
You have no idea.
“I didn’t think there could exist a twenty-one-year-old in the Western Hemisphere who wouldn’t have some kind of social media presence. But she doesn’t. I looked everywhere, but Dara Clemons of Eagla Island, Maine doesn’t exist on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, etc. etc.”
“Yet she told me she’s booked during the summer months doing tarot card readings for the tourists.”
“The good ones rely on word of mouth. The cheesy ones rely on signs in their front window that say, ‘Readings by Cleopatra.’”
Ellis smiled. “And how would you know that?”
“That’s privileged information, Deputy Martin.”
He heard the stomp of boots outside the front door and guessed his interviewees had arrived.
“I’ve got to go. My two witnesses just showed up. Thanks for the great work. I’ll read when you sent after the interviews and get back to you.”
Hanging up, he saw the front door swing open and two heavily clad young men enter.
“Sorry we’re late,” the taller of the two men said. “John got a flat and it took us forever to get it changed. The crappy weather didn’t help.” He came over and held out his hand. “I’m Richard Huntson.”
“And I’m John Harper,” the shorter of the two announced as he stripped off his dripping parka.
“You can hang up your wet coats by the radiator. If you’re cold, I’ve got coffee. I also have some packets of hot chocolate.”
“Hot chocolate will do it for me,” John responded.
“You got any green tea?” Richard asked. “It’s the only thing I drink.”
“Besides the occasional beer,” his companion joked. Richard grinned.
“Sorry, no green tea.”
“I’m good then.”
As he made John the hot chocolate, Ellis surreptitiously studied the two friends. Richard stood about six feet tall and weighed approximately 225 pounds. Hauling nets and working on a commercial fishing trawler was no doubt responsible for his fit, muscular build, and the strong masculine air radiating from him. His demeanor spoke of a man who liked to be in charge and was accustomed to being listened to.
By comparison, John seemed pallid and washed out. He stood at 5 ft. 9 inches tall and carried a little more fat around his middle. Where Richard was dark and broodingly handsome, John was pale and plain. Yet there was a discernible a bond between the two men, and he guessed John had no problem existing in Richard’s shadow.
Together, the two looked formidable. And both had easy access to fishing line. It wouldn’t have taken much for either of them or perhaps both to sedate Mallory, inject her with air, sew up her mouth and eyes and haul her body off to the pond.
A question formed in Ellis’s mind as he handed John the hot chocolate. Both had access to a boat. If they were responsible for Mallory’s death, why wouldn’t they have taken her body out to sea and dumped her out there? As fishermen, they would have known the currents. They could have disposed of her remains, leaving it to the predators to make sure the body was never found. Yet, she’d been dumped in a pond where eventually she would have been discovered.
Why was it necessary that she be found?
He decided to interview John first. He had a feeling John didn’t have as forceful a personality as Richard, and would be more open to his questions.
He led him into a backroom that he’d set up specifically for interviews. After informing him he was being recorded, he went through the same questions he’d asked the day before. Nothing in John’s words or demeanor caught his attention. Yes, he’d been at the bonfire where he’d had a bit too much to drink. He’d sobered up in time to drive Richard home, after which he went home and straight to bed. He remembered seeing Mallory, but hadn’t paid much attention to her.
“Why is that? I thought you two were friends.”
“Just because you’re part of a group doesn’t mean you’re friends with everyone in that group.”
“Explain that to me.”
“We knew each other and said hi and stuff like that. But she wasn’t someone I would call to hang with.”
“You never wanted to go out with her?”
“You mean like on a date?” John snorted. “She was a bit too stuck up for me.”
“Everyone I spoke to said what a wonderful girl she was.”
“Of course they’d say that.”
“Why?”
John gave him a bemused look. “In case you haven’t noticed, Deputy, we islanders are still stuck in the 19th century with our belief in superstitions and time-honored traditions. One of the more important ones is that you don’t speak ill of the dead. Ever. They could be the biggest shits in life, but once they’re gone, they’re like saints. If you do talk smack about them, the story is that they’ll come out of their grave and haunt you. Like some sort of avenging vampire.”
“Yet you just told me you thought she was stuck up.”
“I don’t happen to believe in that superstitious mumbo jumbo. But we are a small community and everything that’s said eventually gets around. No sense hurting Mal’s parents. They’re broken up enough as it is.”
“Then between you and me, what’s your honest opinion of Mallory?”
John took his time answering. “Look, don’t get me wrong. I didn’t hate her or anything. But it gets tired pretty quickly when she goes out of her way to let you know she’s doing you a favor by hanging out with you. She did that with all the guys. We weren’t good enough for her.”
“It’s interesting you say that. Did you know that Mallory was pregnant?” He saw by the shocked look on John’s face that this was indeed one piece of information that hadn’t yet made the rounds. “So unless it was an immaculate conception, she must have been interested in somebody on this island. Do you know who that could be?”
A strange look crossed John’s face, but in an instant, it was gone. He shook his head. “I don’t.”
“What time did you leave the bonfire?”
“It was just after eleven. The party was breaking up, so I drove Richard home.”
“He doesn’t have his own car?”
“It’s in the shop. He had to get the water pump replaced.”
“Does your family own any kind of boat?”
“My dad’s on disability. He fell overboard about ten years ago and damaged his back. So, no. We don’t own a boat.”
“Do any of your friends own a boat?”
He gave Ellis an amused look. “We’re surrounded by water and a majority of the families earn their living by fishing. So yeah, most of my friends own boats.”
“I’m specifically asking about fresh water boats.”
“A few do. I know Richard’s dad does. He doesn’t use it much, but sometimes he lets us take it out on one of the ponds.”
> “Including Watson Pond?”
“That’s one of them, yeah.”
No further information was forthcoming. Ellis did his best to dig around whatever it was that made John act a bit strange when the question of paternity came up, but it was to no avail. If John did know, he wasn’t saying. Although frustrating, Ellis wasn’t surprised. The depths of loyalty the islanders had to each other and to their secrets was deep. In their eyes, he was the interloper. The stranger who would never truly be one of them. As such, he had no right to their personal enigmas or mysteries.
He reluctantly ended the interview before turning his attention to Richard.
“Thanks for coming in on such a lousy day,” Ellis began once Richard was seated in the chair just vacated by John.
“I heard you were interviewing all of us. Sorry John and I weren’t around yesterday. Dad wanted to get some flounder in before the storm hit. John offered to come along and help out.”
“Does John go out often with you and your father?”
Richard chuckled. “Only when he needs the money.”
“How did you do?”
“We got a pretty good load.”
“Is the fishing trawler the only boat you and your family own?”
He shook his head. “We have a small fresh water boat that we use inland on the ponds and lakes. John and I like to take it out sometimes during summer evenings to do a bit of quiet fishing.”
“Do you take it out on Watson Pond?”
“Yeah. There’s some big bass in Watson.”
“When was the last time it was used?”
“Well, it was probably in the fall before everything iced up.”
“Where is it now?”
“Dad shrink wraps it for the winter months and keeps it propped up in the backyard. His grandfather built it so it’s sort of a family heirloom.”
“Did you like Mallory?” Ellis abruptly asked.
He shrugged. “She was okay.”