Scraps of Paper

by Kathryn Meyer Griffith

  Chapter 18

  Frank arrived in good spirits the morning of the Labor Day picnic to escort her to town. The day was warm and cloudy with no rain expected until late that night so she hoped it would hold off at least until the picnic was over.

  “Did you hear from Kyle?” were the first words out of her mouth when she saw Frank. Kyle was supposed to come down for the weekend and go to the picnic with them.

  “He’s coming. He won’t be here until around two, though. He’s got to drive down from Chicago. I told him he could find us lingering along Main Street.”

  “Breakfast at Stella’s first, I presume? Bacon, eggs, biscuits and hot coffee?”

  “It’s tradition.” His earring sparkled in his ear and he’d tied his hair into a short ponytail. There were sandals on his feet, his blue jeans were faded, and there was an American flag on his shirt. He looked comfortable.

  She was wearing a brimmed straw hat, so her face wouldn’t burn, with a blue scarf tied around it. Her blouse was white and her shorts were a patriotic crimson. Her arm didn’t hurt as much and she’d begun to feel almost normal. She’d stopped gulping the pain pills because she couldn’t tolerate the nightmares. Dreaming about graves and faceless shadows had scared the pain right out of her. The last time she’d taken the pills she’d dreamed of Edna poisoning her coffee. As she’d laid on the couch, unable to move or speak, Snowball meowing pitifully in the background, the shadowy ghosts of Emily, Jenny and Christopher had taken turns coming and sitting with her, waiting for her to die.

  “Come with us. We’re waiting for you,” Jenny had begged in her child’s voice, small hand stroking Abigail’s arm. “We’ll help you find Joel…he’s here somewhere.”

  A see-through Christopher had pleaded, “I’ll teach you how to roller skate. It’s not hard.” Then, a pale translucent streak, he’d left the room on his skates.

  “I don’t belong with you,” Abigail told them. “I don’t want to die. I have a lot of life ahead of me. Why did Edna do this to me?”

  “Because you’ve been digging up her business, all the dirt; putting it in the newspaper. She’ll never forgive you for that,” Emily’s ghost murmured before she’d drifted away.

  In the dream Abigail had shut her eyes as her spirit left her body. She’d awakened. The dream had been so real she thought she’d died. Instead it was as if she’d been given another chance, another life. That was the last time she’d taken the pills because it was easier to take the pain.

  Entering Stella’s Diner, Abigail thought on how things had changed. People recognized her now, sympathized about her broken arm and teased her about wanting to be a Jessica Fletcher clone. They wanted to talk about the graves she’d found and the diary. They all had theories of who killed who.

  “What’s your next case, Jessica?” a middle-aged bald man solicited. “My Aunt Ester can’t find out what happened to her investment money. You want to look into that for us?”

  “The stock market has fallen. That’s what happened,” Abigail joked back.

  “We have a family mystery,” another customer teased. “Cousin Mary Ann Stoebel went to Montana seven years ago. No one’s heard from her since. What do you think became of her?”

  “She’s running a cow ranch out in the middle of nowhere and she has no phone?” Abigail responded good-naturedly.

  And on and on. Most of it was friendly ribbing which was the townspeople’s way of showing acceptance. Frank merely smiled and said nothing.

  Breakfast was ordered and came, and Martha, Ryan and Samantha joined them. Samantha was chattering about going out of town in two weeks for editorial classes. “Frank,” she initiated after a gap in the conversation. “Was there ever any conclusive proof in Edna’s parents’ autopsies to what they actually died of?”

  “The medical examiner found traces of long term poison in their bone fibers. It had soaked into the remnants of their clothing. The same kind of poison he found in the children’s bones. So most likely whoever killed the old people killed the kids as well.”

  “That’s terrible, but fantastic for the wrap up story I have planned.” Samantha turned to include Abigail in the conversation. “I know you’ve been plagued recently with warnings from someone unhappy with the stories.” She was looking at the cast on Abigail’s arm. “I’m really sorry. I feel responsible, being it’s my articles which have gotten you both in trouble and put you in danger. If you want me to, I’ll stop writing and printing them. No matter what the publisher wants.” She was serious.

  “And let whoever’s been doing these awful things win?” Abigail spoke first. “No way. We’ll be careful.” She glanced at Frank and he nodded. “So don’t muzzle the truth because of us. You just go ahead and do that wrap up story. Freedom of the press, remember?”

  “At least we’re safe today with all these people around,” Frank pointed out.

  “You’re a brave pair, you are.” Samantha smiled. “And I thank you both from the bottom of my heart. Our circulation has gone through the roof since we’ve starting writing about the Summers, and it’s made my publisher, and me, so happy. The mail and reader participation alone has been astonishing. But finding the graves, the contents of the dairy and its missing pages and printing about that put us over the top. People love an intriguing who-done-it.

  “I’d like to speculate who might have been the poisoner of those four victims and what might have really happened to them. My boss is pressuring me for closure.

  “And I’d love to be able to serve up the killer, but with no positive suspect and too many possibilities…it ain’t gonna happen. The late Sheriff Cal seems likely. Myrtle thinks Edna killed all of them.” Samantha dropped her voice so only Abigail and Frank could hear. “We know from Norma’s letter John Mason was one of Emily’s boyfriends…but we can’t be sure he was the only one, or even if it’s true, given Norma’s state of mind at the end and her hatred for her ex-husband.

  “We can’t use names, because we don’t have the proof to be pointing fingers and ruining reputations. It leaves us open for libel. Between you and me, as I know John and don’t believe he’d do anything so heinous, the ex-husband looks guilty as sin, horrible as that would be. But who knows?”

  “Right, we can’t prove anything,” repeated Abigail. “People can speculate to their heart’s content, but we may never find out who killed them. We’re at a dead end.”

  In the beginning she’d wanted so badly to solve the mystery and then the murders, but slaughtered birds, a smashed up motorcycle and a broken arm later she wasn’t so sure any longer. It wasn’t worth Frank’s life or hers, she’d decided. The dead were still all dead; nothing would change that.

  “No matter,” Samantha said. “It’s been amazing. It’s made everyone rethink how they should treat their neighbors–with more compassion and understanding–and brought the town together. That’s worth something.”

  Abigail’s mind wandered, pondering on the secrets of the town and the past, as Frank ended the discussion by offering his prediction of who would most likely win the chili contest.

  “What sort of chili do you fancy, Abigail?” Martha was holding hands with Ryan.

  “The kind with crackers.”

  “I’m sure there will be some of that kind as well.” Martha giggled.

  They sampled the carnival rides stretching up Main Street, enjoyed the summer day and strolled through the park and around the courthouse’s lake where miniature paddleboats waited for passengers. Abigail did all she could to put those graves out of her mind.

  It wasn’t easy. It was as if Emily’s ghost was around every corner. The ghost was dressed in flowered bellbottoms, her eyes black outlined like Cleopatra, and she was hand in hand with her children as they haunted the streets they once walked so long ago.

  Around three o’clock Kyle slipped out of the crowd and caught up with them. Along with a grin, he gave Abigail a hug, careful not to jar her cast. His warm welcome touched her.

  “How’s the
sleuthing business going?” he kidded. When Abigail gave him a curious look, he explained, “Dad’s been keeping me updated on your adventures via telephone. I heard a car tried to turn you, Dad and the bike into a metal pancake. I heard about your broken arm. That’ll teach you to ride with him.” He thumbed back at his father and chuckled.

  “I’d ride with your dad any time. It wasn’t his fault, but let’s not talk about that. It makes my arm throb.” Her face frowned and Kyle let the subject drop.

  “Your hair’s getting long, kiddo.” Frank tousled his son’s hair

  “Yeah, I look like a hippie. Like my dad. Now I just need an earring. Or two. A nose ring.”

  A smile curved Abigail’s lips. “They might look good on you. Buy gold.”

  “Well, now that Kyle’s here,” Frank looked at everyone, “how about we get some chili and pie and then take a leisurely paddle around the pond to work it off?”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Abigail seconded and they headed for the food booths.

  Afterwards the six of them paddled in circles around the lake and, laughing, taunted the other boaters. The water was no deeper than four feet at any spot and the boats were small fiberglass tubs. It’d been years since Abigail had been in a paddleboat, the cast made it awkward and she got a little sunburned, but she had fun anyway.

  At five o’clock the chili winners were announced and prizes given out. Frank talked Abigail into going on the Ferris wheel and they watched the entire town from the top of it. He held her when the wind swayed them and she laughed as he pointed out people and things below. “Look, there’s Myrtle and her wagon over on Plum Street coming this way…the country band is setting up on the bandstand…see where the bonfire’s going to be…there’s Stella’s grandson talking to that Sarah girl again. I think he likes her.” Frank was enjoying himself. He’d gone on every ride at least two times and sampled half the food at the booths. That Kyle had showed up made the day perfect.

  After the rides the gang listened to the band and Abigail sat the fast ones out, because her arm was sore, but danced a few slow ones with Frank. As the day wound down the evening twilight crept in and brightened the tiny twinkling lights strung along the streets. The band got louder and more clouds drifted in, darkening the shadows, but no rain.

  Abigail didn’t want the day to end, she’d had such a good time, but since the accident she tired easier and knew she’d be home before they lit the bonfire. She’d taken a break and was sitting by herself at the picnic table, Martha and Ryan dancing and Frank and Kyle getting drinks, when an unsettling thought occurred to her: Were her pictures still safe inside Mason’s store? Just because he was irritated over the stories didn’t mean he would have done anything to them? Did it? She should check to be sure. Mason was out of town so it had to be safe if she just snuck a peek in the store windows.

  The idea nagged her until she acted on it. It was only a short ways down the street and the sound of the music followed her.

  The store was dark and empty inside, the closed sign hanging on the door. She tried the doorknob. Locked. She peered through the window, face pressed against the glass. She couldn’t see her pictures, couldn’t see a thing. Much as she hated the thought, she’d have to wait until Mason returned to town and the store opened again. Sighing, she was about to go back when she caught a glimpse of something moving behind the glass. Someone was inside. She slid up against the wall and froze. Her inner voice told her to leave, but her common sense said if there was someone inside all she had to do was run and fetch Frank–or yell. There were people all around her so she was safe.

  Hesitating was her mistake. The door swung open and a hand darted out and snatched her good arm, physically dragging her into the store. She screamed and fell to the floor as the door slammed shut, trying to keep the cast from hitting the hard surface. Her eyes adjusting to the murkiness, someone hissed, “Don’t scream again. I won’t hurt you.”

  Even in the dim light filtering through the windows, she recognized John Mason. “Mr. Mason?” Abigail squeaked, as he helped her to her feet, keeping a grip on her but careful not to jar her bad arm any more than he already had.

  “It’s me. The man whose reputation you’ve ruined. I was just gathering some things before I left town. It was nice of you to drop by to say goodbye.”

  She could see he was upset and not himself. “I’ll be missed quickly,” she warned him.

  “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to talk to you.”

  “Why?” She tried to keep her body from trembling. He was behaving so strangely.

  “To set some things straight. It won’t take long. I’m sorry you broke your arm.”

  Abigail gritted her teeth, and mumbled, “Things happen.” For the first time with him, she was frightened. She never should have checked out the store alone. So stupid. But, she calmed herself, he only wanted to talk to her. No danger there. And because she was a normal person who couldn’t believe someone would want to harm her over printed words, she believed that.

  “I’m sorry you think I ruined your reputation, Mr. Mason. I don’t think I did. I suppose you’re referring to the newspaper stories on the Summers? Your name was never mentioned.”

  He nodded, his eyes shining in the faint light. “You didn’t use my name, no, but you didn’t have to. Innuendos and the other clues pretty well pointed a finger at me. Anyone who lived here in those days can make the connection…make assumptions. What was printed was as good as branding me a murderer! After that last story I had to go into hiding. I can’t show my face without someone staring at me, whispering behind my back. Life as I knew it, everything I worked so hard for, is over. I can’t stay here any longer.” There was a hostile desperation in his voice.

  The words spilled out before she could stop them: “Did you kill Emily?”

  He didn’t answer. In the background Abigail heard the picnic, muffled and far away.

  “You were Emily’s secret boyfriend, weren’t you?”

  He must have realized he couldn’t lie. She had him. “One of them, but I was in love with her. I wanted to marry her. You make it sound sordid,” he breathed. “Made it sound sordid in those stories.”

  “Because you were engaged to Norma and you were abusive to Emily and those kids?”

  He didn’t answer her.

  “Did you throw the rock through my window and did you kill those birds on my porch?” she suddenly demanded. “Send me that threatening letter?” Now she was getting mad. If he wanted to set the record straight, why not all of it. “You ran Frank and me down on the motorcycle, too, didn’t you?”

  “You didn’t listen!” There was harsh resentment in his accusation. “I warned you to stop prying.”

  Her skin had gone chilly. She was in trouble here and she knew it. “I couldn’t stop searching for answers once I found the graves. They wouldn’t let me. I was living in their house, John.” His first name just slipped out, an attempt to soften his growing anger. “They’d waited a long time for the truth to be known…for their justice. In a way they led me to their graves. They begged me to help them.”

  Mason’s shadowy tormented face drained of color when she’d used his first name. He stared at her as if she were a ghost. Emily’s? She’d triggered something and he was losing control. Lowering his head, he muttered hoarsely, “I loved Emily…she was the love of my life. That wasn’t in your exposés, was it? Unfortunately I didn’t know that truth until years later and it was too late. Life went on, I grew older and unhappier every year. More alone. I stare into the mirror and wonder, who is this old man? Where has my youth, my life gone? The happiest days were when I loved Emily…but she didn’t love me. She left me for another man. A younger man.”

  He continued to study her with that odd expression. “You look so like her. Same eyes. Same smile. You’re an artist. She was an artist. You could be her twin or Emily reincarnated. Has anyone told you that? The first time I saw you, in this store, you gave me quite a shock. I thought she’d retur
ned to haunt me.”

  “Because you killed her?”

  “You think if I had I’d be stupid enough to tell you? Tell anyone?” There was a crafty rasp in his voice.

  She mutely shook her head and Mason shoved her into a chair. She had to get away from him. He was crazy. He’d hidden it well…until now.

  “I’m leaving town today. You’ve chased me out. Ruined my business and my life!” He stared around at his store with grief stricken eyes. “People believe I’m a murderer. I’m not! I’ll tell you the truth…Edna killed Emily–her own sister–and those kids…with poison.

  “Yeah,” he whispered, his eyes glittering with paranoia. “Edna did it! Her parents? She murdered them too. Poison. They betrayed her and left the house and the inheritance to Emily and the kids, not Edna. What a joke on her. Edna was the oldest, but she was stealing their money. Emily’s money. Ha, that did it. Emily caught her.

  “So Edna got rid of all of them. She buried them by the tree house. She hated Emily; hated the kids. She wanted me, you see. But, ha! Me have anything to do with that lazy, plain as a grapefruit, hypochondriac–no way! I wouldn’t give her the time of day,” he uttered contemptuously.

  Abigail was horrified. Mason was lying. The final forensic results didn’t support Emily’s being poisoned. The kids, yes, not Emily. Emily was strangled–probably by a pair of strong angry hands. Hands like Mason’s. It’d been a crime of enraged passion.

  “But I couldn’t get rid of Edna.”

  “She was blackmailing you, wasn’t she?”

  Mason seemed startled. He shut up and froze, glaring down at her. Abigail’s eyes had accustomed themselves to the dimness and she could make out Mason’s unshaven face hovering above her like an evil moon. It was a face tired, beaten and old with a twisted and feral expression. His clothes were rumpled. He appeared nothing like the debonair man she’d met three months ago. Guilt had undone him.

  Because, though he’d blamed it on Edna, Abigail knew in that moment–whether crime of jealousy or insanity–he’d killed Emily–and not Norma, Todd Brown or Sheriff Cal Brewster. It explained everything. “How do you know about that?”

  “Remember I found Edna’s ledger? It was one of the things you broke into my house to steal, yet didn’t find.” Abigail shrunk into the chair. There was a sudden threatening in his manner that scared her. She’d gone too far this time and knew it. She should make a run for it, but he had too firm a grip on her arm. So whenever he let his guard down she’d better be ready to run.

  “You got to understand. Emily told me she was going to Chicago to start a new life and to be with him. I’d had a horrible fight with Norma and told her it was over. I was sick of her plain, nagging face…I’d been drinking…I couldn’t bear the thought of someone else having my beautiful Emily. I’d lost everything. I went to Emily’s house…it was dark…she was packing her car. The children were upstairs…they hadn’t been feeling well for a long time…I begged Emily not to go…told her I’d give up Norma, the store, everything…all I wanted was her. I was weeping, on my knees, shameless. Seeing her leaving made everything so clear. I was nothing without her. I’d marry her!

  “I was too late. She wouldn’t listen. She was in love with someone else. And suddenly my hands were around her neck. I didn’t know what I was doing!” His fingers opened and closed, clenching, his eyes reflecting some horror he alone was remembering, then they narrowed. “It was the booze. It made me do it. That’s why I quit drinking. After that night I hardly ever drank again.

  “Afterwards I saw my life spilling away. I’d be disgraced and humiliated. I’d go to prison. I couldn’t face it. And Edna saw it all from the window,” his voice broke, his eyes glistened with tears.

  “But she helped you bury Emily in the woods and promised not to turn you in if you gave her money every month and if you’d go along with her story that Emily and the kids had left town after she poisoned them?” Abigail pressed gently. “She got the house, the money and then…she blackmailed you for the next thirty years. She kept track in the ledger. Right?” It was a calculated guess and by the way Mason reacted it was either the truth or close to it.

  “Ah, yes, Edna’s ledger. That woman was greedy. Every year she wanted more. With my ex-wife already draining me, I had to do something. What a shame, someone helped Edna into the next world. Did you know old Edna was dying of stomach cancer? Poor soul. Just not fast enough. Someone, I have no idea who, added a few lethally doctored pills to her monthly medical prescription. Tsk, tsk. It must have killed her. But no one asked any questions when she died. They all just thought it was the cancer. I figure I did her a favor. Thirty years of blackmail was enough. Hell, I couldn’t stomach paying one penny more.”

  But how did he know about the drugs in Edna’s system, she thought, unless he did it? “Who killed the children?” Soft, low. Careful. Careful.

  “It took me thirty years to get it,” spoken in another whisper. “Edna poisoned them, like she’d poisoned her parents before them. For the inheritance. Irony was, that until you discovered their graves beneath the tree house by Emily’s I never knew they were dead. I never went back to the grave after we put Emily there. I swallowed Edna’s story that she’d sent the kids back to their father two weeks later when she caught up to him. I never checked to see if he had them. Why would I? And throw suspicion on me if there was ever a murder investigation? I thought I was being smart.” But he didn’t seem to realize by saying what those words he was incriminating himself.

  “Imagine my surprise when I read in the newspaper that three graves were found, not one. What a fool I’d been! Edna blackmailed me decades for killing Emily when she killed four people herself. All that money I was forced to give her for nothing! I could have blackmailed her.” A sour laugh emerged from his throat. He was behaving more like a crazy person every second.

  “And your ex-wife Norma? Did you also kill her?” Abigail was in so deep, why not plunge deeper?

  “Well, I did give her the pills and she did kind of stumble down the stairs trying to get away, too doped up to know what she was doing. Oops, I opened the wrong door. Humph! I merely wanted her to go to sleep on the sofa so I could look for that letter she’d written. Talking to her earlier, I figured she’d write you. Norma blabbed too much. She had a big mouth, always did. But she wouldn’t tell me where she’d hid it. So, one thing led to another.

  “Well!” He threw up his hands in a reckless gesture. “Imagine my astonishment when I found her at the bottom of the steps dead as a doornail.”

  Abigail’s mind was spinning. Mason had killed Emily, Edna and Norma and was justifying it. Strangling Emily, living with it all those years, and then having to dispose of Edna and Norma had finally driven him insane. What should she do? Her arm throbbed, her head hurt and she was beginning to be truly scared. She had to get away from him.

  She noticed people walking past the windows. Maybe they were missing her at that very moment and were searching for her? She could hope. Her eyes, now fully adjusted to the murky store, spied a knife lying on the counter behind Mason. He’d said he wouldn’t hurt her so what was the knife doing there?

  He’d stopped talking and seemed confused. He’d let go of her arm and his hand had fallen on the knife, was caressing it, and, an odd glimmer in his eyes, he turned slightly to stare at it. “I…guess I shouldn’t leave any…loose ends.”

  “You almost killed me and Frank,” Abigail reproached him in a soft voice, stalling for time so she could find a chance to bolt. She slowly began to stand up. “Were you really trying to kill us?”

  “It wasn’t me. I don’t have a white Chevy. I have a red Camaro.”

  How would he have known it was a light colored Chevy, she thought? Another lie.

  “But, believe me, I’d have good reason for wanting Frank Lester dead.” He snorted. He’d picked up the knife and slowly brought it to touch the skin at the base of her neck.

  Abigail had to fight to keep from reacting or screaming.
Stay calm. “Why would you want Frank dead?” she asked gently, trying to distract him; trying not to panic at the feel of the blade pinching her flesh.

  “Because last time I saw Norma she spitefully informed me of what I’d never known. Frank Lester was the younger man Emily left me for all those years ago. Emily had told Norma that the day before she was going to leave when Norma had a run in with her. Emily was going to Chicago to be with him and start a new life. Frank!”

  Frank? Abigail’s mouth fell open. Nothing could have shocked her more and she didn’t know what to say and didn’t get a chance to say anything because she felt his arm come around her shoulder as he firmly grabbed her. The knife dug deeper into her skin. The air felt heavy and she couldn’t breathe.

  “He loves you as I once loved Emily, I think. You look so much like her…the cause of my heartache, my despair–” He stared at her with confused eyes. “Emily…I killed you once…why are you back? Do I have to kill you again to finally be rid of you?”

  He thought she was Emily. He was going to kill her. Again. He dropped the knife and reached for her neck with swift hands and, instinctively, she threw her cast backwards, suffered the pain, and slammed it into his face. With a yelp he released her, he fell to the floor, and she bolted for the door. It was locked.

  But Mason didn’t chase her because all of a sudden there was a crowd of people at the glass, looking in. There were voices calling her name. Abigail recognized Frank’s voice. They’d come looking for her. Thank God!

  “Abigail!” Frank yelled, pounding on the door. “Are you in there?”

  “Yes, I’m in here!” She glanced frantically over her shoulder at Mason, still on the floor in the gloom behind her. He was scrambling to his feet. The knife was nowhere to be seen and most likely with the dust bunnies under the counter somewhere.

  “I’m going to go now…never meant to hurt you, Emily, I swear…so sorry. Just leave me alone, for God’s sake,” she heard him sob. And then he was gone.

  There had to be another exit in the rear of the store. Mason had been prepared for this.

  Abigail moved out of the way and the front door crashed open. She fled into the sunlight, squinting, and there was Frank with open arms. “I’m all right,” she announced, her eyes on his worried face. “I was…talking…to John Mason. He killed Emily, Edna and Norma and he’s getting away! He went out through the back of the store somewhere.”

  The look of relief that she was okay, on Frank’s face, turned to anger. “Which way did he go?”

  “I don’t know. He said he’s leaving town for good. He must have a car, packed and ready to go, somewhere near by.”

  “There’s an alley behind the store. He could have parked his car there.” Frank ran down the sidewalk to the alley between the buildings and around to the rear, leaving Samantha, Ryan and Kyle with Abigail.

  Martha put her arms around her friend. “Are you really all right, Abigail? What happened?”

  “I’m fine, thanks to you guys, and I’ll tell you all about it, every bit, as soon as I catch my breath.” A smile crept over Abigail’s face. It was over and she was okay. She was so relieved she could have wept. She turned to the newspaper editor. “And Samantha, now I have that final wrap-up, the answers, you wanted so badly on the Summers’ murders.”

  “He got away,” Frank exclaimed when he returned to the store. “You were right, Abby, he had his car, a brand new white but muddied up Chevy Impala, crammed to the ceiling with suitcases, out back and he was driving off as I got to the alley. I just missed him.

  “And I’d swear it was the same car that hit us on the motorcycle the other night. Right down to the dirty license plates.”

  Frank called the sheriff to come pick him up and they joined the chase but Mason was long gone. He must have detoured the town, the picnic revelers, and headed straight for the main highways. The sheriff put out an APB on him.

  Abigail collected her watercolors from the abandoned store with the help of Martha and Ryan and lugged them home. It was her artwork, she had the right to take them. Outside the picnic was going strong as music and sweet aromas wafted on the air, mingling with the evening breeze. It seemed as if she’d rode the Ferris wheel with Frank so long ago.

  It had begun to rain softly, but Abigail didn’t care if she got wet, or if her arm hurt. There was nothing like a close call with death to make a person feel alive. And her brush with death, she knew now, had been close. Mason would have killed her if Frank and the others hadn’t shown up when they did. She was as sure of it as she was sure she’d been extremely lucky.

  Frank caught up later that night with Abigail at her house and she repeated everything for the second time that Mason had said. She downplayed the part about the knife and the attempted choking, but Frank wasn’t fooled. He put his arm around her and held her tightly as they stood in her kitchen. She was happy to be alive but worried that crazy Mason was still on the loose.

  “Mason believed there at the end I was Emily. Imagine that?” she said to Frank. “All his scheming, killing and guilt must have finally shoved him over the cliff.”

  “Humph, he was already over the cliff and out in space somewhere. We just didn’t know it until we started bringing the past out into the light. I’m glad you’re okay and, don’t worry, we’ll catch him. Everyone’s looking. State. County. Federal. It’s only a matter of time before they track him down. He’s not thinking clearly and he’ll make a mistake, then we’ll get him.”

  Abigail shivered. “I hope they catch him. Until they do, I’m going to lock my doors and keep my stick close.”

  “You do that.” Frank smiled, said goodbye, and when Abigail thought he was gone she looked out the window and saw him snuggled down for the night in his truck in front of her house. He wasn’t leaving her alone, and unprotected. Not until Mason was caught.