"It's not much," the woman explained as she opened the last door to the right. "It's small, but it is clean."
Lacey followed her inside. A twin-size bed waited on the left side, tucked against the wallpapered wall. On the other side was a tiny writing desk and chair. On that same wall hung a shelf with a couple of books and stationery. A large standing lamp stood next to the desk, the shade yellowed by time.
"There's only one guest bathroom, but you will find it mostly unoccupied." The woman wiped her hands down her skirt and finally cracked a smile. "Hot breakfast is served every morning at seven a.m. sharp. Bacon, sausage, eggs, pancakes, all the works. Now, get some sleep, sweety."
"Thanks," Lacey said as she watched the woman leave. "What was your name, ma'am?"
"Lydia Saddle," the woman replied. "But everyone in Raven Hills calls me Diddie."
"Diddie, I'm wondering if you can tell me the last time you've seen Brian Ovelli. I assume he had lodged here. He, too, was a reporter from Crestwater Press."
The woman wrinkled her face in confusion. "Brian? No, we haven't had any guest here by that name."
"That's not possible," Lacey replied, her brows arching high. "You said this was the only inn, right?"
"Yes, sweety” Diddie countered, "and you're the only guest we've had here in over a year."
Chapter Four
Lacey stood in the lobby the next morning at exactly six fifty-eight a.m. Her stomach cramping up, and her nose finding the amazing aroma of eggs and pancakes, she hoped someone would feed her soon.
"Ms. Saddle?" she called out, trying to figure out where to go for breakfast. No answer came.
She began walking to a small area to the right of the lobby. She had missed it the night before, but it was tucked past the sofa. Breathing in the scent of food heaven, she figured this had to be the right place.
A few small tables were set in the tiled room, and she spotted someone sitting at one of them. Inching closer, she found a little girl, probably around seven or eight years old. Lacey deduced she was probably Diddie's granddaughter.
"Hello," Lacey greeted.
The little girl gazed outside the window, and Lacey trailed her eyes. From where she stood next to the table, she saw an empty road and a home across the street, but nothing really attention worthy.
"What's your name?" Lacey asked, hoping to grab the girl's attention.
Finally, the girl looked up at her. "Hello."
"So, uhm, that looks great," Lacey added with a grin, peering down at the four plates set on the table in front of the girl. There were pancakes, eggs, sausages, rye toasted bread, fruit salad, and a pitcher of coffee. "You must be very hungry."
"I'm not eating," the girl replied, looking at the massive mounds of food. "I think they're for you."
"Oh, I see," Lacey said, relief swarming over her. She sat across from the girl and began spooning food onto a separate, clean dish.
The girl resumed gazing outside the window, her eyes so intent on what she stared at, that Lacey felt obligated to look outside again. Same thing as before. An empty dirt road and a home across the street.
"So, do you live here at Saddle Inn?" Lacey asked as she shoved a mouthful of eggs in her mouth. Manners be damned. "Or do you live across the street? Is that your home?"
The girl didn't reply, but simply continued to look out the window.
Okay, so the girl was shy. "Have you lived in Raven Hills all of your life?" Lacey continued.
The girl nodded, still not making eye contact.
Lacey took in the girl's clothes, a black lace overlay with bell sleeves and a gathered knee-length skirt. It looked a little costumey but totally adorable, giving her a vintage vibe.
The girl finally looked away from the window and into Lacey's eyes. Hers were dark brown and round, big and intelligent. "The town has been talking about you. Everyone says you're here to learn more about us."
Lacey swallowed a bite of bacon, then poured herself some coffee. "Gossip travels fast in a small town, I guess."
They sat in silence for a long while, until the girl decided to rise from her chair. Without saying anything she began walking out of the room.
"See you around," Lacey called after her, but the girl crossed the lobby and left the inn without a word.
"What a strange kid," Lacey murmured under her breath. When she was finished with breakfast, she cleared the plates, unsure where to stack them. She wandered into the lobby again, calling for Diddie, but no one answered her. This inn wasn't very customer friendly, she thought. She headed up to her room again, grabbed her laptop, and decided she'd get started with her day. The sooner she snatched the town's story, the sooner she'd get back home.
She walked through the lobby again and finally outside, the morning light flooding the road. It looked like the entire town was surrounded by woods, tall green trees soaring high above buildings.
She took a few steps down the road and noticed the home across the street, the one the little girl had observed. Painted gray, with large wood panels making up the front, it seemed quaint enough. Suddenly, a woman appeared on the front porch, a watering can in hand.
Lacey walked toward her, and finally the woman took notice of her.
"Morning, ma'am," Lacey greeted with a smile.
"Lacey Shaw, I assume?" the woman guessed.
"Yes, I’m Lacey."
"What can I do for you?" the woman asked, pouring water from her can onto a large pot of geraniums.
"I'm writing a story about Raven Hills, and I'd like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind."
"What kind of questions?" the other asked, eyes narrowing.
"Nothing in particular. I guess I'd like any information that would showcase Raven Hills' history. Something charming, or important, I guess." Lacey shifted uncomfortably on her feet, hoping to hide the fact that she really couldn't care less about this hole in the wall, and that she just wanted to be home, sending resumes out to any press company that would truly put her to good use.
Two thousand dollars, Lacey, she thought. Just get it together.
The woman chuckled. "Charming history? Well, we have plenty of history, I just don't know how charming it is."
"Do you know of any significant events that happened here?" Lacey asked, grasping at straws and thinking Raven Hills was probably a dormant, little town.
"Many," the woman replied. "Too many."
"What's your name, if I may ask?"
The woman placed her watering can down, sighed, and appraised Lacey with unsure eyes. "Laura Smythe."
"Have you lived here long, Mrs. Smythe?"
"All of my life," she replied. "My mother and father settled here in the early fifties. They loved the place, at first."
"At first?" Lacey pressed.
Mrs. Smythe chewed on her bottom lip, as if contemplating her next words.
"Very well," she said at last. "You may come in for a few minutes. I will not speak on the other events in town, but I can tell you of one I remember vividly. It tore this town apart at its very core. My mother, Nelly Smythe, had lived through it and told me about it many times.
"But I warn you. It's not a pretty story."
Chapter Five
CASE #1 - A GRUESOME HALLOWEEN
October 31, 1953
From across the street at promptly at six p.m., Nelly Smythe saw the porch light at 621 Maple Drive light up. She watched as Jane Dearing, the old woman who inhabited the yellow and white home, came out and sat on the porch swing, a book and a large bowl of candy on the table beside her. Jane smiled to herself and pulled her shawl a little tighter against the October chill in the air. It was Halloween, her favorite night of the year, and she was ready to receive trick or treaters.
Mrs. Dearing had lived in her cozy home on Maple Drive as long as anyone in Raven Hills could remember. By all accounts she was as much a part of the town as the old courthouse, the fountain in the town square, or the beautiful weeping willow tree standing at the end of the Dav
idsons' driveway out on route 39. She could often be found at the nursery perusing herbs and flowers or at the sewing shop stocking up on thread and fabric. And of course, she never missed a game of Friday night Bingo. There wasn't a soul in town who didn't know and love the sweet old lady.
Little ones dressed as pirates, ghosts, and wolves began to trickle out of their homes and walk through the neighborhood not long after Nelly saw Mrs. Dearing sit on her porch swing. From her own front porch Nelly watched as Mrs. Dearing interacted with each child, commenting on their costume, her genuine smile bringing out the wrinkles around her eyes. Nelly thought it was a little odd how much attention her longtime neighbor paid each child, but figured the older woman was just lonely.
Sometime around eight p.m. however, Nelly saw little Virginia Kyle, dressed as a witch in a pretty black dress, skip up to Mrs. Dearing's porch yet again. She was alone, most of her friends already having made their way around the block. Virginia and Mrs. Dearing spoke briefly and then Mrs. Dearing opened her front door. They both disappeared inside. It was the last time anyone ever saw Virginia Kyle, just nine years old, alive. Understandably Nelly didn't know the significance of what she was seeing. Rather, upon realizing her own bowl of candy was empty, she went inside her to fill it.
Little Virginia was expected to be home by nine p.m. but when she didn't return her parents didn't panic. It was Halloween and they assumed she had lost track of time. When another hour went by and Virginia was still missing, they began to worry. They searched the neighborhood and by midnight they still had not seen their daughter. Frantic now, they called the Raven Hills Police Department, which took no time launching a search. They questioned the other children and realized they had lost track of Virginia at some point on Maple Drive. The policemen started knocking on doors right away.
Soon, they came to the door of Nelly Smythe, who suggested that they cross the street and speak to Mrs. Dearing, who had invited Virginia in earlier that night. She hoped the old dear might have seen which direction Virginia had gone as she left the little yellow and white house.
The police knocked on Mrs. Dearing's door several times and rang the bell, but there was no answer. A young officer by the name of Cliff Bennett looked through a window and thought he saw Mrs. Dearing lying on the floor in need of medical care. Officer Bennett and his sargent began to kick at the door as their colleagues went to the patrol car and radioed for an ambulance.
When they finally breached the entrance of Mrs. Dearing's home, the men were shocked at what lay before them. It wasn't Mrs. Dearing on the floor, but her clothes, spattered with blood. Appalled and certain Mrs. Dearing had been murdered and her body taken for some nefarious purpose, they searched the small home for the rest of her remains. They did not find them, but what they did find was far more horrifying, and certainly raised more questions.
In the master bath, they found little Virginia Kyle, still in her witch costume, the black dress puffing around her little body and her head slumped against the tub. Her throat had been cut, and blood soaked into her dress, and a strange rash of splotches appeared on her legs. No one knew how this might be connected to the missing Jane Dearing, who would never be found again.
A more detailed search of the home in the days that followed provided few things of note. Some antique furniture and jewelry, which was auctioned off later at an estate sale, was found. What most fascinated the town most was a historical journal—discovered to have been written by an early settler of the town with the surname Haas. They realized this was Jane Dearing's ancestral family and the book was donated to the library.
What was not found, however, were clues that could provide some insight into the events that had taken place the night Virginia Kyle's life was taken. Some theorized a stranger must have rolled through town intending to rob the old woman, but finding Jane and Virginia in the house, resorted to murder. The theory persisted despite the fact that it appeared nothing was missing, except for Mrs. Dearing herself.
All the town of Raven Hills had were unanswered questions of what happened at 621 Maple Drive on Halloween night, 1953.
Chapter Six
The next day, Lacey sat in the lobby of Saddle Inn, a cup of hot coffee and her laptop on the desk. Her mind still reeled with Mrs. Smythe's story about Jane Dearing. After her interview with Mrs. Smythe, she had rushed back to the inn to type up the case. She had wanted to treat the case of little Virginia Kyle like any other sad story you heard on the news, but the horrific tale of that long-ago Halloween night had crept into her bones.
What had happened to little Virginia? Had Jane Dearing being murdered as well, or was she responsible for the girl's death? All these questions had kept Lacey up all night, and now, sipping on her steaming hot coffee, she couldn't get them out of her mind.
She stared at her laptop screen, the old dial-up box in the lobby screeching as it tried to establish a connection through the telephone landline. She stifled a groan of frustration. It was as if she'd been trapped in an alternate world, where modems still reigned supreme if you wanted to get on the internet. Lacey wondered how the people of Raven Hills could stand living in such a remote area, where they were practically stuck in the past.
She tapped her fingers on the table, her eyes glued to the computer screen. In the background, Diddie dusted around the lobby, mumbling under her breath how she shouldn't even bother.
The front door opened and two men entered the lobby.
"Morning, Diddie," one of them announced. Lacey looked at him, her eyes blurry from staring at the laptop screen for so long. The man was tall, probably in his late twenties, and wore a gray long-sleeve shirt over khaki pants. His frame was athletic and lean, a stark comparison to the friend standing next to him.
"Morning, William," Diddie replied, barely glancing up from the shelves she dusted. "What brings you boys here?"
"The best coffee in town," the short, rounded man replied.
"I run an inn not a restaurant, George," Diddie barked, but Lacey caught the small grin on her face as she went to fetch the men a cup of coffee.
The men sat on the opposite side of the lobby. William noticed Lacey sitting at the table and held her gaze for a few long moments. Embarrassed by being caught staring, Lacey lowered her gaze and returned it to the computer screen. It had been a long time since a man had her squirming in her seat, but she reminded herself where she was. A rural, backwards town in the middle of nowhere. If the city didn't provide many good prospects for dating, this strange little town sure wouldn't either.
"Morning, Miss Shaw," William greeted from where he sat.
Lacey looked at him, almost stuttering. "Oh, morning." Of course he knew her name; everyone here knew of her arrival. But the way it rolled off his tongue, well, it sounded like a cherry dropped on top of an ice cream sundae.
He smiled at her and went to say something else, but George interrupted him.
"Did you read the article this morning?" George asked, and waved a newspaper in his hands.
"About developers planning to put us all out of business?" William countered, his attention now on his friend.
"It's more than that, William. They want to eradicate our town completely. Wipe us off the map." George let out a grunt. "We have history here, man. If Raven Hills goes, might as well kill hope itself."
Diddie joined the men, feather duster in one hand and the other on her hip. "Speaking of hope, maybe Miss Shaw here can do a story on the old church, show those bigwigs the power of a small town coming together."
Lacey perked up just as the old modem connection fired up and the internet began working.
"The old church?" she asked.
"Hundreds of people came together to rebuild the church," George explained. "It ain't what it used to be, but hell, it's a reminder that when tragedy strikes, there is always hope."
"What happened to it?" Lacey asked, fingers already tapping furiously on her Mac. She hoped the connection wouldn't drop on her.
"Ah," George mutt
ered. "You wouldn't care. You work for those profit mongers and don't care about us blue collar people."
Lacey stiffened, annoyed they thought of her as a high-class reporter. If only they knew of her overdue student loans and the mounting expenses back home. "I don't work for the people who want to tear down Raven Hills," she argued. "I’m simply doing a story on your town."
William sent her a sympathetic glance and smiled. Lacey 's cheeks flushed.
"So, what's the deal with the church?" Lacey asked, hoping to get some answers from the handsome guy.
"New Hope Church is a trademark here. It's what keeps us staying in Raven Hills," William explained, his face suddenly somber.
"What do you mean? What happened there?" Lacey pressed, but she caught Diddie's warning glare directed at William.
"Nothing, sweetie," Diddie assured Lacey, but her honey-coated words didn't appease Lacey's intrigue one bit. "Just an incident that is left in the past. Forget I mentioned anything." She brought two cups of coffee over to the boys.
Lacey wouldn't give up so easily. Maybe they didn't want to talk about New Hope Church and what had happened, but now that her internet was working she was hell-bent on finding out more. She knew that most newspapers had begun archiving old articles from print, and she hoped that someone, somewhere, might have kept this story on record.
She typed in the search bar, her heart beating fast in hopes of finding anything on the old church incident.
DSL connection, don't fail me now, she prayed to herself.
Her prayers were answered as an archive article popped on her screen and narrated a terrible event buried in Raven Hills' history.
Chapter Seven
CASE #2 - THE HOOLIGANS
Raven Hills- Unraveling Evil Page 2