“Most of our legends are word of mouth, Mr …?”
“Melbourne.” He felt an unexplained repulsion at the thought of shaking her hand, so he left his arms at his side.
“Is there anyone I could speak to about the legends?”
Not wanting to give him any information, she stood silent for a moment, trying to decide how she could avoid it. She couldn't. So, the one person who would be the hardest to get information from would be the one she'd give him.
“Grandma Bricken would be your best choice. She is the expert.”
Gary shot an alarmed look sideways to Anita, still pretending to be staring at the screen. Anita ignored it and hoped this intruder had missed it.
He hadn't. But never daunted by a challenge, which it sounded like this Grandma Bricken could be, he didn't let on.
“Do you know where I can find her?”
“That new church, helping the guy that runs it do whatever he does when he's not pretending to be a pastor.” The venom was palpable.
Feeling he had worn out his dubious welcome, Kenneth decided to ask someone else for directions to that “new church.” He thanked Anita and Gary, turned and headed out.
“What a yucky man!” Anita said, turning back to the task at hand.
Gary thought the guy seemed okay, but went back to his typing, knowing better than to challenge Anita and raise her temper. Her ire knew no bounds, including physical, and he could not afford to take her punishment. He'd learned that the first time. And he had to have this job or his family couldn't survive in Ravens Cove. So he typed with focused intent, until he was sure her searching eyes were satisfied that he was not going to question her and they left him and returned to their task.
Chapter 8
The Legend Revealed
Grandma Bricken stood at the stove, her usual place at mid-morning. Cooking was her favorite past time. And many of her dear family and friends benefited from this. It was October. Time to finish canning the cranberries and blueberries she had collected and frozen during the August harvest. The tundralike hills that surrounded Ravens Cove abounded with the wild, delicious berries. A pressure cooker rattled on the stove. Over that noise, she was sure that she heard a knock. No one knocked in Ravens Cove.
She ran her hands down her apron, drying them as she took her time getting to the hallway. She stopped at the mirror. Her silver hair, some crow-black still mixed in, had been trained to the top of her head this morning. Right now, strands of silver and black had struggled free and were standing out from the bun. She smoothed them as much as possible and continued on her way.
Alese Bricken opened the door to a tall, lean, and attractive young man. Even at her age, she appreciated this one. Movie-star quality, she thought.
“Mrs. Bricken?” No one in Ravens Cove knocked and no one called her Mrs. either.
She stared into the handsome stranger's face.
“I'm Agent Melbourne. I'm here to assist the sheriff in investigating the recent murders. Your name came up as someone who might be able to clarify a few things. May I come in?”
Grandma Bricken thought this over while looking deep into Kenneth's eyes, searching him. He had never felt so exposed nor had silence ever been so loud. This woman had a personal power he had encountered only once or twice in his life. He stood waiting for the decision.
“How did you come to find me?”
Fair question. “Well, I went to that small church down the road,” he pointed south, “and the pastor, umm, Lucas I believe, told me where I could find you. That was after being referred to you by Anita Conner.”
Grandma Bricken stepped back from the doorway, allowing enough room for him to enter. She turned her back, walked down the hall and disappeared into a doorway that flooded the entry in light. Kenneth followed, unsure if he had been invited in or not.
The glorious smells that had assaulted his senses at the doorway had emanated from here. A bright, cheery room that was in total chaos in comparison to the rest of the home. There were berries in strainers sitting beside the large, country-style sink—deep and single. Meat was sizzling in a large Dutch oven. Potatoes, onions, carrots, and celery stood like a small mountain beside the stove on a cutting board, ready to be added to the meat, he surmised. His stomach growled in response to the smells. He had forgotten to eat and had just announced that fact to this prim-looking stranger.
Grandma Bricken's eyebrows lifted. A small flush rose up Ken's neck. Without words, he had been chastised by this woman. In a flash, he was a small child again, being reprimanded by his mother because he was underfoot at dinner time. His appetite was still insatiable. And he ate almost everything. His growing frame demanded it when he was a child and, as he was an athletic and vigorous sort, still demanded it to keep any weight on him at all.
“What can I do for you, Agent?”
“In all honesty, ma'am, I was hoping you can give me some answers about the history of Ravens Cove. It seems there is little written history of this town. And neither Sheriff Bart nor the librarian were helpful in giving me the information I'm looking for. The librarian pointed me in your direction.”
If fire could shoot from someone's eyes, it would have from Grandma Bricken's. “That woman!” She turned her back and stirred the aromatic meat with fervor.
Grandma Bricken turned back, spoon held high, waving it back and forth. “That woman, if that's what she can be called, sent you to me, sir, because she believes you will not get any answers. And you may not. Her dislike for you, unbeknownst to her, works in your favor.
“She sent you because she knows the legends of my people, who were here before and after the white man set foot in Alaska, are not repeated on a whim. They are not shared with those that would scoff or make a profit from them. My people know these ‘legends’ are fact and they are treated as a gift of knowledge, not a source of profit or ridicule.” She stopped her rampage, eyes wide and wild.
Ken controlled a need to squirm, then run as far as he could from this one. She was eccentric, to say the least. Passionate would be a more politically correct term; but Kenneth had never been politically correct, so eccentric, bordering on batty was his conclusion.
Ken waited. The spoon had stopped, and was now pointed at his head. Though it could do no real damage, it would hurt if it hit him. More than that, he didn't want to arrest this old woman for assaulting a federal agent.
The front door opened, breaking the stare-down in progress. Ken turned, letting his breath out, thankful for a diversion.
Kat skidded to a halt in the kitchen entry, unhappy to see Ken standing at her grandmother's table.
Okay, two people who scare me. This one may be scarier than Mrs. Bricken.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Watch your language, young woman, you know the house rules. And I'll answer for him. As the cat,” Grandma smiled at this pun, “seems to have gotten his tongue.”
The pun was not lost on Kenneth, and he felt the embarrassing flush rising up his neck again. How humiliating that his feelings were coming so close to the surface in front of these two women. Control yourself, Agent Melbourne, he told himself. Didn't help at all.
Kat didn't seem to notice. And even though Kenneth was sure that Mrs. Bricken did, she didn't say anything.
Kat shot a look of challenge to her elder, then thought better of it. She turned her full attention to Kenneth, her silence demanding an answer. These two were carbon copies of each other, just decades apart.
“You're related?”
“Not that it's any of your business, FBI, but yes.”
Kenneth was getting tired of being put down by the Ice Queen and now her genetic and, most likely, environmental creator. The indignation began to rise. He was tired of it!
He turned steady, nonblinking eyes to her.
“Whether you feel it is or not, Ms. Tovslosky, is of no consequence. Whether you like me being in Ravens Cove or not, I am. These murders are quite the puzzle and your sheriff has a
sked me to help.” That was a little bit of a stretch, but he was not going to get into semantics right now. He needed all the backup he could get, real or trumped up just a little.
“I want to find the murderer, or murderers, before someone else dies. I need to know the legend that everyone is referring to. I may not believe in folklore but I do believe there are some sick puppies in the world that would grab a story and run with it so they could commit murder and get away with it.”
Ken stopped to breathe and get some control. He was getting loud and did not want to show emotion. Not professional. This woman seemed to bring out the most unprofessional parts of him. He looked into her eyes. Deep, deep green that someone could get lost in.
Ken refocused to the point at hand, forcing his immediate and physical attraction to the background. The Ice Queen was more trouble that it would be worth.
Kat and her relative both turned those green eyes on him. The elder spoke first.
“I'm not sure I can help you with what you are seeking. There is no explanation, at least mortal explanation, for these murders.”
“There is always an explanation.”
“Yes, but not always a natural one, young man.” Although it sounded crazy to him, when he looked in her eyes, they were sincere and seemed sane.
“Then tell me so I can begin to make some sense of it. We do have a man in custody who may be the murderer but we need to build a case against him if we are going to keep him behind bars.”
Grandma Bricken looked at Kat, asking permission with her eyes. She gave Kat this authority because she felt in her heart that Kat had deep feelings for this man, albeit unconscious, and she didn't want to risk embarrassing her.
Kat, on the other hand, thought she did not like this man at all. He brought out every angry and nasty part of her nature. But she trusted him. She didn't understand why, but she did. She gave a slight nod.
Grandma Bricken turned and cut two thick slices of bread from her sourdough loaf and poured two aromatic cups of coffee from the pot simmering on the back burner. She sat them on either side of the round kitchen table, and motioned for them to sit.
“Thank you.” Kenneth eased his weight into the comfortable, oversized oak chair.
Kat hesitated, then sat. She was facing Mr. FBI and wished she wasn't.
“Do you believe in good and evil, Agent Melbourne? More to the point, do you believe in God and Satan?”
He saw no relevance here, and before answering picked up the cup, blew and took a tentative sip.
“In my line of work, ma'am, I have seen a lot of evil. So, I believe in what evil man can perpetrate, yes. Do I believe in the battle described in the Bible between God and Satan for men's souls—no. I think we humans must have an explanation for everything, even when there is none, enter God and the devil. How can we describe it otherwise?”
“Well, Agent, you are wrong. Telling this tale is going to be a lot harder because of your disbelief.” Grandma Bricken closed her eyes, deep in thought or meditation, Ken couldn't tell which. She came to a decision, took in a deep breath, and opened her eyes.
“I will tell you anyway because, rather you want to be or not, you are now a key player in the real-life legend that is unfolding in Ravens Cove. And you will be staying to the end, good or bad. I can feel it.”
Kat knew her grandmother's intuitions well. They were never wrong. That odd new pastor had called her a prophet. He had said it was easy to know a true prophet because what they predicted always came true. That described Grandma Bricken to a T. She had never, never voiced an intuition that did not come true. Kat did not often agree with Pastor Lucas but she could not deny he was right about her grandma.
“The man you have in custody, Agent Melbourne, is not your suspect. Unfortunately, I believe that will become clear by tonight.” She held up her weathered brown hand.
Ken stopped in midbreath. He had come close to launching into elaborate details about the two murders, including the little-known fact they had both occurred after dark. He knew that no matter how much he was beginning to trust her, it could jeopardize the investigation, and his career, if he revealed too much. Her ability to rein in the Ice Queen had increased his admiration for her, which, in turn, increased his comfort-level with her. As a result, he had dropped his guard and forgotten his first prior-ity—never let your emotions overtake your logic.
“Are you with me?” Grandma waived a hand in front of his far-off eyes.
Ken blinked a couple of times, smiled, and nodded.
She searched his face. Satisfied, she continued.
“What you are looking for is older than the beginning of time. It is of eternity. It has been in Ravens Ravine since it was thrown from heaven along with its leader, known as Lucifer, or Satan or Beelzebub or whatever name you wish to call it. When it is in residence, it has the power to destroy anything or anyone who comes into the ravine. To date, it has not reached its full power. It works in secret to build its strength. But I need to go backward not forward.”
This sounded all too familiar. “Has Josiah Williams been here?”
“Never heard of him. If he knows of this legend, it is not from me!”
“Sorry, just needed to check the facts.”
“This thing, Lord I pray your protection now, Iconoclast by name, has been given power over this area to destroy. Any people who dare to live around that ravine, are in jeopardy.
“The good news, if there can be good news, is that Iconoclast has a limited time to complete his plan. If it succeeds, it reigns and has authority to kill all that come through here for five years.
“If the Lord allows it to prevail, and if the people of Ravens Cove do not turn to God for help, this will be a wasteland within two weeks. It will take the people first, then the animals. It will tear all living things limb from limb and snack as it wants. The screams of those souls, animals too, will make this place uninhabitable for centuries. It will be known as haunted, a cursed and desolate place.” Grandma Bricken sighed. Her beautiful Ravens Cove would be given over to darkness, not a sunrise again for centuries. The blackness would cover it.
“There may be a way to block it from ever again returning to Ravens Ravine but none have been able to discover it. So until the end of the age of grace that we now live in, until our Lord returns, or until a person can be used by Jesus to defeat this horror, it has the ability to destroy and take souls for its ruler. Come Lord, Jesus,” she said.
“It needs five victims to have enough power to overtake and destroy the town and all its inhabitants. The recent deaths, and the manner in which those poor souls died, have confirmed what I already knew. Now there is no doubt that Ravens Cove is in Iconoclast's territory.
“Two souls have already been taken, and already the evil ones of this town are becoming more brazen, hoping to help this evil, not knowing their own destruction will come first.” She shook her head.
Kat had heard the legend many times. If her grandmother had an odd, obsessive side, this was it. To her it was a truth and no one could convince Grandma Bricken otherwise.
“So, why didn't this happen before?” Ken asked this with a tone of puzzlement, not the disbelief that other outsiders voiced.
“There was a certain protection over this town for years. The original settlers, my people the Denali, respected the legend and did not settle here. The white settlers who did come, respected the Denali cultures and did not go near that ravine, thinking it was sacred ground. No one has been able to find out how often Iconoclast comes here. But the last time the legend was recorded was in 1778 when a crew member of the HMS Resolution was found murdered in much the same way as you see here. His shipmates left him where they found him. What we now call Corpse Mound. By the time the Denali found him, Iconoclast had left the area. And since no one lived near Ravens Ravine until recent decades, that was the end of it.
“The white first white settlers came and stayed because they could easily sustain an existence on the abundant fish and game. Mi
ssionaries followed those first white settlers. They converted many of my people; my direct ancestors were among them. In the past fifty years or so, people have lost their fear of the evil foe. Not the Denali but the whites who came to settle.”
Kat blocked the tale and instead studied Kenneth for a reaction. She noted he was either a talented actor or his respect was genuine. Different from any other man she had known. Any man she had ever shown a romantic interest in had run, as if the house were going to collapse, when Grandma launched into this tale. Grandma's way of producing a shotgun to make sure the prospective man in her life would treat her well.
There had been no prospects for a long time, Kat mused. And this man, Mr. Ego-driven from the big city and the Lower 48, was the one that passed the test. Of course that was the case. The very one that repelled her as if she were a mosquito and he was bug spray.
Kat had been staring at Agent Melbourne. She averted her eyes to her grandmother's face. Too late, Grandma and FBI had seen it. It was her turn to blush.
Grandma Bricken leveled her gaze on Kenneth. There was something going on here between her beloved granddaughter and this stranger. Something they didn't even know about yet.
“Agent Melbourne, there will be more murders,” she repeated, lifting her ample bulk from the chair to get the coffeepot. Kat took a full cup.
“Just half, please.” Kenneth was not much for caffeine. His job alone kept him so alert that there had been many sleepless nights without an added stimulant. Add a spooky story and he might not sleep for weeks.
Grandma Bricken smiled as she poured. She liked someone who knew his own strengths and weaknesses. She looked at the clock over the sink.
“Oh, look at the time. I must get ready now. Church service this evening.”
“Grandma, not again,” Kat said. She was disturbed at how much time her grandmother spent with those Bible thumpers at the new church.
“Yes, again. Tonight is a special prayer service. These murders have the town so on edge. Among other things, it is my duty to pray, with my brothers and sisters in Christ, that God will give peace and strength to each townsperson.”
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