Return to Crutcher Mountain (Cedar Hollow Series Book 2)

by Clayton, Melinda

  “Something feels wrong,” I said. “Someone wanted me here. If they’re going to contact me at all, it has to be now. What better time than when we’re up here alone?” I was dismayed to hear the strained note in my voice.

  “Maybe that’s what they’ve been waiting for all along,” I rushed ahead. “For everyone to leave. Think about it, Nora. Virgil made a scene and agreed to a meeting at this time, after he knew everyone would be gone.” I paused. “Now, nobody seems to know where he is. Something just doesn’t feel right.”

  Nora observed me for a minute before turning to Betty. “Betty, we’re okay here if you need to go,” she told her. “I know you have work waiting for you back at the main office. Thanks for coming; I’m sorry it was a waste of your time.”

  Betty jumped at the opportunity to leave, quickly packing her laptop away and gathering her purse. “I appreciate it, Nora,” she said. “I really do have a lot to do. Ms. McIntosh, have a safe flight.”

  She paused in the doorway, looking back at me curiously. “I’ll let you know if I see anyone lurking around outside, but I’m sure you ladies are fine. People no-show all the time, as you well know, Nora. No one seems to have any respect for anyone else’s time these days.”

  “You’re right,” Nora agreed. “No-shows are common. I think I have about a seventy-five percent show rate. Have a great weekend, Betty.”

  “Okay,” Nora turned to me when Betty was gone. “Let’s get you packed and ready for your flight. I think we’re safe, but I do understand your concerns. I’m a little nervous too, I have to admit. I always am when everyone leaves; it’s quite isolated up here.” She stood. “I think I’ll leave things as they are today. I can come in early Sunday and finish my paperwork. Let’s get out of here.”

  As Nora locked the office door behind us I glanced around for Sheriff Moore, but I saw no sign of him or of anyone else. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was coming. It was a feeling I’d known well as a child; I knew not to ignore it. I was on high alert as we crossed the lot to the Lodge.

  We entered the darkened building, eerily quiet without the voices of the children, and went down the long hallway to my room. There was little packing for me to do; I’d never really unpacked to begin with. I threw a few things into my suitcase and Nora placed my hairdryer and brush into the hygiene bag.

  “Is that it?” she asked, and I nodded. I grabbed the bags and turned to leave, Nora right behind me.

  It was then that I thought I saw a shadow from somewhere out in the hall.

  Chapter 44

  “Nora,” I began, but before I could say anything else she interrupted me.

  “It was me, Jessie,” she said. “I’m the one who wanted you out here.”

  “What?”

  “Have a seat,” she said, motioning towards the bed. “Let’s chat. You have a few minutes before you have to leave, don’t you? And we need to be alone for this chat.”

  I sat as instructed, too shocked to do anything else, and she hoisted herself up onto the dresser across from me. “What really happened to my father?” she asked.

  At first I thought I must have missed something. “Your father? What do you mean?” I had no idea what she was talking about.

  “Is Virgil right about his accusations?” she asked. “Did you kill him? Or did one of those old people you hang around with down in the village?” She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the mirror. “It wasn’t until after I killed Floyd Bowden that I began to wonder,” she said.

  My mouth dropped open. What on earth?

  Nora laughed. “Jessie, you’ve grown into such a beautiful woman, but that look really isn’t very flattering. Close your mouth.”

  “Nora,” I tried to recover, “What is going on here?”

  “That would be Lenny Sue to you,” she responded. “Lenora Suzette Campbell. Remember me? Granted, I’ve changed somewhat over the last thirty-seven years. What do you think? Didn’t I clean up well?”

  “Lenny Sue?” I was dumbstruck. “Why didn’t you tell me? Oh, my God, why didn’t you say something?” I was scrambling for words; so many thoughts were spinning through my brain I felt dizzy.

  Across from me, Nora sighed. “I can see you need a moment to collect yourself. Really, Jessie, you have got to learn to breathe during panic attacks. It’ll make them pass so much more quickly. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Why is that so difficult for you?”

  From my seat on the bed I struggled desperately to do exactly what she was suggesting. I felt faint, as if my chest were being squeezed. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

  “That’s better,” she said. “If you don’t learn to breathe properly, one of these days you’re going to faint from lack of oxygen. You really are a mess, aren’t you?”

  I didn’t answer; how could I?

  “Anyway,” she said, kicking off her shoes and pulling her legs up to sit cross-legged on the dresser, “it isn’t that I care so much about what happened to him, you know. It’s just that—and I’m sure you can understand this—I need some closure. Truthfully, until Floyd died I never even thought about my father. It was a shame about Floyd. He was a good stepfather to me. I hated to have to kill him.”

  My chest was squeezed again; I tried to concentrate on my breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

  Across from me, Nora spread her arms, palms up. “But what else could I do?” she asked. She didn’t wait for an answer. “When he began to put two and two together about our mother’s death...well, you can see I really had no choice.”

  Dear God, what was she talking about? According to Richard Huffman, Nora—Lenny Sue—would have been twelve years old when our mother died.

  “It’s all really rather fascinating, isn’t it?” She cocked her head quizzically to the side. “The whole nature versus nurture debate, I mean. Take us for example. You,” she pointed at me, “are obviously a wreck. Panic attacks, generalized anxiety, depression....A classic case of Post-traumatic Stress Disorder.” She paused a few seconds to consider before adding, “In addition, I would certainly diagnose you with Borderline Personality Disorder on Axis II.

  “But how can you help it?” she asked. “Look at what you’ve been through. It’s all very understandable. Your issues are a direct result of the abuse you suffered. Me, on the other hand,” she placed a hand on her chest, “even though I spent all of my formative years—those early years are so important, you know—in the same awful environment as you, I don’t suffer from any of those problems.”

  “You’re crazy,” I finally managed to gasp through the spasms in my chest.

  “Oh, undoubtedly,” she nodded. “I never meant to imply otherwise, but that’s exactly my point.” She sat forward, eyes shining with excitement. “That’s what’s so fascinating. We share the same mother and our formative years were spent in the same environment. But I didn’t develop any of the post-traumatic symptoms you have.

  “I’m inclined to think there’s a genetic factor involved, indicating that in our case, anyway, nature wins. What’s different about us? Our fathers, of course. Yours, as we’ve just recently discovered, is sane. Mine, as we both know, was not.

  “Roy was obviously sociopathic,” she said. “No conscience whatsoever, no ability to empathize, no consideration for others. And here I am, a chip off the old block.” She spread her arms wide again.

  “Of course,” she went on, “I’m a lot more polished than he was. Did you know that with the appropriate social skills, sociopaths can be amazingly successful in their chosen fields of study? Most likely due to our ability to manipulate the people around us, wouldn’t you think? That, and our total lack of regard for following the societal rules most people follow. Some experts speculate that many people in positions of power are probably sociopaths. Isn’t that incredible?”

  I’d figured out by now that Nora wasn’t expecting any responses from me. I sat quietly, trying to regulate my breathing. I was mesmerized;
I’d never witnessed anything like it. It was as if she were unraveling before my eyes.

  “We would be a fabulous study, you and I,” she said. “But of course there isn’t much way we can do that, under the circumstances. That’s a shame.”

  “Nora,” I said, when she became quiet, “what do you want from me?”

  “Nothing too sinister,” she said. “Just the truth. As I was telling you a few minutes ago, I never thought about my father until after I killed Floyd. That’s when I started to wonder about myself. Killing our mother made some sense, you see, because she’d never been very good at mothering. I had a great deal of anger towards her. I’m sure you can understand.”

  She rubbed at her chin, thoughtful again. “I suppose that’s why that one was so brutal. But Floyd was different. I liked Floyd. He was a good guy. Still, it didn’t bother me to kill him when I realized I needed to. I wasn’t brutal with him; I just cut his brakes. All of our cars were always so junky; it wasn’t suspicious when he wrecked due to mechanical failure.

  “Anyway,” she said, “it kind of bothered me that I could kill someone I liked and not worry about it. That’s not normal, wouldn’t you agree?” Again, she didn’t wait for an answer.

  “I didn’t have many memories of my father,” she said. “I’d been so young when we left, but I’d heard our mother talk about him enough to know he was evil. I started wondering if I was like him. Of course, I never got to talk with him about it because by the time I got back here, he was gone. Or dead. Whichever. It sparked my interest, though, so much so that I decided to study it. As you can see, I’ve done quite well at it.”

  I couldn’t help but wonder what her plan was for me. There were already at least two people dead at her hands. Would I be the third? Surely she couldn’t let me go, not after all she’d told me.

  “Don’t look so worried, Jessie.” She laughed again. “Goodness, you’re in no danger from me. We’re both killers, aren’t we? You know my story; now I want yours. Quid pro quo, as they say.

  “Besides,” she continued. “No one would believe you if you tried to tell them anything I’ve just shared. You’ve been paranoid all week. Do you think that’s gone unnoticed?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked. Of course I’d been paranoid; someone was after me, but I couldn’t think of anything I’d done to undermine my credibility.

  “What I mean,” she said, “is that all those things you’ve been spouting off about never happened.” She began to laugh. “Oh, Jessie, I’m sorry. Just let me catch my breath. It’s all so amusing, and you couldn’t have played into it any better than you did. Here I was trying to figure out how to get information from you without having to kill you for it, and you gave me the perfect method.”

  “I still don’t understand,” I said. I doubted I ever would.

  “I panicked a little at first, when you decided to go to Sheriff Moore yourself, but then I realized that was perfect,” she said. “He wouldn’t have a clue what you were talking about. The vandalism, the chemicals, the horses,” she began laughing again.

  “The whole bogus investigation. It never happened,” she finally managed to say. “None of it. I made it all up to get you out here. I never had any conversations with Sheriff Moore about any of it.” She was positively gleeful.

  “But what about the fire? And the letter? You didn’t make those things up,” I said.

  “No,” she said, “the fire was real enough. A problem with the wiring. We’re actually in litigation with the contractors right now because of it. They endangered the children with their sloppy work.

  “But the letter....” She grinned. “That was a nice touch, don’t you think? There was no original given to anyone. Just the one I showed you. So when you went accusing Sheriff Moore....” She snorted, wiping at her eyes as she laughed.

  I was so confused, trying to grasp the things she was telling me. “And the Huffmans? Are they in on it with you?” Through my fear and confusion, I felt a small pang of disappointment. I had so hoped things were as they had said.

  “No,” she said, turning serious. “No, I had no idea he was your father. How crazy was that whole thing? But once you became suspicious of them, it took any heat off of me if something did happen to you. Between them and Virgil Young, there was no way I’d ever be suspected of anything.”

  “But you always defended them.” I didn’t know what to believe.

  “Mmm.” She nodded. “A paradoxical approach. The more I defended the Huffmans, the more you suspected them. I’m brilliant at what I do, Jessie. I truly am. Just ask anybody in the field. Some would call it narcissism, I suppose, but in the end it doesn’t matter. The fact remains: I’m brilliant at what I do.

  “That’s why you’ll tell me what really happened to my father. That’s also why you’ll never repeat a word of what I’ve told you.” She pushed her hair back from her face. “No one would believe you. I’m a well-respected psychotherapist, an expert in my field. And you,” she pointed at me again. “You are a woman slowly losing her grip on reality.

  “You dissociated your second morning here, right in my office, remember? And Mrs. Huffman can vouch for the fact that you’d obviously spent a night crying. Even Betty witnessed your paranoia this very afternoon.

  “Add that to the conversation you had with the Sheriff,” she said, “and Jessie, you look a little unbalanced. Heavens, you’re not stable to begin with, but the conversation with the Huffmans last night would be enough to throw anyone off kilter.

  “I’ll have to have you hospitalized for your own safety if you start babbling about things. And if that fails, the idea of you committing suicide isn’t farfetched at all.” She winked at me.

  In my pocket, my cell began to buzz. I glanced at my watch. Three o’clock. I’d told Corinne I’d be there by two-thirty at the latest. It would be one of them calling to check on me. Maybe, just maybe, they’d come looking for me. I could only hope.

  “Ignore the phone,” Nora said. “We have more important things to discuss.”

  “And so do we,” came a deep voice from the open door. “Dr. Wright, you’re under arrest for the murders of Lindy and Floyd Bowden.” Sheriff Moore had his gun drawn. “Lower yourself slowly to the floor, hands behind your back.”

  As Nora had pointed out, I never did seem to get my breathing right during a panic attack. I passed out.

  Chapter 45

  The first person I saw was Michael, leaning over me as I lay...where was I? On one of the couches in the common area. I struggled to sit up.

  “No, honey, lie back down.” This was Corinne. “You don’t want to sit up too fast or you might faint again.” I craned my neck, trying to see her. Instead, I saw Richard and Opal Huffman, standing off to the side and looking terrified.

  “Nora,” I said. “Where is she?”

  “On her way to Huntington to be booked.” John’s voice this time. “Good Lord, sweetie, you certainly do take the prize for dysfunctional families.”

  In spite of everything, something about that struck me as funny and I laughed. “It’s nice to win at something,” I said. “Might as well be dysfunction.” I sat up again, this time more slowly. “Since I seem to have missed the end of the party, could someone please tell me what happened?”

  “You passed out right as my deputies were handcuffing Dr. Wright.” Sheriff Moore stepped into my line of vision and squatted in front of me. “You okay, Ms. McIntosh? We were just about to call an ambulance. I still think it might be a good idea.”

  I shook my head. “No need for an ambulance. It was just a panic attack. I’m used to them, although I can honestly say I’ve never passed out from one before. Then again, I’ve never found out that my half-sister killed my mother before, either.” Even saying it made me feel dizzy again. Michael gently eased me back down on the couch.

  “If you don’t mind, Sheriff,” I said, “I’ll listen from down here. And I’m sorry, by the way. I owe you one hell of an apology.”

  He smiled.
“Accepted. And just so you know, we’ve been investigating Dr. Wright for some time, thanks to a tip from Mr. and Mrs. Huffman. Richard, you want to fill her in on that part?”

  Richard Huffman pulled a chair up in front of me where the Sheriff had been squatting. I heard his knees crack when he sat down. “You remember I told you I kept up with you,” he said, and I nodded. “And,” he said, “you remember I told you I kept in touch with Sam Rogers, the investigator.” I nodded again.

  “Thing was,” he said, “when Rogers was finding out about that fire, seemed like there was some suspicions around it. Some of the folks in town thought there was more to it than was being told. It was early in the morning, just after sunup. Lenny Sue made it out fine and so did Leroy, even though they’d have both been sleeping when it started. Floyd Bowden was at work, getting an early start before that Arizona heat come down.

  “Couldn’t nobody seem to understand how it come about that Lindy didn’t make it out. It was only one section of the house that burned, over to where her and Floyd’s bedroom was at. If she’d gone back in looking for Leroy like Lenny Sue had said, it didn’t make no sense to some that she’d gone back to her own bedroom. What would have been the sense in that?

  “When they dug her body out, some folks said she had a cracked skull. Didn’t look like no furniture or nothing fell on her. Seemed odd to folks, but the police said it was accidental, said maybe she hit her head when she fell or something, and they closed the case. Lenny Sue had told them that Lindy run back in looking for Leroy, and I reckon that was enough for them. But them townfolks that had seen her body had some doubts.

  “That stuck with Rogers. That’s the kind of investigator he was, you see. He paid attention to them things. Then, ’bout the time you was getting started out there in Hollywood, Rogers heard that Floyd Bowden had died too, in an automobile accident. Seemed like a whole heap of tragedy on one family.

  “By that time, Rogers had spent so blamed much time trying to track you down and keep up with you that he got involved in it. We was close friends by then, me and Opal and him, and he started caring for himself how you was doing and what you was up to. He’d like to meet you sometime, if you’re ever feeling up to it.