A Dark Inheritance

by Chris D'Lacey

  “You can’t do that,” I said.

  She looked at me with a compassionate smile. “It’s harsh on Trace, I know, but …”

  “Wouldn’t Rafferty have wanted you to keep her?”

  That touched a nerve. She found a pack of cigarettes, shuffled one out and then thought better of it. “Bad habit,” she said. She tossed the pack aside. “You’re an interesting young man, Michael. Quite thoughtful for your age. Why aren’t you in school, by the way?”

  Luckily, I had an answer for that. “Um, I had a sinus infection and had to take some pills. I’m better now, but Mom says I have to finish out the prescription and she’s worried that —”

  “You’ll forget to take your pills at school?”

  “Or lose them.” Like Josie had once.

  Aileen smiled at the photograph of Rafferty. “The trials of being a mother.”

  Quite.

  She stood up and walked to the window, picking up a tiny watering can. “This Freya girl, how well do you know her?”

  “She’s in my class.”

  “Oh?” She held the can aside. “You know her quite well, then?”

  “Not really. She’s new. She’s a bit of a loner.”

  “Well, yes. That figures. But a classmate all the same?”

  “Hmm.” I nodded.

  She tended a potted plant on the far end of the table, nipping off dead leaves before she watered it. “Is it possible you could speak to her for us?”

  I took a drink of soda and made it last. “I could try — but I don’t think it would stop Trace looking for her.”

  “No, perhaps not.” She put down the watering can. “It’s not fair to drag you into it, anyway.”

  But I wanted to help her. I really did. Out of nowhere, I heard myself saying, “I could take Trace out for a walk, if you like?”

  Aileen’s dark eyes widened in surprise.

  “If Freya saw her with someone she knows, then …”

  I wasn’t sure where I was going with this, but I could see Aileen’s thoughts whirring as she stared into the middle distance of the living room. In an instant, she’d reached a decision. “Are you in a rush?”

  “Sorry?”

  “Do you have to be somewhere in the next half hour?”

  I glanced at my watch, ever wary of Chantelle’s warning. Twenty-five minutes had already slipped by. “No,” I said, a little uncertainly.

  “Then why don’t we walk Trace now?” She went to the kitchen. At the rattle of the leash, Trace was off the sofa with her ears fully pricked.

  Aileen clipped the leash to the end of a choke chain. “A note of caution, Michael: Huskies are incredibly strong. She weighs the better part of forty pounds and will take your arms out of the sockets if you let her. Don’t be afraid to show her who’s boss. They were used as sled dogs in the Arctic. Their handlers beat them if they got unruly.” She crouched down and ruffled Trace’s fur. “Yes, madam, I’m talking about you.”

  I looked at the dog. Well fed. Muscular. I wouldn’t have bet on my chances in a fight.

  Aileen reached into the hall for a jacket. “It’s a great idea to let you walk her. We’ll take her to the coast, well away from the village. You can hold her and get to know how she pulls. How does that sound?”

  Apart from the fact that Mom would disown me if she knew what I was doing, it felt really neat to pick up that leash. “Ace,” I said.

  Aileen pulled on a woolly hat. “Excellent. Let’s get some sea air.”

  She wasn’t wrong about huskies. My upper arm felt like taut elastic as I reined Trace back and forth to keep her at heel. Be firm with her, Aileen advised. I tried, but Trace was either deaf or immune. The dog was walking me, not the other way around. The moment we steered away from the houses, she plotted her own course toward the sea.

  “She’s heading for the shelters,” Aileen said, though we couldn’t quite see them yet. They were built into the humps and hollows of the headland and were visible only looking inland from the cliff.

  “Shall we go there?”

  “Do you think she’s got wind of the girl?”

  I shook my head. “Freya should be at school.”

  Should be.

  So we let Trace lead us to the first of the buildings, a sturdy shell made of brick that had once been a lookout for an invasion by sea. There was nothing in it now, no guns or other relics, just a groaning wooden bench where people came to sit and lovers carved their names and smokers discarded their cigarette butts. I let Trace sniff around in the corners. There was nothing to find. Not even the ghost of Rafferty Nolan.

  I was looking down at the compass settings carved into a worn gray flagstone by our feet, when Aileen said, “She watched sunsets from here.”

  “Rafferty?”

  “Yes.”

  We both sat down, Aileen in a huddle with her hands in her pockets, nibbling the zipper of her designer jacket. It was cold in the shelter, out of the sun. I wrapped Trace’s leash several times around my wrist, but the dog seemed content now to sit and pant. “Aileen, can I ask you something? When I caught her that morning, where on the coastline was she, do you know?”

  She moved her gaze sideways toward me. “Don’t you?”

  “It was misty. I wasn’t really paying attention.”

  “Well, you should have been. You picked her up near the landslide site.” She nodded eastward. “There’s been some erosion lately. One or two rockfalls. You didn’t see the warning signs?”

  “No.”

  “Good grief, your poor mother. Bad enough your running to the edge of the cliff, but to pick the most dangerous area as well? No wonder they said you’re superhuman.” She patted my arm and gave it a squeeze. “It was a very brave thing you did, Michael, and thank you, officially, for rescuing our dog, but let the police handle it next time, okay?”

  A young gull, still brown in its feathers, toddled by, calling out for its mother. Trace rumbled, deep in her throat.

  “Light snack,” said Aileen, making me laugh.

  I reached out and stroked the dog’s black-and-white head. “Why did Trace go there?”

  “To the landslide?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have absolutely no idea. As I said, she’s not been herself lately.”

  “Do you mind if we go and look?”

  She pulled in her shoulders and shuddered. “Well, I admit I’d be happier back in the sun, but should we really be going up there?”

  “I only want to see it. I just …”

  “Boy thing. I know. I had four brothers, all of them crazy. Aries, I’m telling you, ruled by Mars. That daredevil streak is in your stars, young man. Do you like roller coasters?”

  “No, not really.” I’d been sick on one once, in Josie’s lap. She’d refused to go to amusement parks with me ever since.

  “Rafferty did. She used to scare us rigid with her extreme rides and bungee jumps. She was keen to do a parachute leap. Would you like doing that?”

  “I don’t like heights.”

  She smiled and tapped my knee. “Says the boy who wants to go lurking near the cliff. All right. Keep a tight hold of Trace.”

  She jumped up smartly and Trace did the same, practically yanking me off the bench.

  As we walked, the sun dipped behind a cloud. Trace was much calmer now and not treating me like an Inuit sled. Aileen said, “You’re doing well with her.”

  “She’s cool. I really like her.”

  “Good. I’m glad.” We walked in silence for a few more steps. Then she said, “Can I ask you something? It’s rather personal.”

  I shrugged and said, “Yes. Sure.”

  “You said your father went away a few years ago. Are you the son of Thomas Malone, the salesman who disappeared abroad?”

  I looked down at my feet. “You know about it, then?”

  “Only what I remember from the papers. I don’t suppose there has been any news?”

  And I had to answer no. Yet here she was, maybe part of the
puzzle.

  “I’d love to see his astrological chart,” she said.

  A cold shiver ran around my neck. I thought I heard my name being squealed on the wind and was so shocked I almost let go of Trace.

  “Michael? Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” I said quickly. I tightened the leash and pulled Trace back. I looked at Aileen and nodded. “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry,” she sighed. “I shouldn’t have said that. I wouldn’t want you to think you could use astrology to predict what might have happened to your father.”

  “It’s okay. I understand.” So why did I feel like my hopes had been dashed? “Why would you want to see his chart, anyway?”

  She moved a wisp of hair from across her lips. “Oh, I don’t know. Curiosity, I suppose. It’s what astrologers do. We look at the charts of our loved ones first, then move on to the planets of historical figures, then we start applying what insights we’ve gained to the people around us, trying to figure out what makes them tick. It’s not an exact science. Most of it’s done by instinct, to be honest.”

  “Have you looked at Rafferty’s chart?”

  “Oh, yes, many times. She mirrored her aspects beautifully, Rafferty did. So much Neptune in that girl’s chart.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Artistic. Spiritual. Highly imaginative. She was drawn to all things mystical. Dragons. UFOs. Reincarnation. She and Liam were always arguing about it. He’s a down-to-earth, practical man who believes the world is what it is, and nothing more. He wanted Rafferty to follow him into the medical profession, but all she ever talked about was running a chain of health food shops and living in Paris, drawing portraits of old ladies.”

  “Old ladies?”

  Aileen laughed and shook her hair back over her shoulders. “She liked their faces. She was a talented artist as well as a promising musician. Sorry, I’m sounding like the awful mother on parents’ night who can’t stop boasting about her little princess.”

  “It’s okay.”

  She patted my arm. “Thank you, whether you meant it or not.” She pointed directly ahead. “There.”

  In the distance was a bright red DANGER sign, wavering gently in the breeze. The area had not been cordoned off, but other walkers were staying well clear of it. “Will you hold Trace for me? I want to go nearer.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she said.

  I slipped the leash off my wrist. “There must be a reason why Trace was here that morning. I just want to get a closer look. If I stand on that ridge, I can see down, okay?” I pointed at a grassy hump some ten yards back from the edge.

  “Promise me you won’t do anything silly.”

  “Promise,” I said, and handed her the dog.

  I ran up the ridge, only slowing when I heard Aileen shouting, “Be careful!” I looked back and raised a hand in acknowledgment.

  I mounted the ridge and looked over the cliff. It was one of those areas that didn’t fall sheer to the rocks on the beach below but swelled out into a thick nub of land, dotted with a few bits of vegetation. I could see where part of the cliffside had collapsed, leaving a mound of sandstone rubble shoring up the frothing sea. Some twenty feet down was an old viewing platform, bound by rusted railings. The steps to it were overgrown with lichens and moss, but a few were still visible through the scrub. Before the rockfall, it would have been safe to access. Now it was gated off with many more signs. And that’s when a small truth came to me. Suddenly, I knew why Trace had been here. She wasn’t going to jump off the cliff at all; she was going to jump the gate to the viewing platform — because someone must have been down there that morning….

  Suddenly, my breathing quickened and I seemed to have a minor reality shift. The sky grew unnaturally dark and a shower of fine rain closed in around me. From the fingers of creeping mist, my mind made a figure on the viewing platform. A girl with dark hair and milk-white hands, looking down at the killing sea.

  “Rafferty …” I whispered.

  The figure turned.

  There was blood congealing from a wound to her temple, sticking her hair to the side of her face. But that wasn’t what made my stomach lurch. As she turned around fully, she reached out and I saw her clearly.

  It wasn’t the girl in the picture in the house.

  It was Freya Zielinski.

  I told Aileen there was nothing at the landslide site, no clues as to why Trace should have been there.

  “What were you hoping to find?” she asked. She looked back at the barriers and then again at me.

  “I don’t know. But there was nothing. Just … rocks and weeds.” I shrugged and took hold of Trace’s leash.

  We walked away in silence, the wind at our backs. A couple of times Aileen glanced my way, but we were almost at the cottages before she spoke. “You like her, don’t you?”

  “Who, Trace?”

  “Trace, yes — but I meant Freya.”

  I reeled Trace in and handed her over. “How did you know I was thinking about Freya?”

  “Mother’s instinct,” she said with a smile. She held Trace close, patting the dog’s neck. “Rafferty would have liked you, Michael. She always favored thoughtful boys.”

  I nodded, unsure of what to say. My head was still on that viewing platform. I couldn’t put aside the horrible thought that Freya had been facing the sea that morning, ready to throw herself into the water. What could drive a girl her age to want to commit such a dreadful act? I looked at Aileen, who was still expecting a response to her statement. “Did Rafferty have a boyfriend?”

  She laughed at that. “One or two. They never lasted long.”

  “Why? She sounds nice.”

  She smiled and traced a circle on the ground with her toe. “You’ve never been introduced to a girl’s parents, have you?”

  I shook my head.

  “Well, when the time comes, remember this advice: Fathers are very protective of their daughters.”

  “You mean Liam scared them off?”

  “Doused them in flame and blew their ashes across the sea would be a more accurate description. Rafferty didn’t live long enough to really enjoy the company of boys, but very few would have gotten past Liam.”

  I stood up straight. “I wish I could have met her.”

  “Me, too,” Aileen said. “Me, too. I miss her terribly, as I’m sure you miss your father. But we’re healing slowly, even Trace.” She squeezed the dog’s ear. “At least some good did come from her death. I can always take comfort from that.”

  “Some good?” I asked.

  But she’d turned her head toward the road. “Do you know that young woman?”

  I heard the thrum of a scooter engine.

  Oh, heck! The time!

  Chantelle was there with the motor running, keeping the scooter steady with her feet. I was ninety seconds over the hour, and ticking. “Um, yes. She’s come to pick me up — I hope.”

  “You hope?”

  She didn’t know Chantelle. I had visions of me getting within five yards of the scooter and her leaving me choking in a cloud of exhaust.

  “She looks a bit impatient. You’d better hurry.”

  I took a hesitant step toward the road. “You said something just now.”

  “I did? What was that?”

  “Something about Rafferty doing good when she died.”

  “Oh … I’ll explain next time. You go.”

  But a “next time” might not be so easy to arrange. I shifted my balance back toward Aileen.

  Chantelle thrummed the engine again.

  Final warning. I had to leave. Now.

  “I’ll be in touch, I promise. I’ll talk to Freya.” I skipped away backward.

  “Go,” Aileen laughed, and waved me away.

  I skidded down the last piece of grass to the bike.

  Chantelle said, “You have fifteen seconds to clean your shoes.”

  I dug out a tissue and wiped off the mud. “Why are you always so mean to me?” />
  “You’re late,” she said. “I am being kind. What have you learned from the Nolan woman?”

  “Not much. Her husband, Liam, is a brute, and I think Freya wants to kill herself.”

  “She told you this? The woman?”

  “No, it’s just a theory.”

  “And these things are connected?”

  “I don’t know — possibly.”

  “This is not progress. Klimt will not be pleased.”

  I put on the helmet, and climbed onto the scooter. “Klimt won’t be giving up on me now. Something bad is spooking Freya. I’m gonna find out what it is, whether UNICORNE helps me or not. Will you take me to the Holton Post?”

  “Why?”

  “I want to talk to Candy Streetham — about a girl called Rafferty Nolan.”

  She bypassed Holton and took me straight home. Apparently, Mom had called her while I was out, wanting to know if I was behaving myself. Chantelle had covered for me but feared Mom might drop in at lunch to make sure. I realized then why Chantelle had waited. Her threat to make me walk was an idle one. If Mom had come home and found me AWOL, Chantelle would have been in trouble as well. She would also have to answer to Klimt. Rock and a hard place, as people like to say. It was in her best interests to get me back swiftly.

  As it happened, Mom didn’t come home for lunch, but Chantelle still wouldn’t grant my request. She said I needed to be sure that Candy would be free and got me the number of the paper instead.

  “Arrange a meeting for tomorrow.” She threw me the phone. “And get the timing right.”

  I dialed the number. “I could just talk to her.”

  “She will want to see you. They always do. Make sure it’s in an open space.”

  The telephone clicked. A receptionist asked which extension I wanted. I gave her Candy’s name. The receptionist said, “Putting you through.” She was replaced by a tinny snatch of classical music. The phone clicked again and a man’s voice said, “Newsroom.”