Secrets of Redemption Box Set

by Michele Pariza Wacek

  No, IF (and it was a big IF) I had to go back to work, it wouldn’t be for very long.

  Daphne stirred her tea and looked out the window. “That’s a bummer you aren’t painting. I always loved your work. But, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you aren’t. None of us are doing what we thought we would be. Everything changed that night you … Jessica …” she trailed off.

  “Oh God, Daphne.” I dropped my mug with a clatter, my hands rising to cover my mouth. “What must you think of me? I’m so sorry I never reached out to let you know I was okay after that night. I should have …”

  “I’m not here for an apology,” Daphne gently interrupted me. “Besides, there’s nothing to be sorry about. We knew you were alive; your aunt told us. And, after that night, I don’t think anyone blamed you for not coming back. Especially with all the questions swirling around about what happened to Jessica.”

  “So, no one knows what happened to her still?”

  Daphne shook her head. “Nope. But that doesn’t mean everyone doesn’t have an opinion. There are those, not many but a few, who still believe she just ran away and someday will just reappear—walk into Aunt May’s with some really good explanation about why it’s been fifteen years and she couldn’t pick up the phone or drop a postcard into the mail to let everyone know she’s okay. But they’re the minority. Most people don’t think she’s coming back.”

  She paused, and her eyes drifted to the window. I found myself wanting to ask what she thought happened to Jessica, but the words seemed to stick in my throat. The silence stretched out into something unrecognizable. As much as I wanted to break it, a part of me felt like I would be intruding on a deeply-private and personal pain, so I stayed quiet, instead picking up my cup to swallow some rapidly-cooling tea. Right as it touched my lips, a particularly loud creak from above startled me, and I spilled it instead.

  Daphne looked up at me, the strange spell seemingly broken, a mischievous grin on her face. “I see Mad Martha is still alive and well.”

  Something dreadful stirred inside me. I sucked in my breath. “Mad Martha?”

  She looked at me incredulously. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember? We have our own little haunted house here in Redemption, and you’re living in it!”

  A wisp of white nightgown disappearing into Chrissy’s room.

  All of a sudden, pieces began to click together, and I really didn’t like the picture they were creating. I especially didn’t like all the holes in that picture. I needed someone to help me fill in those holes and tell me what I had forgotten.

  I eyed Daphne. Could she be that person? I wasn’t particularly proud of what had happened that night, nor did I like talking about it, but if I wanted help with the holes in my memory, I was going to have to tell someone.

  And, besides, with the way Daphne and I were connecting right now, it was like we had picked up exactly where we had left off fifteen years ago. “I lost my memory.”

  Daphne blinked at me. “You what?”

  I smiled self-consciously. “Yeah, sounds sort of stupid, out loud like that.”

  “Not stupid,” Daphne corrected, pressing her lips together thoughtfully. “Just … surprising. I wasn’t expecting you to say that. How much do you remember?”

  “It’s slowly coming back. In bits and pieces.”

  “What happened?”

  I swallowed. “After that night,” I didn’t need to tell her which night I was talking about, “after they … stabilized me, they ended up moving me to a psychiatric ward.” I couldn’t meet her eyes. I was still pretty humiliated about that time in my life. “I was … pretty hysterical. I’m not sure how long I stayed in the hospital, but by the time they discharged me, I had blanked out the entire summer. Actually, I pretty much lost all memories of all my visits here.”

  I sneaked a glance at Daphne. She was looking at me with such compassion, I could feel my eyes start to tear up. I hurried to continue my story. “The doctors said the amnesia was probably temporary and my memories would eventually return, but they recommended I work with a therapist. My mother, on the other hand, thought my amnesia was a gift from God, and did everything she could to keep my memory blocked. Everyone was forbidden to talk to me about that summer, or my aunt, or really anything that could trigger my memory. I wasn’t shown pictures. I was told to put it all out of my mind.”

  I paused, drew my finger through the puddle of my spilled tea on the table. “And, God help me, a part of me wanted that, too.”

  Daphne reached out and squeezed my hand. “So, you went along with it.”

  I nodded. “It wasn’t until we got back here that my memory started returning. I thought it had all returned, except for that night, but I guess there’s still some holes.”

  “You must remember that one party by the lake, right? The one where we went through a couple of cases of beer and ended up skinny-dipping?” She took one look at my face and burst out laughing. “No, that never happened. At least, not the skinny-dipping part.”

  I sagged in my seat. “I can hear everyone in Redemption breathing a sigh of relief.”

  She laughed. “Oh stop. You were so cute. No one would be breathing a sigh of relief.”

  “Not like if it happened now, of course.”

  Daphne playfully punched me in the arm. “That’s not what I meant. Anyway, I’m not entirely surprised you don’t remember that night. You were pretty wasted the last time I saw you. But I didn’t know you had blanked out the whole summer as well.”

  I blinked. “You were with me that night?”

  She nodded. “We all were. We were having a farewell party. Summer was pretty much over. You were going back to New York in a few days. Jessica and Mia were supposed to leave the next day for California. They were going to be staying with some of Jessica’s cousins. I think they were cousins—they were related somehow to Jessica. She wanted to scope out the modeling scene. Remember how much she wanted to be a model? And Mia was going to go to school at Stanford. I’m still not sure how they actually planned to be in California together, since Jessica really needed to be in LA for modeling and Stanford is up in the Bay area, but they had some complicated plan worked out.”

  “And then Jessica’s mom cancelled the trip,” I said suddenly.

  Daphne half-smiled. “Ah, so you remember.”

  I shook my head. “No, not really. It’s still a black hole. But, I can remember that. How furious Jessica was.”

  And, boy, was she furious. Jessica was drop dead gorgeous—long, silky blonde hair with the perfect peaches-and-cream complexion and large, green eyes fringed with long, black lashes. But that day she was in such a rage, her skin was colored by two spots of red, high up on her cheekbones. I remember thinking how unfair it was that even a furious Jessica was a beautiful Jessica.

  “Why did her mom cancel?” I asked.

  Daphne shook her head. “I don’t know. I think it had something to do with Jessica’s uncle leaving town without a word all those years ago. We must have told you about that, how Jessica’s mother had a huge fight with her brother and he just up and left. Never heard from him again. Anyway, I can’t quite remember exactly what happened—I wish I did, but after the entire night blew up with you almost dying, and Jessica disappearing, and Mia upset, it went out of my head.”

  The pieces continued to click together inside my mind, and I found myself saying, “And then, when Jessica didn’t show up at her cousin’s …”

  Daphne nodded. “You got it. Then, we knew something happened to her. But what? Was it as simple as her not going to her cousin’s after all? Or did something happen to her while she was on the road? And why didn’t she at least tell Mia she was leaving?”

  I fiddled with my mug. “So, what happened then?”

  “We got the police involved, and they investigated but didn’t find anything. It certainly looked as if she just up and l
eft—her clothes were gone, but where she went, no one knows. Her mother hired a private investigator as well, but he didn’t have any more luck than the police. It was like she just vanished into thin air.”

  There was another creak upstairs, this one sounding exactly like the footsteps that had kept me up the night before.

  Footsteps.

  A wisp of white nightgown disappearing into Chrissy’s room.

  Mad Martha.

  Jessica vanishing.

  I shivered. “Maybe a ghost got her.”

  Daphne smiled. “Don’t think that wasn’t a popular theory back then. Actually, come to think about it, there’s probably more than a few folks who still believe that’s what happened to her. Mad Martha on the prowl, or maybe Nellie.”

  “Nellie?”

  Daphne shook her head. “I guess you really don’t remember.” She sat back in her chair, straightened her back and got a serious look on her face. “Listen up. It’s story time and Aunt Daphne is going to tell you all about it.”

  I smiled despite myself, even though on the inside I was feeling colder and colder.

  “A Mr. Edward Blackstone built this house for his lovely, blushing bride, Martha. Edward had made a bunch of money in something, manufacturing? Or maybe it was railroads? I can’t remember. Anyway, Martha and Edward moved in, and all seemed well for years, until they hired a young maid named Nellie. By all accounts, Nellie was strikingly beautiful, and it didn’t take too long for her to catch Edward’s eye.”

  Daphne paused for effect and swirled the leftover tea in her cup. It was probably as cold as mine, but I was too transfixed to get up for more hot water. “It’s not really clear what the relationship was between Nellie and Edward. Some say they were having a full-blown affair; some say the attraction was all on Edward’s side and Nellie didn’t return Edward’s, ahem, affections. Still others say Nellie was the one who was doing all the flirting, to get Edward to leave his wife for her. And some say absolutely nothing was going on, and it was all in Martha’s head.”

  “But, regardless of what the truth was between Edward and Nellie, everyone agrees that one night, Martha just snapped. She killed Nellie. Stabbed her with a kitchen knife in one of the rooms upstairs. Then she killed herself.”

  I sucked in my breath, the cold inside me shifting to something dark and nasty. “Killed herself?”

  “Hung herself.”

  I closed my eyes briefly. “Oh God, that’s horrible.”

  Daphne nodded. “And ever since, both Martha and Nellie are said to haunt this old place.” She made a broad, sweeping gesture with her hand.

  I shivered again, seeing what I thought was a white nightgown disappear into Chrissy’s bedroom.

  She noticed my shiver and smiled. “And that story is even spookier at night.”

  I half-smiled, trying to shake the sense of uneasiness that was growing more intense by the minute. I was missing something, something big—I could feel it. It was right there on the tip of my tongue, like a word that kept sliding out of my mouth’s grasp, but I just couldn’t put my finger on it.

  Maybe Daphne would know—after all, this could be another lost piece of my memory that my mind hadn’t decided to cough up yet. Maybe I should ask her, and while I was at it, I could even tell her about the pacing I heard, and what I saw disappearing into Chrissy’s room. If nothing else, maybe we could have a good laugh over it, and that would deflate the anxiousness inside me.

  But as I was opening my mouth to tell her, she glanced over at the clock above the stove. “Oh, I didn’t realize it was so late. I should probably get going—my mom will wonder what happened.”

  I got up with her, not sure if I welcomed or resented the distraction. Did I really want to talk about it?

  At the door, she hugged me again. “I’m really glad you’re back. Come by anytime. I’m still just around the corner, practically your neighbor.”

  Neighbor? Suddenly I remembered what Mia had said this morning. “Wait a minute. You’re still living at home with your mom?”

  I regretted my words the instant they were out of my mouth, but Daphne simply smiled sadly. “Yeah. What would our sixteen-year-old selves have thought if they could see us now?” She squeezed my arm. “I really do need to get going. My mom, well … she’s not well. It’s easier if I’m home.”

  Daphne living at home … Mia a waitress at a coffee shop … Daniel a cop. The weight of that night, the night Jessica disappeared, draped over me, suffocating me. I had thought that night had ruined my life.

  Jessica’s disappearance had ruined an entire town.

  I looked at Daphne, her plain face full of compassion and sadness, her kind eyes, and at that moment I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be. “I’m glad I’m back, too,” I said, and I meant it. Even though I knew it was only temporary, it didn’t mean I couldn’t connect and rekindle our friendship while I was here. “And the next time we talk, I definitely want to hear what happened to everyone. Although today I guess I’ll get a head start with Daniel.”

  Daphne cocked her head. “Daniel? What do you mean?”

  “He’s stopping over, later today. Wants to talk to me. Wouldn’t say about what.” I rolled my eyes as I said it. “We just got here yesterday, so we couldn’t possibly have done anything wrong. At least not yet.”

  She stared at me, her eyes suddenly serious. “He’s coming here? No, he couldn’t possibly … “ She looked away as her voice trailed off.

  Suddenly, I had trouble breathing. The sick, uneasy feeling rose up like bile in my throat, and I forced myself to swallow it back down. “What? Do you know something?”

  She squared herself and looked back at me. “I keep forgetting—you don’t remember. Becca, Jessica was here that night. Our farewell party was here.”

  The room suddenly shifted. I felt dizzy and lightheaded. “Here?” I found myself asking, my voice sounding far away.

  Daphne nodded slowly. “Yes. This was the last place she was seen before she disappeared. And you were the last person to see her.”

  Chapter 5

  I sat on the couch for a while after Daphne left, trying not to hyperventilate or pass out. I was dizzy and nauseous, and could feel the edges of a panic attack starting to overwhelm me. Worse, my head was beginning to pound again.

  What did it mean that Jessica was at the house that night? And that I was the last one to see her?

  It certainly couldn’t mean I had anything to do with her disappearance … could it?

  Absolutely not, I told myself firmly. After all, according to Daphne, I had already been pretty wasted. For heaven’s sake, I had ended up in the hospital almost dying from alcohol poisoning. I wouldn’t have been in any shape to do anything to anyone.

  Then why were you hysterical in the hospital anytime anyone brought up that night? a little voice asked (a pretty nasty little voice, I might add). What would you have to be hysterical about?

  I had no answer. Just that growing sense of unease—that there was something very wrong going on, along with that gnawing feeling that I was missing something important.

  What I probably needed was some food. It was well past lunchtime, after all. Food and maybe another cup of tea. That would help me get back on track.

  I went into the kitchen, put the kettle back on and pulled out the gluten-free wraps Chrissy had talked me into buying at the store. I had no idea what they would taste like but, well, they were gluten-free, which seemed to satisfy Chrissy. I assembled turkey, provolone, avocado, lettuce, and tomato for two—even if Chrissy didn’t want something, we could have it later.

  I called Chrissy, made tea, and sat at the kitchen table to eat.

  Chrissy eventually appeared, wolfing down her wrap and announcing she was going out. As I tried to decide on the correct response—do I insist she stay to help me unpack, or grill her on where she was g
oing and when she would be back? —she disappeared out the door.

  I sighed. Maybe it was easier that way.

  I finished my wrap (feeling a lot better once I had some food in my stomach) and jumped back into cleaning with my music turned up.

  A sudden pounding startled me, and I banged my head against one of the cabinets. Swearing under my breath, I sat back on my heels and realized how late it had gotten. The sun was setting, and dark shadows stretched across the kitchen.

  The pounding started up again, and I almost fell over trying to get to my feet.

  It was Daniel. He was standing at the backdoor, rapping on the glass, his face shadowed by the setting sun. I turned off the music and flipped on the light before heading over to let him in. The backdoor was in the mudroom, which housed a big, rust-stained sink and the ancient-looking washer and dryer—hopefully they both still worked. While I could hang things outside in a pinch, I really didn’t want to buy a new washer right now. The working surface still had traces of dirt and extra plant pots stacked on it.

  I kicked a bunch of mismatched boots and shoes out of the way before reaching for the knob. The door stuck, and I had to fight with it for a few long seconds before wrenching it open. A cool breeze blew in, making me feel grimy. I was again aware of the fact that I was in need of a shower. It didn’t help that Daniel looked pressed and composed, in his clean uniform.

  “You didn’t answer your front door,” he said.

  I held the door open even wider, gesturing him inside. “Sorry, I didn’t hear it. Unpacking.”

  I led him back through the mudroom, past the closed door to the basement, and into the kitchen, where he stopped in the doorway. “Wow,” he said, looking around. “Feels like old times.”