I was starting to feel sick again. “Dreams?”
“Yeah, she kept dreaming about her uncle. You know, Uncle Jesse? The one she’s named after? The one who disappeared before she was born. Jesse and her mom had gotten into a huge fight, and Jesse just up and left. They never heard from him again, never saw him again. He just, well, disappeared. That’s why her mom had a nervous breakdown after Jessica disappeared—they’d also had a huge fight, and then Jessica was gone. It was like history repeating itself.”
“I didn’t realize. Oh my God, that’s awful.”
Mia nodded, swallowing more food. “Yeah, it really was. So anyway, Jessica had been dreaming about Jesse. I guess he was warning her, telling her to be careful. Something about the evil that had been done? Or something like that. I can’t remember exactly. She didn’t talk much about those dreams, but it was clear they were freaking her out.”
You know. The evil that was done. I shivered as the air conditioning blasted me. “I still don’t understand why she would go berserk.”
“Because she assumed those dreams were signs that she needed to leave. So, any pushback she got, from her mom, from Rich, just agitated her even more.”
“Sooo ... maybe Jessica DID leave that night? If she was really convinced her dreams were telling her to go.”
Mia shook her head violently. “No. She would have told me.”
“But she had a lot to drink. She may not have been rational ...”
Mia slammed her hand against the table so hard the dishes rattled. Coffee sloshed out of my cup. “No! You don’t understand!”
Shocked into silence, all I could do was stare at her.
Mia closed her eyes for a moment, as if to collect herself. “No,” she said more quietly. “You don’t understand. We were close. She would never do that to me. Besides, the clothes were all wrong.”
“Clothes?”
She flapped her hand. “There was a suitcase missing, along with some of her clothes. That’s why I couldn’t convince the detective to investigate. He said she ran away. But the clothes that were missing—they weren’t clothes she would take. That awful blue and black striped shirt from her grandmother was missing, but her favorite silky pink top was still hanging in the closet. The wrong jeans were gone. The shoes! Oh my God, those were all wrong too—what was left and what was gone. I could go on, but it was obvious to me that she wasn’t the one who had done the packing.”
My mind was racing. “Wait. Are you saying someone else broke in and took some of Jessica’s clothes to make it look like she had run away?”
Mia slumped against the booth. “I know. It sounds crazy. There was no sign of a break-in. Jessica’s mother had been home all night and didn’t hear anything strange. Although …” Mia’s expression darkened. “Jessica’s mother did like her sleeping pills.”
“So, maybe someone did break in.”
Mia shook her head. “I asked. She swore she hadn’t taken any pills that night. But … well. To me, someone breaking in is the only explanation that makes any sense.”
“But that would mean someone ...” I couldn’t finish my thought.
Someone who knew her took her.
Or killed her.
Mia nodded. “I know.”
“It had to be someone she knew. Someone who knew where she lived and which room was hers.”
“I know. Why do you think no one takes me seriously? No one wants to believe it was someone from this town. A friend. A neighbor. Everyone would rather believe that if anything did happen to Jessica, it must have been a stranger who did it. Not someone she knew … someone we all knew.” She dropped her gaze to her plate. “Someone who is still here.” Her voice was so low, I wondered if she had actually said it or if I had just imagined it.
I didn’t ask. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
We were quiet for a moment. Mia moved her sandwich around on the plate. I thought about what it meant if Mia was right and someone else had packed Jessica’s clothes.
I also thought about how no one believed Mia’s theory … and what that meant.
“The other thing that really stands out for me about that night is how sick I got,” Mia said, picking up her sandwich to continue eating, her voice back to normal, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened—as if we weren’t just talking about personally knowing a murderer.
“I know everyone thinks it was from the alcohol and I was just drunk, but it was more than that. I’ve been so drunk I’ve thrown up before. This was different. My stomach didn’t feel right. It was just so strange.”
“Was there anything that wasn’t strange that night?”
Mia let out a bark of laughter. “That’s true. And what a crappy way to end the night. Me sitting there sick and alone in your aunt’s backyard while Daphne goes off to find you in the woods ...”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Daphne went into the woods? After me?”
“Well, I assume it was after you but maybe she was going after Jessica. She didn’t tell me. She just said she’d be back in a minute and she headed off to the woods.”
My mind was whirling. Did Daphne lie to me? Why would she do that?
Or was Mia mistaken? Or ... lying?
“Are you sure she went into the woods? And not the house?”
Mia frowned before taking another bite of her sandwich. “No, I’m pretty sure I saw her head off to the woods. Why does it matter so much?”
I realized I was leaning forward, and forced myself to sit back and relax against the seat. “It doesn’t. I’m just ... confused is all. It’s difficult to try and sort out what’s real from what’s not.”
Mia nodded, swirling the last few fries in the ketchup and popping them in her mouth. “Yeah, it’s got to suck to not remember. And it’s so odd you haven’t recovered your memories yet.”
“Tell me about it.”
She glanced behind her at the clock on the wall. “Break’s over. Better get back to work.” She started to slide out of the booth. “Did anything I tell you help? Are you remembering anything?”
I shook my head. “Not yet. But I’ll keep trying. Oh, and what do I owe you for the coffee?” I started digging into my purse for my wallet, but Mia waved it away.
“My treat. For keeping me company during my break.”
“Thanks.” I slid out, too. Mia gave me a quick hug. “Would you do me a favor?”
“Sure?”
She started busing the table, her movements quick and efficient. “Would you tell me?” She lifted her face and looked directly into my eyes. “Once you remember. Will you tell me?”
“Of course,” I said, surprised. “How could you think I wouldn’t?”
She busied herself clearing off the table. “No reason, really.” She let out a self- conscious laugh. “I guess ... well, I’m just being silly. All those years, no one believed me about the clothes. And I’m wondering if ... well, it doesn’t matter anymore, does it?”
“You’ll be the first,” I promised. Whatever I could do to take the pain in Mia’s eyes away—that same pain that kept her working at a diner in the town she swore she would leave as soon as she could—I’d do.
She looked up and smiled, a real smile, before she bustled away with the dishes. I slipped my purse over my shoulder and headed to the door, my mind whirling with everything I had learned that day.
Had Jessica been taken against her will that night? Or was Mia wrong about the clothes?
What were Rich and Jessica fighting about?
Who was lying to me?
And why?
Chapter 7
I got out of my car and studied the neat, two-story ranch house in front of me. Everything about it was picture perfect, from the bright yellow siding to the trimmed bushes, mowed lawn, and carefully-weeded flowerbeds.
Of course Pat would live in a h
ouse like that.
The only thing that seemed out of place was the tightly-drawn curtains, especially on a day as beautiful as this one. It was bright and breezy, 70 degrees with low humidity—couldn’t get much better, for a Wisconsin summer day.
It had been a busy couple of days. Between getting caught up on my household duties and figuring out Pat’s tea recipe, I hadn’t had a lot of time to think about the night Jessica disappeared, although questions would pop into my head at odd moments.
Did Jessica run away? Or was she taken? Or ... worse?
Why was I having so much trouble with my memory? What was blocking me? Did I actually see something that night that could have changed the outcome? Is that why I couldn’t remember, because I felt guilty subconsciously? Or was something else going on?
And what was I going to do about Daphne? The more I thought about it, the more I felt like Mia was probably telling me the truth, or at least the truth as she remembered it. Of course, she may have been so sick that she wasn’t remembering correctly. But there was something about Mia’s manner and body language that felt truthful.
So, what to do about Daphne? Tell her Mia has a different version of events? Try and trick her to see if she’s lying to me? Or just forget about it because it’s not really all that important?
Luckily, she hadn’t stopped by, so I didn’t have to make any decisions on how to handle it. Yet.
I stepped on to the swept porch and rang the doorbell. And waited.
What if she wasn’t home? I probably should have called first. But, as I was already out and about, I figured I would just stop by.
I rang the doorbell again as I cast my eyes around the porch. Could I just leave the tea here? Behind that giant pot of geraniums?
I heard a shuffling on the other side of the door. I looked up, expecting it to open, but still nothing.
“Pat,” I called out, knocking on the door. “Pat? Are you home? It’s Becca. Charlie’s niece. I have your tea.”
More shuffling. Then, slowly, I heard the locks click open and the door creak. An eye peered out at me.
“Pat?” I held out the package. “I brought you your tea.” I was starting to get a very bad feeling.
The door slid open wider and I gasped. I couldn’t help myself. “Pat? Are you okay? Do you need help?’”
She looked like she had aged ten years since I had seen her last. Her hair hung in greasy strings around her ashen face. Blue-black circles bruised her eyes, and the wrinkles in her face seemed to have deepened. Actually, her whole face had hollowed out, as if she wasn’t eating properly and had suddenly lost weight. Her faded blue robe was wrinkled and covered with stains.
She stuck her head out, peering quickly from side to side, and my head snapped back. The stench wafting off her was overwhelming. I wondered when she had last showered.
Sticking a hand out, she gestured at me. “Quickly. Come in now.”
Ugh. I really didn’t want to be trapped in a house with her and that awful stench, but what if she really needed help? I had to. Hopefully, in a few minutes, I would be nose-blind, and it wouldn’t be a big deal. Breathing shallowly out of my mouth, I eased my way into the house.
Pat slammed the door behind me and quickly relocked all the locks. For a moment, I started to feel claustrophobic, trapped in this dark, airless, stinky house with a crazy woman.
I was standing in what appeared to be an old-fashioned sitting room, all pink floral and ornate, carved wood. The couch stiffly faced the two chairs, none looking terribly comfortable. Knick knacks and family photos were stuffed in every nook and cranny. As far as I could tell in the dim light, there wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere.
Without acknowledging me, she turned and shuffled toward the back of the house. Not sure what else to do, I followed her.
She led me into an equally spotless kitchen, which to my relief, was more open than the living room. The gauzy, flowered, yellow curtains let in a lot of sun, lighting up the entire room.
“Tea?” Without waiting for an answer, she started bustling around the stove. I sat down at the kitchen table, next to a cluster of very large, very green potted plants flanking a door I assumed led to the basement. More plants hung near the windows. It appeared all Pat did all day was take care of her plants and clean her house. While she was doing an excellent job at both, it might behoove her to spend a little of that time and energy on herself.
She brought the tea to the table, along with cream and sugar and a plate of cookies and sat down heavily in front of me. She pushed the cookies toward me. “You’re too skinny. You could use a cookie.”
Well, that sounded more like the Pat I had first met, although sitting here in the bright sunny kitchen, she looked like she could use the cookie more than me.
“I have your tea,” I said, pushing the cheery blue package over to her. I had found some of Aunt Charlie’s bags she had custom made to package her teas and tinctures. Across one side was stamped “Charlie’s Concoctions” with a cartoon picture of a witch’s cauldron. I thought Pat would appreciate the packaging.
She made no move to take it. “About time,” she said, but her voice sounded hollow, a sad echo of her previous self. She stirred her tea. “What do I owe you?”
I waved my hand. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
“No, I should pay,” she said into her tea. She made no move to get up, as she continued stirring.
I watched her in silence. She kept her head down, refusing to meet my eyes. “Is there anything else I can help you with?” I finally asked, when it was clear she wasn’t going to say or do anything other than stir her tea.
She let out a long, deep sigh. “No one can help me.”
“Try me.”
She looked furtively around her kitchen, like she was checking to see if we were alone before leaning forward. “I’m being haunted.”
Oh boy. Did this house have a Mad Martha too? I thought I was living in the only haunted house in Redemption. Or was this precisely what it sounded like—a sad, old woman losing her mind? I didn’t particularly like either option. “Haunted?”
She nodded furiously, the words suddenly tumbling over themselves as if she had kept them bottled up for too long. “Outside. I see it in the yard. And anything it touches, it kills.”
“Kills? Like what?”
“Rabbits. Chipmunks. Even a bird. I’d see it out there, and the next day, I’d go out into the yard and see their poor little broken bodies.”
Despite the stuffy heat of the house, I was starting to feel the cold touch of fear trail down my spine. “Have you told anyone?”
Her eyes widened. “Tell anyone? Who could I tell?”
“Well, maybe the police for starters.”
She snorted. “The police. The police can’t protect me from the devil.”
“But ... what if it’s not the devil? What if it’s a person acting like the devil?”
Pat shook her head so fiercely that her greasy hair flew around her head. “No, no, no. I know a haunting when I see one. Besides, I’ve been hearing it in the house, too.”
I held my hand up. “Wait a minute. Slow down. You’re saying you’ve seen this ... dark shape in the house?”
She sighed loudly. “No, I said I’m hearing it in the house. In the attic. Making all sorts of noise.”
“Are you sure it’s this ... devil? Not, I don’t know, mice or something?”
She drew herself up and shot me a haughty look. “What, you think I don’t know the difference between mice and the devil? I was living in my own house when you were still in diapers.”
I pressed my fingers against my eyes. “I’m not ... do you want me to take a look for you?”
“What? No!” She looked horrified. “I don’t want you anywhere near the devil.”
“But ...” I suddenly had an overwhelming sense of empathy
for Daphne. She must have felt just like this when I was ranting to her about Mad Martha. “What can I do, Pat? Is there any way I can help you?”
Pat collapsed suddenly, looking defeated. “There’s nothing anyone can do. If the devil is going to take me, nothing can stop it.”
Oh God. This wasn’t good. “What about family? Can I call anyone for you?” I pressed.
She shot back up again. “No! Leave Barbara out of it.”
“Who is Barbara? Your daughter?”
She shook her head furiously. “Leave her out of it. I don’t want her anywhere near the devil, either.”
I made a mental note to reach out to Daphne or Mia to see if they knew how to get in touch with Barbara. “Okay, so you’re seeing this thing in the yard.” I got up and went to the window. “Here in the backyard?”
She paused, as if deciding whether or not to tell me, then slowly nodded.
I leaned against the wall next to the window and peered out. A huge garden spread out over the backyard, full of flowers and bushes. Her yard wasn’t fenced in but both of her neighbors’ were—one by a high wooden fence and the other by a black, wrought-iron rail fence. I could see a couple of kids, a boy and a girl, playing on the swing set in the yard with the rail fence.
“Where exactly do you see it?”
“Over by my rose bushes.”
I looked over at them, each with a respectable amount of blooms. “Any damage to them?”
“I told you. It kills everything it touches. A couple of roses turned black. Overnight! I’m just lucky it didn’t kill the whole bush.”
I strained to get a better look at the roses, but as far as I could tell, there weren’t any black ones. I wondered if there was another explanation for roses to turn black overnight. “Why do you keep calling it ‘the devil’?” I asked, more out of curiosity than anything else, as I continued to study the yard. The two kids had left the swing set and were now chasing each other.
She shot me a “duh” look. “Because it’s not a ghost.”
“Not a ghost? How do you know?’
Secrets of Redemption Box Set Page 40