‘Leave you to it?’
Amos took a cloth, spray and canister from the right-hand corner of the rear. ‘I’ll clean first, then cover her.’
Reaper watched for a few moments, his breath steaming as the big man began the business of wiping clean every reachable surface, because even though gloves had been worn since the SUV had been picked up, there were no guarantees that any of them would be back to drive the vehicle away, and they both knew how much debris humans could leave behind. Scratch an ear and skin cells could land anyplace, though if a person sneezed or coughed, this level of cleansing would never be enough.
Risks, as Reaper had said, now moving away, treading carefully around to the front of the barn. The snow that had drifted up against the door was soft, easy to move with his boots and cane, though when he’d cleared enough away, his breathlessness was audible.
He waited for his breathing to settle.
And then he opened the barn door and disappeared into the dark interior.
‘I wish I could help you more with Pike,’ Gwen told Liza. ‘But so far as the Cromwells go, you’ll know that’s a time I’ve done my damnedest to forget.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Liza said. ‘I should have thought.’
‘It’s OK. I still remember Alice most days anyway, guess I always will.’ She thought. ‘If you want to talk to people who’ll give you halfway honest answers …’ She shook her head. ‘Actually, I don’t really know who to suggest. Except your grandfather. Though I’m assuming he hasn’t been too forthcoming, or you wouldn’t be asking me.’
‘Sadly true,’ Liza said.
‘Still, the fact is Stephen must have known just about everyone back then. And as I recall, he gave evidence at the trial.’
‘He won’t discuss it. Never has.’
‘Forgive me for being blunt,’ Gwen said, ‘but for a journalist, you’re sounding awfully lily-livered.’
And Liza laughed.
Reaper emerged from the barn, closed the door, used his cane and boots to heap back enough snow to disguise the fact that anyone had been inside, and walked back around to the rear.
Amos was waiting beside the covered Explorer.
‘You left the key?’ Reaper asked.
‘As agreed,’ Amos said. ‘Want me to cover your boot prints?’
Reaper glanced up at the sky, flakes settling on his cheeks. ‘No need. Let’s go.’
Silently, they began the walk back to the road and to the Volvo, parked just beyond a bend, shrouded in fresh snow.
Everything hushed. A peaceful world.
‘Would you mind driving, Amos?’ Reaper said. ‘I’m a little tired.’
‘Sure. Where to?’
Reaper got in on the passenger side. ‘Back to the inn. Then you can drive this back to Putnam, get some rest.’
‘There’s a party at the inn. Best not go inside till it’s over.’
Reaper nodded. ‘Park up nearby. I’ll catch a nap till you wake me.’
‘Sure you don’t want to keep the car?’ Amos asked.
‘Perfectly,’ Reaper said.
‘Anything changes, just call,’ Amos said.
Reaper nodded again.
And shut his eyes.
‘You left Shiloh for years, didn’t you?’ Liza asked Gwen.
They were sharing the window seat in the bar, Jill perched on the arm of a chair close by, popping a mini chocolate soufflé, the last of her desserts, into her mouth.
‘I escaped for a whole decade,’ Gwen said, ‘but then my parents died and left me the house, so I came back. I was going to stay just long enough to sell up.’
‘Then I came along,’ Jill said.
Gwen smiled. ‘It was always a nice house, but suddenly it felt like home.’
‘And I guess they’re no more bigoted in Shiloh than in a lot of small places,’ Jill said.
‘I don’t think we actually mind anymore,’ Gwen said.
‘Most people have got used to us.’ Jill glanced around.
‘Big of them,’ Liza said.
‘It’s the whisperers that annoy me,’ Gwen said.
‘Plenty of those,’ Jill agreed. ‘They like their secrets here.’
‘What kind of secrets?’ Liza asked, still living in hope, having failed to extricate anything of use from anyone, including the Keenans, both too new to the village to know much about the past, and probably too discreet anyway.
‘How would I know?’ Jill grinned. ‘They’re too busy hugging them close.’
‘Don’t encourage her,’ Gwen said to Liza. ‘It’s one of her things.’
‘“The Secrets of Shiloh”,’ Jill said.
‘Oh, stop,’ Gwen said.
In Woonsocket, in his room, Michael’s restlessness had become unbearable.
The deal had been that, dinner or a stroll aside, they should all stay put, and until now he hadn’t wanted to go anyplace else because his room was comfortable and secure, and because tonight was still before …
Now, suddenly, he felt he had to get out.
Not out of Whirlwind. Totally committed now, to Reaper and the others, even if he had not yet met them and still didn’t know their real names – probably never would. And maybe what was coming might turn out to be some kind of closure for him.
Or another nightmare.
As for post-Revelation, who knew?
And who was there to care?
Now was all he had.
And now, right this minute, before he lost his mind altogether, Michael Rider, aka Michael Rees, aka Isaiah, was going out.
FORTY-TWO
‘Good of you to come back,’ Stephen said.
He was in the kitchen, wearing an old, wine-colored dressing gown, nursing a mug of tea at the table.
‘I’m sorry, Granddad. I didn’t mean to be so late but there was a party at the inn, and Gwen and Jill were there and asked me to stay.’
‘Was it their party?’
‘No. A couple from Shiloh Town called Sutter were throwing the party, and they were very nice, said I must stay.’
‘Sounds like bad manners to me,’ Stephen said.
‘It probably was, but they didn’t seem to mind, and I did enjoy it.’ Liza pulled out another chair and sat down. ‘The Osborns were there, and the Keenans, who I liked a lot.’
‘I’m sure they’re happy to have your seal of approval.’
Liza sighed, then reached out to touch his mug. ‘That’s cold. Can I make you a fresh cup?’
‘No.’ He moved the mug away from her. ‘Thank you.’
‘How about a snack?’
‘Too late for me to eat now,’ Stephen said. ‘I might have liked something an hour or so ago.’
‘I saw ham in the fridge, and cheese.’
‘You think I should have made my own sandwich.’
‘Since you’re able, and were hungry,’ Liza said evenly.
‘As a matter of fact,’ her grandfather said, ‘my right hand is very arthritic.’
‘I didn’t realize,’ she said. ‘I wish you’d mentioned it.’
‘Would you have given up your party?’
‘Of course. I certainly would have come back earlier.’
‘Not too busy trying to pump the locals for scandal?’
‘I don’t write scandal, Granddad.’
‘How could I know that, when you never send me anything to read?’
‘It didn’t occur to me you’d be interested.’
Stephen Plain said nothing.
Liza debated, then decided she might as well be hung for a sheep.
‘Gwen and Jill and I were talking about Reverend Pike, and one thing led to another, and Gwen said she thought you were probably the best person to ask about village history.’
‘This again.’ Stephen’s anger flared. He leaned closer and took hold of her right wrist, startling her, squeezing it hard. ‘You come here after all this time and five minutes later you’re going round upsetting people.’
‘I haven’t upset anyon
e.’ She had to wrench her wrist away. ‘That hurt.’
‘How many times do you have to be told?’ His voice shook. ‘Leave the past alone.’
Liza stared at him for a moment and felt a pang of confusion, the solid ground of almost a lifetime of dislike shifting to something more like concern.
‘Are you OK, Granddad?’ she asked him.
‘As if you care,’ he said. ‘Get out of my sight, you stupid girl.’
Silently, she left the room.
The air outside the inn was bracing, the surroundings lovely, the lights tossing small rainbows into the softly falling snow, sounds muffled, the kind of atmosphere that might have brought tranquility to a man not doing battle with conflicting emotions.
On one hand, Michael wished that tomorrow was already here, and on the other that it would never come. He was afraid and excited, ashamed and exhilarated, and right now, even out here, his greatest problem still seemed to be how to find a way to get through this night.
He walked slowly for a while, found no pleasure even in the fresh snow beneath his boots, upped his pace, picking up his feet, hoping some physical challenge might help suppress the unbearable tension building in him, but it wasn’t enough, and maybe if he could have gone for a run, but clearly that wasn’t possible …
Suddenly he knew where he wanted to go.
Bad idea.
Going anyway.
He found the Toyota, brushed snow from the door, got it open, leaned in to start the engine and turn on the heater and demists, then began clearing the snow from the windshield.
‘The party’s over,’ Amos said quietly, and saw Reaper open his eyes. ‘Just the night staff left on duty.’
‘Good.’ Reaper stretched a little and winced. ‘I’ll be going in then.’ He reached for his cane and this time the pain made him grimace.
‘Need a hand?’
‘No, thank you, Amos.’ He opened the door. ‘You get back safely.’
‘Till tomorrow then,’ the big man said.
‘Any problems, I know where to find you.’
‘Me too.’
Reaper turned in his seat. ‘Nearly there, Amos.’
‘Go get some rest,’ Amos said. ‘Long day coming.’
‘For you too,’ Reaper said. ‘Last one for us.’
‘Maybe not,’ Amos said.
‘Not for you,’ Reaper said.
Amos didn’t answer, just waited as he got out of the car, then leaned across to pull the door shut and watched as the old, thin man walked slowly along the pathway to the front door of the inn, where he rang the bell and waited to be admitted.
A moment later he was inside.
The bravest and strangest man Amos had ever known, and he’d known plenty.
Many things he didn’t know about him.
Something in his gut figured that was probably just as well.
The signpost to the right was barely readable beneath the snow.
Not that Michael needed a sign.
He knew exactly where he was.
On Shiloh Road, about to enter the village of that name.
He’d been fourteen the last time he’d come, with his mother.
Just coming here had done Emily harm.
Some places you never forgot.
Never forgave.
He parked the Toyota halfway along Oak Street, off the main track and with enough space front and back for an easy departure. The last thing Whirlwind needed was him causing any kind of disruption tonight, here of all places.
He should not have come. Yet suddenly it had felt as if he had to, and he thought now that he’d known all along that he would.
He wanted to see it as Emily must have as a child, still happy, enjoying snowy winters and Christmas, before …
He’d wanted to come before tomorrow.
At the west end of Main Street, the Shiloh Inn looked inviting, lights shining through some windows on the upper floors, and the white fairy lights strung across the street from lamp to lamp were pretty, but at twenty past ten there wasn’t another soul to be seen.
Michael looked up into the snowy sky for a moment, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. And then he opened them again and started walking.
Toward St Matthew’s.
FORTY-THREE
Liza was much too restless to consider sleep any time soon.
She’d thought of going back to the inn for a couple of quiet drinks, or maybe jumping in her Honda and going for a drive, but neither really appealed, nor was she ready yet to pack her bag and walk out on her grandfather.
Besides, there was something about that anger of his, that physical roughness of the way he’d grabbed her wrist, that had really troubled her, making her wonder if she ought to speak to Ethel Murrow after the holidays, ask her if she’d noticed any early warning signs of some kind of dementia. And even though Stephen had always been something of a bully, it distressed her to think that he might be coming to that, especially living alone …
Reading too much into just one incident, she told herself.
And heaven help her if he found out she’d been discussing his mental health with anyone else.
For tonight, anyway, she thought he’d gone to bed; she’d gone to the bathroom a while ago and had seen no light, heard no sounds from his bedroom.
She had the house to herself, but found she wanted no part of it.
Different when her parents had been here, though even then she’d wanted out.
She remembered, suddenly, where she’d sometimes gone, seeking privacy, thought that going there now might help her.
For the second time that night, she pulled on her boots and parka and crept down the stairs. Snow still falling steadily as she shut the front door quietly behind her and started down the driveway onto Maple, heading for Main Street.
In his bedroom at the Shiloh Inn, Reaper, as comfortable as he ever was these days in pajamas and a gray dressing gown, stood at the window, staring out into the night.
A young woman was just turning onto Main from South Maple.
Hard to see from this distance, but he thought he knew who she was.
Unable to sleep, perhaps, maybe not certain why.
If she but knew.
She was walking toward St Matthew’s.
This time tomorrow, the church would be crowded.
His thoughts turned back to Whirlwind, hoped the others were getting some rest, that nerves were not getting the better of them.
He stared into the still-slowly-tumbling flakes a few moments longer, and then he blinked, turned away and drew his drapes.
‘Take care,’ he said.
Not entirely sure to whom he had said it. To those five men and one woman, on the verge of something each of them only partially understood. Or to himself.
The pain was bad again. Not unbearably so, but he wanted to rest.
He sighed, walked slowly to the bed, took a pill and lay down.
Closed his eyes, then opened them again.
Not liking what he saw when they were closed.
FORTY-FOUR
Liza had come to the churchyard in her teens when she’d felt like getting away but had not had the means to get much farther. The bus schedule had always been sparse, Shiloh Town not worth the walk and worthwhile places too far away. She’d wandered west sometimes onto rural pathways, or she’d taken the bus to Chepachet, stopping by the Brown and Hopkins Country Store to buy candy before strolling out to the woods, sometimes to the walkers’ bridge that crossed into Connecticut.
But St Matthew’s churchyard, far more accessible, had always felt to her somehow other-worldly, detached from the rest of the village. Now, she took a breath of the frigid night air and felt instantly better, leaned against one of the taller stones, shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.
The creak of boots on the snow behind her startled her, and she whipped around.
‘My God,’ she said. ‘Now who’s stalking who?’
‘What the hell are you doin
g here?’ asked Michael Rider, in a battered tan leather jacket, hatless in the snow, clean-shaven, looking better, sharper than the last time she’d seen him, but thrown nonetheless.
‘I’d have thought that was obvious,’ she said. ‘Christmas?’
‘I meant here.’ He gestured to the gravestones.
‘Just getting away from it all,’ Liza said. ‘What’s your excuse?’
‘Visiting family.’ He pointed to a large stone ten feet away, snow partially brushed away from its face, the name Cromwell exposed. ‘Not all here, of course.’
‘Some in Copp’s Hill.’
‘Generations back,’ Michael said. ‘Was that what you were doing there that day?’
‘Not really. I like it there and I live close by.’ She paused, took a chance. ‘Your grandfather’s not buried here.’
‘Not buried anywhere, so far as I know. Scattered someplace private. No gravestone to desecrate.’
She sensed another opening and took that too. ‘I really am sorry. For having been so intrusive in Boston.’
‘And I’m sorry for overreacting.’ He looked at her curiously. ‘So if you’re home for Christmas, why do you need to get away before it’s even begun?’
‘Because I hardly ever do come here, and this visit’s already reminded me of why that is.’ She looked up into the sky. ‘That’s why I’m standing here getting hypothermia.’
‘You could have gone to the Shiloh Inn.’
Liza shook her head. ‘I think they close the bar at night. Anyway, I was there earlier.’
‘So just go back home,’ Michael said. ‘Better than getting pneumonia.’
‘Not ready to go back yet.’ Liza wondered at this apparent ceasefire, was glad of it.
‘If it’s that bad,’ he said lightly, ‘maybe you should go back to Boston. I hear there’s nothing much worse than the holidays with relatives you don’t get along with.’
‘I used to get on with my mother. Now it’s just my grandfather, and we’ve always clashed.’
‘Christmas. Pressures to be jolly.’ He looked away from her, up at St Matthew’s. ‘You should leave, come back at a normal time.’
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