The carriage came to a screeching halt before colliding with an old farm building where Nana D previously stored all the harvested grains. Hiram flew from the carriage and crashed into an oak tree adjacent to the building. We stood in shock, mouths agape, at what had just unfolded, then rushed over to check on Hiram. Minutes sped by before we reached the spot where the carriage had stopped. One horse had broken loose from the wrecked carriage and wandered off. The other, still hitched to the coach, whinnied and jumped in agitation. While rushing toward the site, I noticed someone dash away in the distance. It might've just been a shadow from the sun setting behind the grain silo. I couldn't be certain. My father checked on the passenger section of the carriage. All the straw had been thrown from the vehicle and covered the shattered wheel and bench.
I rushed to a groggy Hiram, who was pinned against the tree. “Be careful. Don't trip on the carriage rails,” I shouted to my father, checking Hiram's pulse and breathing. I stepped away from Hiram to unhitch the remaining horse, concerned what might happen if it tried to trot away. Just as I got the horse loose, Hiram mumbled something incoherent.
My father swatted at the straw in a panic. “Kellan, there's someone else buried in here.”
I scanned Hiram for additional injuries. “We'll get you help right away.”
Pulling the cell phone from my pocket, I noticed Hiram's lips moving again. I cocked my ear toward his mouth to understand his marginally inaudible whisper.
“Damien. Revenge.” Hiram's head fell forward. He had a faint pulse but was now unconscious.
I saw no other wounds and hoped he would recover soon. Had he really called out Damien's name? I dialed 9-1-1 to let them know what had happened, then rushed to the upturned carriage.
When I reached my dad, he pointed at a pair of legs covered in dark stockings. I knew her identity despite not seeing a face or headdress. The famed psychic had worn something similar earlier that day. “It's Madam Zenya,” I cried out with urgency. “Dust off the straw to find out if she's okay.”
He pulled at several pieces near her waist, only to stiffen when he saw blood and encountered something sharp and metallic. “She's been cut or stabbed. I can't tell what's happened to her.” Seconds later, he dislodged enough straw to reveal the spikes of a pitchfork piercing through Madam Zenya's abdomen. It was the smaller kind they'd used specifically to load straw for the hayride. Someone had stabbed the woman and intentionally caused the horses to stampede away in fear, nearly killing Hiram too. Was Hiram telling me it was Damien or calling out for the son he'd fought with earlier that day?
Assessing the volume of damage we'd encountered, I instantly took my father to the side. He looked ready to pass out, reminding me he couldn't handle the sight of blood. As soon as I realized Madam Zenya lacked a pulse, I pulled off her headdress to see if she was breathing. Given her closed eyes and other obvious signs, I could tell she had already gone to her own Great Beyond. There was nothing else to do for the woman, and if this was a crime scene, we'd already contaminated it enough.
“That poor woman. I can't understand who would do something so awful,” my father pondered, sitting on the dirt mound near the front of the building. “I now understand how you feel finding bodies.”
Although I wanted to comfort my father through his first unnatural death, there were urgent priorities. We'd roped off Danby Landing to identify where guests could wander for the Fall Festival. The horse-drawn carriage hayride had bolted through one rigging, but the patrons hadn't followed to witness the collision. Connor had been chatting with April near the spooky corn maze when the apprentice called the festival's security team to indicate something had scared the horses. Once the carriage had taken off toward the opposite side of Danby Landing, April corralled any festival attendants while Connor rushed to the accident site. After directing a security team to collect evidence around the oak tree, Connor verified Madam Zenya was dead and monitored Hiram. During that time, Nana D hurried to the scene to sit with my father, and I helped navigate the emergency vehicles to find the ideal path to our location. While the emergency crew attended to Hiram, I texted Augie with instructions to take Emma and Ulan back to the farmhouse.
As Connor and April discussed the situation, Lloyd's assistant, Chip, approached from the main pathway. Chip had attended one of the planning meetings with Lloyd and looked like he remembered who I was but couldn't be certain. Short and compact, he had long brown hair that he'd pulled up in a bun on the top of his head. He wore glasses with invisible frames and dressed in Victorian clothing.
I introduced myself again. “It's awful news. I assume you're here to talk with the detectives about what happened at the hayride earlier. Do you know what spooked the horses?”
“Not yet, sir. I'm sure sorry those people were injured. Mr. Nickels is attending to them. I'd be curious if they have any unusual injuries. Someone could've hurt the horses or set off firecrackers to scare them.” He blew hot air from his mouth, uncertain what to do with himself while waiting.
I didn't recall hearing any firecrackers, but it could've been possible. “I don't suppose you saw who was driving the horse-drawn coach, did you?”
Chip's face flushed as he paced the dirt. “Nope. I was getting straw from the main barn. Although there was plenty in the back trailer. Seemed kinda silly to me.”
I squinted at him in confusion. “Why did you get more straw?”
Chip explained that they take a dinner break for an hour prior to sunset and temporarily close the haunted hayrides. Before buying his food, he'd always fed the horses and added additional straw to the passenger section of the carriage. “With so many people getting on and off, we lose a good amount of it. Plus, people track mud and dirt, and we want to keep the straw as clean as possible.”
“I understand. I meant…” I began, holding back my frustration with his confusion. He was nervous about what had occurred. “Why did you get more if you didn't need it?”
“I filled it up before I took my break, just as I always did. About thirty minutes before I was due back, I got a call on my cell phone that I needed to load another bale onto the carriage. Instead of going to the haunted hayride starting point, I went to the barn.”
“Who told you to get more?”
“I thought it was my boss, Lloyd Nickels. I'd been hanging out near the stage where the performers were telling ghost stories. I couldn't hear well. Someone told me I didn't do a good enough job the first time and to get more.” Chip shrugged and shook his head, then made a few bird calls, as Calliope had quipped about. “Mr. Nickels said it wasn't him, and his daughter backed him up. Calliope said she was eating dinner with her father the whole time. He never stepped away to make a call.”
Chip showed me his cell phone, so I could track the number. He'd inform Connor, but I was curious to find out who'd contacted Chip. It must've been whoever had scared the horses and attempted to kill Hiram and killed Madam Zenya. Chip confirmed the voice sounded deeper, masculine.
“When did you get back to the haunted hayride starting point?”
“I was preparing the straw and about to toss a bale on the cart to wheel over when the horses neighed and screeched. I poked my head out of the barn and saw them take off. I rushed over to find out what happened but when I got there, a sign notified everyone we'd postponed the haunted hayride for an additional hour. I never put it there. No one was around but me. That's when I called security to alert them to the runaway horses and got ahold of Mr. Nickels to find out what I should do.”
Connor advanced toward us. “I need to talk with Chip. Hiram is on his way to Wharton County General Hospital. He's in critical condition, and I'm not sure that he'll make it. There is a possible neck injury, and he's probably bleeding in the perimeter of his brain. The emergency technician can't verify that from here, but those are the first tests the ER doctor will need to run.”
I stepped away, so they could discuss the accident. The killer must've purposely sent Chip away so he or she could be al
one with the horses. The assailant then lured Hiram and Madam Zenya to the haunted hayride. How did he or she force them into the carriage? I dialed the number that had instructed Chip to add more straw, eager to know who would pick up. If the killer was smart, it'd be a random payphone or burner cell with no ability to trace the owner. If the killer was in a rush to expedite the murder, I might get lucky. When it connected, an automatic voicemail account announced that I'd reached the personal cell phone of Madam Zenya. If she'd been the one to engineer a way to be alone with Hiram, what'd gone wrong for her to end up dead and Hiram in critical danger? One of them could've attacked the other person, then the horses got spooked and took off. Then again, I wasn't convinced how this aligned with Ian's murder or Prudence's disappearance. Madam Zenya didn't stab herself with the pitchfork. By the angle and severity of the impact, there was no way it was an accident that had occurred while the horses were trampling away. Either Hiram or an unknown assailant had intentionally stabbed the woman. The Halloween season was getting scarier by the minute in Braxton.
I joined my father and Nana D. “What did you see?” she asked, gripping my elbow.
“At first, we thought it was just a runaway carriage. When Hiram went flying, I ran over here. Dad found Madam Zenya buried in the straw.” I provided the rest of the details, watching as my father recovered from his brief shock. Dense, dark clouds formed in the sky, creating a gloomy atmosphere.
My father quietly asked, “Is she definitely dead?”
April, who'd stopped over to check on us, confirmed that the woman had died, then asked me to share everything I could remember about the incident.
“I honestly couldn't tell you anything about the figure I saw running through the tall grasses over there,” I replied, pointing to the old grain silo and an oak tree. “Hiram whispered his son's name and the word revenge. He might've been thinking about their earlier argument.”
“And you're certain this is the psychic, Madam Zenya?”
“I've never seen her actual face, but that's what she was wearing at St. Mary's.”
My father interjected. “I haven't seen her without the headdress either, but Eleanor described her enough that I might confirm her identity, assuming you cover up the rest of her body.”
“If you weren't my only option and hadn't witnessed the accident, I wouldn't permit it; however, we need verification.” April directed my father to approach the edge of the crime scene.
While Nana D and I stood to their side, my dad leaned in and gasped. “I'm not sure. It's Madam Zenya's normal attire, what she'd wear to a psychic reading, but I think… I think it's someone else.”
“Who else could it be?” I whispered to Nana D. “Dad must be confused or not feeling well.”
My father's skin blanched. “I turned away when you pulled off the headdress. Now that I can focus on her features… no… it's not possible.” He covered his mouth, then released a guttural screech.
Nana D moved toward him. “Talk to us, Wesley. Don't get dramatic at a time like this.”
“Seraphina, you wouldn't believe me if I told you.” My dad shook his head several times, fighting some internal struggle or debate over what he had just seen when he stared at Madam Zenya's face.
April cleared her throat. “Please tell us who you believe the woman is, Mr. Ayrwick.”
“She's much older, but there's no doubt about it. I think it's….” My dad turned to face us all, unable to finish his words, staring in utter disbelief. “I need to sit down, please.”
I knew as soon as my father shut his eyes and hung his head what he was thinking. With intense trepidation, I whispered to April, “I might know of a way to prove who she is.”
After I explained my reasoning, April agreed. She leaned over the body and lifted the woman's eyelids. After the first, she turned back to me. “One blue eye.” She breathed in a large amount of air and checked the other. April swallowed heavily, dipping her head low, with a mix of confusion and sorrow.
I knew my father's shocked reaction was unequivocally accurate. “And one gray eye?”
April stood. “Yes. It seems we've found our missing Prudence Grey.”
My father released a gruff moan, one he had little control over. Nana D comforted him, an unusual display of affection and camaraderie between the two pillars of strength. “How can someone disappear for fifty years only to die in a gruesome manner?” Tears rolled over the curve of his cheeks.
“Death strikes most often when we least expect it, Wesley,” Nana D soothed while patting my father's back. “We should never take our precious moments for granted.”
After a brief silence, Connor asked for a rundown of what'd happened at St. Mary's. I revealed everyone who'd been involved in the confrontation: Finnigan's news about the changes to Hiram's will, Hiram's arguments with Damien and Belinda, his accusations about Father Elijah and Lloyd Nickels, Minnie's nervous stillness the whole time, and Nana D ushering her into the waiting limousine.
“You mentioned Madam Zenya, or someone who dressed like her, was there. Do you believe it was her, or was it Prudence wearing the costume?” Connor inhaled while waiting for my response.
I stood on the sidelines. What had Madam Zenya said to Hiram as she walked by him? Had the psychic medium lied when she informed Belinda that Prudence thanked her for mothering Damien, or was that Prudence expressing gratitude for someone raising her son years ago? Maybe Prudence had disguised herself as Madam Zenya for the last fifty years. Had Prudence killed Ian and returned home to do away with Hiram now that they had found the body? Then again, I couldn't understand why a mother would abandon her son. Something wasn't gelling properly, and we were missing critical information. I couldn't recall much about Madam Zenya's early life, but we needed to know if the two women could be one in the same. If not, and Prudence masqueraded as Madam Zenya today, where was the real Madam Zenya?
“There is no way I could be certain. Hiram seemed shaken by her appearance at the church and followed her here.” I shared my concerns with Connor and April regarding the real Madam Zenya.
They left, promising to update me as soon as they learned anything. I noticed it was approaching the time to meet Bartleby. He might've discovered the truth about Prudence and would tell me tonight. On the way to the house, I almost ran over Hope Lawson with my SUV as she aimlessly walked the streets in my new neighborhood. She appeared to be shouting or talking to herself, peering in various yards. I pulled to the curb and parked ten feet behind her. If she was hurt or sick, I wanted to help.
“Hope, what's wrong?” I jogged up to her, shocked to see tears streaming down her blotchy face. Had someone attacked her?
“It's my mother, Kellan. She disappeared.” Hope wiped salty droplets from her cheek and threw up her hands in the crisp autumn air. Someone burned hickory logs in a nearby house. “I can't find her.”
The last time we'd spoken, Hope's mother was in New Orleans. “I don't understand. Didn't you say your auntie moved into your house to take care of your mother while you relocated to Braxton?”
Hope fumbled for the right words. “Yes, but she showed up a few days ago. My mother's been staying with me in the place I rented a few blocks from here.”
After asking several questions, I learned why Hope had been absent so much. She'd received a call from her auntie who'd advised that her mother took off to attend a funeral. By the time Hope had tracked her mother, she was at the airport buying a ticket to Philadelphia. Hope let her mother board the flight, met the woman at baggage claim, and drove her to Braxton. Raelynn Lawson had been staying with her daughter for the last few days but was missing when Hope had woken up from a nap earlier.
“Momma left a note saying she'd gone back to her childhood home to reminisce about the past. There was no funeral, at least I don't believe so. She made that part up. I have no idea where her childhood home is, but she couldn't have gone far. My mother doesn't drive anymore, and my car keys are still in my purse. I hope she's not having an episode aga
in.” Hope snatched a piece of paper from her pocket to show me the message.
“Could she have called an Uber or a cab?” I speculated, scanning the note. Had Raelynn come back for Ian's funeral? Was there a connection between the two of them? Minnie might know more.
“No, she doesn't have a smartphone or her wallet. I think she walked out of the house and wandered through the neighborhood,” Hope stated emphatically, ample worry evident on her face.
“I'll help you search for her. We can check both sides of the streets that way.” Bartleby wouldn't show up at my house for another ten minutes, and we were only a short drive away.
After walking in a four-block radius for a half-hour, Hope waved me over. “This is useless. I don't know how long she was gone. My mother could be anywhere by now.”
After soothing the woman, I asked her to tell me everything else that was in the research she'd emailed to me. I hadn't been able to read it yet but was curious about the picture Maggie had given me with Raelynn and Prudence in front of Memorial Library. “What is your mother's maiden name?” I knew it was Trudeau but wanted the confirmation. “Is it Lawson or is that your father's surname?”
“Her name was Raelynn Trudeau. She grew up in Wharton County, graduated from Braxton College, attended law school briefly, and eventually left in 1968. She met my father when she arrived in New Orleans, and they fell in love, married, and had me. His last name was Lawson, but I never got a chance to meet him. My mother was still pregnant when the accident happened.”
Although I desperately wanted to ask what had befallen her father, the timing was unsuitable. Once Hope calmed down, I convinced her to let me drive her home. The house she'd leased was a few blocks between where we stood and my place. After we settled into the SUV, I reflected on everything I knew about Hope and Raelynn Lawson, the O'Malleys, and the Greys. I had originally wondered whether the O'Malley brothers were related to Prudence Garibaldi, which would explain why Prudence's son, Damien, shared DNA with Ian. Until the final DNA results were in, we wouldn't know how closely their connection was. It could be one or ten generations apart; they required deeper analysis.
Haunted House Ghost: Death At The Fall Festival (Braxton Campus Mysteries Book 5) Page 17