The Fishers had purchased the thing about twenty years ago and had changed things inside, updating them from the earlier look, but the outside was still dark brown, brass, and glass. The flower beds around the front of the house were overgrown but in an English cottage garden sort of way that made them rather welcoming. Even that late in the year, there was a floral smell in the air and Taran thought the buzz he heard was from a lone bee that was filling up on a late-blooming flower that hadn’t been destroyed in the storm.
Behind the house were trees. Lots of trees. In fact, it looked like a forest back there. The trees seemed less imposing from the Hyer side of the copse because the hill rose up so sharply between the two homes, plus the Hyers had a backyard that held the encroaching mini-forest at bay and created perspective. No such thing existed with the Fisher home where trees grew practically up to the foundation.
Taran walked down the narrow flagstone path, stepping over a blue green stem of a plant, careful not to crush it, and then stood on the covered stoop. He rang the bell. There were windows on either side of the carved wooden door. No fancy panthers here, just plain wooden squares. The door was painted a dull avocado green, probably done when that was a fashionable color and never changed.
Taran heard someone walking quickly to answer the bell. The door opened—there was no screen—and Mrs. Fisher stood there looking worried. Her hair was too black for a woman of her age, really a woman of any age, and appropriate only for those who were going for a Goth look. The lines on her face had multiplied since the last time Taran had been out to investigate a noise.
The problem, he knew, was that with the trees around, anyone could come through. Teenagers often used it when they were walking because it was a good shortcut and had plenty of places to hang out and do things they didn’t want to get caught doing. The same trees lined the edge of Harlan Dicky’s property, and Taran hoped the man got his goats and found a nice cranky one. It’d cut down on the number of calls he got from Mrs. Fisher who had the hearing of a particularly nervous bat.
“Finally,” she said.
Taran stepped in, offering no excuse. Excuses didn’t work with Mrs. Fisher. Once he’d been down on an accident on the highway and she’d snapped at him to stop making excuses when he’d said he had people who might be in trouble. As always, she smelled overpoweringly of gardenias.
“You saw something moving through the copse?” Taran asked.
“And it came back!” Mrs. Fisher said. “I thought I saw a shadow up there and then I called. I went back to the window and was looking out and a few minutes later I saw a shadow come back through. I think it went that way.” She pointed vaguely.
Mrs. Fisher had led him through the entry way, past a kitchen on the right, in the front of the house to a large room that was clearly the heart of the home. The ceiling raised to a peak and the wall was all windows, though why anyone would want a view of nothing but trees, Taran wasn’t certain. The windows weren’t updated either, given the heat in that room. A large fan turned so far above his head he hardly felt the movement of air.
A beige sectional that was clearly new sat in the center of the room facing a fireplace which held a television over it. Two club chairs faced out towards the windows, each with a small round table. One held a cup with tea in it, long gone cold.
Taran looked to the right where she seemed to have pointed, towards the Dicky land.
“And then what?” he asked. He was making notes. If he didn’t, she’d accuse him of not caring. This was one time when he did care. Because she might shed some light on what was happening with Zoe, which in turn might help him solve the murders, at least in his own mind.
“Then nothing! I mean, I didn’t go out and follow it. But it was just a shadow. It wasn’t the teenagers who are always cutting through here. This was something different. I thought at first it might be an animal but it seemed to walk upright, though it crept the way an animal does.” She seemed at a loss for what to say.
Taran waited, watching her.
“It seemed like it was going towards the homes up the hill,” she said finally. “And then it got closer and sat there for I don’t know how long. It left a few minutes ago.”
“What exactly left?” Taran asked.
“Whatever was making the shadow,” Mrs. Fisher explained. She did her best to look down her nose, but she was short and her height made that movement difficult for her.
“But you didn’t see what it was?” Taran pressed. “You only saw its shadow?”
She nodded, looking a little bit sad.
“So you could have seen the trees moving in a breeze?” Taran asked, making to close the notebook. He didn’t believe that for one second.
Mrs. Fisher narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you start with me, Taran Rees. I’ve lived in this town long enough to remember you when you were one of the kids running through those trees, hiding out with your friends. What I saw wasn’t a tree blowing in the breeze.” She crossed her arms in front of herself.
Taran stepped back, leaned against the end of the sectional, and waited for her to go on. He didn’t have to wait long.
“There’s something there. I saw it. And I can’t help but worry that I might be the next victim of that killer.”
“Stay inside,” Taran said. “When you go out, don’t go out in the back. Elaine had a small yard, so it’s not like the killer is using the trees to hide in. Even if your husband is gone, Harlan is nearly always home and almost always out on his patio.”
Mr. Fisher was known for his long golfing treks. He preferred to golf Myrtle Beach and went there frequently. He took his wife once each year. The rest of the time he went alone. When he was in town, he was down in Hickory, golfing there.
Mrs. Fisher nodded.
“Call us. If you feel you’re in immediate danger and need to flee, either drive out or run over to Harlan’s, worst case, you understand?”
“I wish this house had a safe room but those weren’t done back when we bought,” she said.
Taran nodded, sympathetic but thinking that it was nice to have lived in a time when you didn’t have to have a fortress inside your house, just in case.
Chapter 38
Zoe and Kay held hands once again as Kay opened the sliding door. She looked down as she walked through the slider and didn’t trip on the slight unevenness of the floor this time. Zoe breathed in the warm breeze and looked around. The trees waved at her from their position at the back of the yard, the single Crepe Myrtle in the forefront of the yard. She didn’t feel afraid out there, not like she had earlier.
A few birds chirped. Someone started a saw. Zoe closed her eyes, shutting out the world.
She felt Kay’s hand sweating in her own. She squeezed it.
She saw nothing at all behind her eyes at first, only blackness. She was a woman standing in her yard with her eyes closed. There was nothing there. Had whatever it was left?
Kay started to breathe harder. “It’s not working.”
“Let’s just wait. Think about him?” Zoe suggested. Should she have said “it”?
They stood there while a bird chirped loudly and then wings fluttered around above the house, like something had dived towards them.
Kay drew in a breath and then let it out slowly. Zoe stood waiting, wanting to open her eyes, not sure what would happen if she did.
“Emrys?” Kay said.
Zoe looked at the darkness, and in her mind’s eye there was the faintest spot of brown that was getting bigger, like something moving towards her. As it did, the whole picture came into greater focus, first the trees behind her yard, then the Crepe Myrtle. It was akin to a movie going from a very narrow frame to expanding back to the whole picture. Zoe was tempted to turn around to see if she’d see her living room.
“You called so soon?” Emrys said. “How can I be of service?”
“We need to know what happened to the women who were murdered shortly after my momma died. And the woman who was murdered a few days ago,�
� Kay said.
“Do you wish it?” Emrys pressed. There was a slight emphasis on wish, a slight grin on his face, as if he was enjoying pushing Kay to wish. Zoe wondered if they’d made the right decision to ask the creature about this. What if she was endangering Kay’s immortal soul?
“I wish that you’d tell me who killed those women a year and a half ago and also who killed Elaine Wilcox,” Kay said.
Emrys nodded. “They died as the one who stands next to you would have died had you not wished my intervention. They watch your friend still and I will do what I can to protect her, but you are my line to this mortal world.”
“Why?” Zoe asked.
“Another wish so soon?” Emrys almost giggled.
“I wish to know all about those murders. The how, the why. The what. Everything so that we can protect others in the town,” Kay said, her voice getting stronger.
“Very well, then. The ones who died were trying to change the town. Your mother often spoke out against such changes. And when she didn’t and the others were muttering, I could keep them from taking lives because that’s not what your mother would have wished,” Emrys said.
Zoe drew in a breath. The creature’s eyes flicked to her. He gave her a full toothed smile and glanced at her arm. Just his look, just his attention, seemed to inflame her arm and hand again.
“But then your mother died, leaving the town unprotected. I drew a certain level of power from you but you wouldn’t talk to me and the power waned. The creatures became stronger. I was surprised that they were able to take the first woman, but they were so angry with her ideas about expanding the town, about bringing in more mortals to unbalance the scales, perhaps driving us to the underground once more, that I couldn’t stop them. I had held them in check for as long as I could,” Emrys said.
He paused, eyeing them. Zoe wondered if he was actually telling the full truth. Demons did lie and while she worried that might be the case here, she wasn’t at all certain the creature was a demon.
“The second woman died because I still couldn’t stop them, for you wouldn’t talk to me, even when asked, and the third, her mother,” Emrys pointed his bony, gnarled finger at Zoe, “was easier for them still because now they knew how to kill. There was so much focus on the murders that no one else seemed to care if the town expanded or not. It even began to dwindle a little, those who had come here for jobs moving out of the area and into other towns around here. But then the librarian, though she should have known better, having a hint of the Blood, having felt the distaste of the others for the expansion, started in with the idea of having people visit this town like it was a zoo.” Emrys nearly spat out the last.
From what Zoe understood, a zoo was not what Elaine had in mind, but perhaps that was what the creatures felt bringing tourists to the town would be like. Perhaps they were on to something.
“You couldn’t just suggest we don’t do that?” Zoe asked.
Emrys glared at her as if she shouldn’t even speak. He didn’t answer.
“This is our land. I made bargains in good faith long ago and we worked together with those of the Blood. Your lack of understanding is not my problem, and we solve problems the way we have always solved problems.” The last was said angrily, like she was supposed to know the history of strange creatures in the garden.
He glared at them. “Are there other wishes?”
Zoe didn’t like the tone.
“No. Thank you,” Kay said quietly. She was gripping Zoe’s hand so hard it was becoming painful.
Zoe wanted to watch as the creature left, but he turned and got smaller, and then he was only a shadow against the blackness of her eyes. Zoe opened her eyes and looked at Kay.
“How can I anchor that here?” Kay asked. “Do you suppose if I died that I would cut the line and save the town from all of them? Would the blood line be lost?”
Zoe’s jaw dropped. She didn’t know what to say. Finally, “I’m not sure we should talk about that here.” After all, who knew what power those creatures actually held?
Chapter 39
Mrs. Fisher wasn’t happy to see Taran leave. She made her displeasure known by closing the door behind him so quickly that she nearly caught the back of his shirt in the door. Taran, for his part, hurried down the walk, brushing away the near miss, hoping that he’d done the right thing in leaving her there. Her husband, he had ascertained, was not in Myrtle Beach but was up in New York for some sort of meeting with a financial advisor.
Normal people in Corbin Meadow did not have financial advisors. The rare few that might look to someone else to advise them had someone down in Hickory or, increasingly, on the internet. Corbin Meadow was not a rich town nor was it a town in which rich people retired. So far as he knew, the Fishers were not particularly rich, Mr. Fisher’s frequent travels to Myrtle Beach notwithstanding.
Close to his car, Taran heard a buzzing, not quite like a bee, but more like someone speaking too far away to be heard. It came from over towards the Hyers. He considered wandering through the trees to hear better, but no doubt Mrs. Fisher was standing in the window or sitting in her chair, watching the trees. He wondered if that’s what she did all day. He’d wondered that before.
It was fairly pleasant outside now that it was getting late. A breeze had come up and was blowing the humidity away. It would be a perfect evening in June or September. The fact that it was mid-October was odd. Still, maybe winter would hold off and there wouldn’t be so much ice this year. Maybe the curve wouldn’t have an accident, although that was just wishful thinking.
The radio spit static. “Code 187,” Mattie called. Homicide.
Taran reached for the radio, asked for the address. He wanted to ask more, but the lines were recorded. Knowing Mattie, she couldn’t say anything or she’d choke up. The address was just off the main highway, just beyond the Corbin Meadow city limits. Taran didn’t have jurisdiction, but with Blake Fellows in the office, Taran had a feeling that he was already on his way and there was a reason Mattie had radioed him.
The car started easily, and Taran drove quickly, almost too quickly. He went down the hill where he’d wind around and pick up the highway. It would be faster than going through town where he had more chance of hitting the traffic light or having to stop for a pedestrian. This way he could speed without worrying about a distracted citizen who might not notice him.
He wound through trees, going up small hills—more like bumps—and then down, his head practically hitting the roof of the car when he took one a bit too fast. Still, it was a rush, and he remembered being a boy riding in the back of the car along with his brother when his grandmother, a feisty old woman who couldn’t stand anyone’s authority but her own, drove the country roads. He and his brother would have been in back, seatbelt fastened, and she’d drive that road about a hundred miles an hour sending them both flying up as far as the seatbelts would stretch. It was one of his fondest memories of her.
He didn’t take the roads quite that fast. Unlike his grandmother, Taran had a healthy respect for others on the road. Still, he drove faster than he would have had he not been on a call.
Once on the highway, the trees bordering it gave way to homes, which gave way to commercial buildings, larger stores, and then some restaurants, all fancier and newer than the ones on Main. Finally, just past the BP station, Taran made a left turn into a small community of condominiums. He didn’t have to go far to find his way. There were at least six sheriffs’ cars there and an ambulance, though no lights were flashing.
Taran pulled up a few houses down and got out of the car, walking slowly, conscious of the fact that although the addresses said these people lived in Corbin Meadow, he didn’t exactly have jurisdiction.
Closer to the police tape a young sheriff, her hair pulled back so severely around her face it threatened to take large hunks of skin with it, was holding a clipboard. Behind her, Taran saw Blake talking to two other men. There wasn’t a body. He went up to the woman and flashed his credenti
als.
“You’re not County.” she said.
Taran shook his head, waited.
She shook hers.
He stood behind the line, looking at her.
Finally she said, “You’ll have to leave.”
“I’m not on the scene. If I am, you need to push the tape out.”
Her eyes narrowed and her lips thinned.
Finally Blake noticed him standing there.
“Chief Rees,” Blake said coming up. “You’ll want to see this.”
“He’s not county,” the woman said, putting the emphasis on county as if that meant anything.
“We’ve been stepping into his home town,” Blake said calmly. “And this resembles murders there.” To Taran he said, “This way, through the house. Easiest way through to the back.”
Taran followed Blake past other men in uniform. The only woman was the one posted to keep visitors out. They walked along a concrete path that led up to a front door painted white. The brick trim was gray and there were blue shutters. The condo next door was painted blue and had gray shutters and no brick.
The door was open but as they went inside, Taran noted that it, too, was blue like the shutters, a typical plain door that you could buy at Home Depot or anywhere and put on a house. Inside he was met with a staircase to his left and a den or bedroom to his right. He glanced in, seeing a desk, a chair, and bookshelves in white and cream, all easy to put together furniture that you could buy cheap from Ikea, cheaper from Craigslist.
The floor was a light hardwood laminate that didn’t squeak when he walked on it. The walls were cream and unadorned. The bathroom, which sat next to the den, was a powder room with only a toilet and sink with a single blue towel, perhaps to match the front door. Except, Taran wondered, why would anyone want their bath towels to match their front door?
Souls Lost (Appalachian Souls Book 1) Page 15