Steve and Libby turned to a woman with short dark hair speckled with gray and pale blue eyes behind bright red glasses.
“Yes, ma’am. How can I help you?”
“I saw this morning’s paper.” She held up the paper and pointed to the picture of Steve in front of the wall. “I’m Margaret Hobson Blanchard, Annaliese’s cousin.”
Libby and Steve exchanged glances.
“Please come in,” Libby said.
Libby led Steve and Margaret into the café, seated them at an open table and said she would bring them iced teas. Mimi was behind the counter, and Libby asked her to make Rachel’s sandwich order.
“Who is that with Steve?” Mimi asked.
“That’s Annaliese’s cousin!” Libby poured three glasses of iced tea and placed three Christmas tree cookies on a plate.
“The skeleton girl?!”
“Yes, she saw the newspaper article and just showed up.”
Libby brought the iced teas to the table as Margaret asked, “Was that body Annaliese?”
“The police are trying to figure that out. In fact, would you be open to giving a DNA sample?” Libby asked. “It might be helpful in identifying if it is Annaliese or someone else.”
“Of course, I will. That’s one of the reasons I decided to drive down to see you.” She took a sip of tea.
“So you live around here?” Steve asked.
“Yes. In Parrish,” she said, indicating a town about an hour to the north of Mariposa Beach. “I couldn’t believe my eyes when I opened this morning’s paper to see this story.” She unfolded the paper again to the photograph of Steve in front of the gallery. “Was she really in the wall of the old store?”
“Yes, I’m sorry, she was,” Libby said.
“We were pulling down the old closet and ended up finding a false wall, and she was in there,” Steve said.
“Ida Sullivan had a photo of your family at a garden party just before Christmas in 1978,” Libby said.
Margaret wore a cross-body shoulder bag. She slowly unzipped it and pulled out a copy of the same photo they’d seen at Ida’s house.
“My mother had a copy of this photo. Sid Sullivan must have given it to my parents.” She pointed to a girl about twelve years old. “That’s me.”
“Do you remember what happened that day?” Libby asked.
“Not really. I was only twelve. So Annaliese argued with her Dad. Don’t all teenagers argue with their parents?”
“I sure did,” Steve said.
“Did you see much of what happened that day?” Libby asked.
“Not really.” Margaret Hobson Blanchard paused, took a deep breath and shook her head.
“Mrs. Blanchard, are you all right?” Steve asked.
“Perhaps it’s a bit creepy, but I’d like to see…to see where she was.”
Steve looked across the table at Libby and shrugged his shoulders. “Of course, I’m happy to show you, but we’ve pulled the whole wall down, so you won’t see the compartment where she was…uh…left.”
“When my father was dying, I took care of him. As he got closer to the end, he started to see things. One night, he was particularly agitated. He thought he wouldn’t get into heaven because of this terrible thing. He swore it wasn’t his fault, that he didn’t do it. It was an accident. He said he was sorry, but he had to help his brother. He kept saying it over and over. ‘I did a very bad thing. I’m sorry.’”
“When was this, Mrs. Blanchard?” Libby asked.
“Please call me Margaret.” She paused and took another deep breath. “My father passed four years ago.”
“What ‘bad thing’ do you think he meant?” Libby asked.
“I think he helped Uncle Albert clean up a mess of some kind. He kept muttering that it was Albert’s fault and what else could he have done. It was awful to hear him crying. I didn’t want him to have such an agonizing passing. He was so upset. I thought he was having hallucinations, but when I saw this newspaper article, it seemed to make sense.”
“So, you’re worried that your uncle killed her and your father helped him cover it up?”
“I know I’m probably jumping to conclusions, but my father was so upset and afraid and now this.” She ran her hand over the picture in the newspaper.
“Can you remember anything that your uncle might have done, or did you hear any weird rumors?” Libby pressed on. “I know you were a kid, but sometimes kids overhear stuff.”
“As I got older, I realized that Uncle Albert was a sleezeball. There were rumors that he had affairs and paid hush money all over town.” She shrugged. “I graduated and went off to college, and that was that.”
• • •
A few minutes later, they stood in Steve’s gallery in front of the wall. Jack had called Steve that morning and gave him clearance to resume renovations. So, before going to help Rachel in her shop, Steve had knocked down the remainder of the framing boards and was in the process of cleaning the brick.
“I thought she ran away,” Margaret said. “That’s what Uncle Albert told everyone.”
“That’s what Ida Sullivan said, too,” Libby added.
Steve and Libby watched as Margaret walked around the room.
“I live across the street from her,” Libby said, trying to keep the conversation much lighter than what had happened in the space they were in.
“I always liked her. Do you think it would be all right if I stopped by her house?”
“I’m sure she’d be happy to see you.”
Margaret walked to the back door, arms crossed over her chest and looked outside to the parking lot. “Once, years ago, I came to the gift shop that was here. Curiosity, I guess. I hadn’t been in the building since I was a small child.” She returned to the center of the room where Steve and Libby were standing. “And all along she was right here.”
“Yes, ma’am. She was,” Steve said.
“Thank you for showing me.”
“If you should think of anything else or if any of your siblings should remember anything, please give me a call at the café.”
“Who should I contact about the DNA sample, and how do I get to Ida’s house?”
Libby gave her Jack’s phone number, directions to Ida’s house, thanked her and wished her well. From the gallery door, they watched her walk back to her car parked on the street in front of the café.
“It must have been painful to hear that from her dad’s deathbed,” Steve said. “Do you think he got absolution?”
“I don’t know.” Libby turned to face him. “But I do hope there is a special place in hell for people like Albert who take advantage of someone weaker and do something like this.” She gestured toward the wall.
Chapter 10
Late Monday Afternoon
Smudge
Libby, Mimi, Rachel and Steve stood in the middle of the gallery, facing the exposed brick wall. Almost all of the drywall had been removed, leaving only the wood frame of the false wall and the exposed brick. Although Steve had resumed his renovations upon Jack’s clearance of the crime scene, Rachel insisted on cleansing the space before he disturbed the girl’s final resting place any further.
It was late afternoon, and the light was dim. The only natural light came from the two large display windows and French doors that faced the street and the small windows in the back door. A night light burning in the office to the right of the back door cast an amber shadow into the room.
Rachel removed her bag from her shoulder and set it on the table. The bag was dark brown, well-worn leather with long fringe and a flap like a messenger bag. It reminded Libby of an old leather purse of her mother’s she had found in their attic. A leftover from her hippie-boho teenage years, her mother had called it.
They watched as Rachel began to remove items from the bag. Mimi was at her side, captivated as Rachel assembled her implements, like a surgeon setting up for a procedure. Steve and Libby observed from their place in the middle of the room.
“Do yo
u believe in this stuff?” Steve asked.
“The jury is out on that one,” Libby said. “But it can’t hurt.”
“Did you smudge the café?”
“Yes. Mimi insisted,” Libby said, leaning towards him, speaking in funereal tones. “The café was a tavern with quite the checkered past. She wanted no left over bad mojo. If you believe in that sort of thing, of course.”
Rachel removed a bowl-shaped shell from her bag and set it in front of her. Next to that, she placed two small packages of herbs, a box of kitchen matches and a large feather that was bright royal blue along one side tinged with shiny black throughout.
“What kind of shell is that?” Mimi asked.
“It’s abalone.” Rachel picked up the herbs. “This is sage and lavender. I’m going to use them to create our smudge.” She opened the sage package, poured about two tablespoons into the palm of her hand, and then crushed it between her fingers into the bowl of the shell. Then she did the same with a smaller amount of lavender. She rubbed her hands together as she explained, “The sage will drive out any negative energies, and the lavender will restore balance and help bring peace to this space.”
Steve raised his eyebrows to Libby, who shrugged. Mimi was absorbing every word and action.
“Steve,” Rachel said, bringing him abruptly to attention.
“Yes.”
Rachel turned to face them. “Before we get started, can you please open the windows?”
“I’m not sure if I can.” He checked the storefront windows to discover they were sealed shut, so he opened one side of the French doors.
“I’ll get the back door,” Libby said.
Once finished with their tasks, they returned to the center of the room. Rachel asked Mimi if she would like to light the smudge. Mimi’s crystal blue eyes grew wide as she met Rachel’s encouraging gaze. As Mimi removed a match and struck it against the side of the box, Libby detected a slight tremor. The strike pierced the silence like an exploding lightbulb.
“Light the sage,” Rachel directed, nodding toward the shell.
Mimi set the box on the table and slid the lit match to the edge of the shell. The fire engulfed the herbs, and Mimi instinctively stepped back and shook out the match. Rachel blew out the flames and allowed the herbs to smolder, gray smoke rising out of the bowl.
With the shell in her left hand and the feather in her right, Rachel turned toward the northeastern corner where the brick wall met the front wall by the display window.
In a low soothing voice, she said, “I’m asking Spirit to bring the guides and angels into this space to cleanse it of all negativity and replace it with positivity. To bring in light and love. To cleanse and purify. To push out the old and bring in the new. To fill this space with light and love.”
She used the feather to waft the smoke into space. The pungent scent invaded Libby’s nostrils and filled her sinuses. A cross breeze through the open doors dispersed the smoke, surrounding them in a mysterious haze.
Rachel slowly moved clockwise along the brick wall, continuously moving the feather to send the smoke upwards and around them. As she moved closer to the framed-in compartment where the body had been entombed, the wind picked up, blowing Libby’s red curls into her face. The back door slammed shut, and the three, now huddled together, jumped in unison. Simultaneously, Steve grabbed Libby’s arm, Libby grabbed Mimi’s arm and Mimi gasped, her hands moving to her heart. Rachel remained calm and asked Spirit to bring in love and light.
As Rachel moved in front of the girl’s resting place, Steve, Libby and Mimi were still holding onto each other. Rachel halted in front of where the compartment had been, holding the feather in the air. She dropped her head as if in prayer and then turned her gaze to the ceiling.
There was a flickering of light in the back of the room. All four of them turned. The flickering continued, alternately casting them from almost total darkness to the amber tinge of light in the back corner of the room.
“What’s that?” Mimi’s voice shook as she asked aloud what Libby was silently wondering.
Libby felt Steve’s grip on her arm tighten.
“The night light in the office,” he whispered. “There must be a short or something.”
Rachel turned to face them. Her brown eyes glistened as she spoke. “A young woman in her early twenties or so has presented herself to me.”
Libby took in a breath as she and her companions held onto each other. Libby knew Rachel was intuitive. Rachel read Tarot cards in the café and now in her new shop. When asked, she openly offered her interpretations and impressions of people and situations. She was usually correct in those interpretations. She had mentioned that occasionally spirits speak to her, but Libby had never been present during an active conversation.
“She has long blonde hair and eyes the color of blue topaz.”
“Anneliese?” Libby asked.
“She is shaking her head ‘no,’” Rachel said, staring over Libby's shoulder.
“Then, who?” Libby glanced backwards.
“She is showing me a dove,” Rachel said. “That means she is at peace.” Rachel paused for a moment. Then she turned back to the wall and continued with the cleansing. When she reached the southeast corner, she stopped.
The three in the middle of the room had loosened their grips on each other and turned slightly to watch Rachel as she continued her smudge.
“She bears no ill will to anyone. She is truly at peace. She knows her death was an accident. The person did not mean to kill her.”
Rachel continued moving clockwise. Libby looked from Steve to Mimi.
“This is amazing,” Mimi said.
“I can’t believe I’m standing here watching this,” Steve said.
“It’s not Annaliese, and it was an accident?” Libby asked.
Rachel finished her smudge where she started, making a complete clockwise rotation of the room. In the end, she took a deep breath and placed her shell and feather on the table. She looked exhausted. Steve offered her a chair.
“This takes a lot out of me.” Rachel sank into the wooden chair.
Steve stood next to her, his hand on her shoulder.
“Was there any indication as to her identity?” Libby asked.
“No, she only indicated that she is not Annaliese.”
Rachel rubbed her head and closed her eyes.
“Anything else?” Libby asked.
“Libby, this isn’t an interrogation,” Mimi said.
“Yes, of course, I’m sorry. I can get carried away sometimes.” Libby stepped back, hands in the air.
“There is one other thing,” Rachel said, opening her eyes and looking up at Libby and Mimi and then over her shoulder to Steve.
“And?” Libby asked.
“There was a child, a baby,” Rachel said.
“Do you mean with her?” Steve asked. “Did they kill a child, too?”
“How could someone kill a child and stuff them in a wall? It’s bad enough to do that to an adult, but a child?” Mimi was close to tears.
“No-no. That’s not what I’m saying,” Rachel said.
“She was pregnant,” Libby said, barely above a whisper. “Is that what you’re saying?”
Rachel nodded. “Yes, this girl was pregnant. I could see the baby inside of her. She was holding a dove in one hand and her belly in the other.”
• • •
Later that evening, Libby sat in her living room, a drink in hand, trying to process what had happened that afternoon. Steve had said he would escort Rachel home once she was feeling better. Libby and Mimi had walked back to the café in silence. In pure Mimi form, the only thing she said was that she thought Steve and Rachel had some kind chemistry-thing going on. They closed the café, and went home to process the day’s events in their own way.
There was a knock at the door, and Jack poked his head inside.
“Are you here?”
Libby laid her head on the back of the sofa and called over her s
houlder to him in the kitchen behind her. “Yes, in the living room.”
He shut the door, and as he came into the room, he leaned over the sofa and kissed her neck.
“Bad day?” he asked. “You’re sitting here in the dark with a drink.” He came around and sat next to her on the sofa.
“It was an interesting one,” she said, taking a sip of her drink and then offering him the glass.
He took a sip and handed it back to her. “A tequila day, huh?”
A beer day was a typical, good day, a wine day was a better day, but a tequila day was either a bad day or a day that required serious contemplation.
She smiled and finished the glass, impressed that Jack knew her so well. It felt so good that he knew the tequila meant she’d had a rough one.
“Do you want to tell me now or over dinner?”
She turned to face him and kissed him on the lips. “Now.”
She told him what happened at the gallery in great detail. She watched his face as she revealed that the girl was not Annaliese.
“Did you know that she wasn’t Annaliese?” she asked.
“I received Mrs. Blanchard’s results.”
“That was fast, especially on a holiday weekend.”
“I have connections.”
“And?” she asked.
“Mrs. Blanchard is 99.9% not related to the body in the wall.”
“So, she isn’t Annaliese.” Libby sighed and leaned back against the sofa.
“The answer is no. Mrs. Blanchard and the person in the wall are not blood relatives.”
“There was something else that Rachel said today that has me a little bit…” She took a deep breath. “Tequila day.”
Jack leaned back against the sofa and turned to meet her gaze. “What did she say?”
“Rachel said that there was a baby. The girl was pregnant.”
“Pregnant?”
“Did the autopsy say anything like that?”
He turned away and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, she was watching him. He leaned forward and took her hands in his. She sat up and turned to face him. “There were a few, small, extra bones that would seem to indicate that the girl was possibly pregnant at the time of death.”
Mistletoe & Missing Persons Page 6