Ripples in the Shadows

by Kathy Dexter

  Finn grinned. “Couldn’t run this place without you, woman, and you know it.”

  “Ah! That’s my cue. The layout is all set except for the gaping hole for your story.” Hannah tapped her watch. “Charlie’s waiting.”

  Ally looked around the small room. “Where?”

  Hannah indicated a closed door at the back. “Our offset press is back there.” She gave Finn a look. “Ready to roll.”

  “And I’m the hold up.” He laced his fingers and cracked them. “I’ll hammer out another literary masterpiece after I get these folks set up with some files.” He tilted his head like a small boy asking for a treat. “Unless you’d like to help them.”

  Hannah snorted. “You expected me to do so all along.” She directed her next words to Hunter in a more sympathetic tone. “I’m sorry, my dear, about what happened at the museum this morning. Logan asked me to look into a fringe group that supposedly is out to eliminate magic in our community.”

  Hunter’s nerves tingled. “What did you find out?”

  “Nothing.” Hannah ran fingers through her hair. “None of my friends or acquaintances had heard of such an organization or any similar activities before the attacks on you. The group seems to have mobilized its efforts in only a few days.”

  “As though orchestrated for my arrival?” Hunter clutched her amulet, its warmth a shield against the cold tremor of fear.

  “Odd, isn’t it?” Hannah directed Ally, Hunter, and Lou toward the area containing a row of metallic gray cabinets banked against the wall. A desk and small table with a microfiche machine occupied a space in front. Hannah had created warm surroundings with plants on the desk and atop the cabinets. Colorful oil paintings of Mystic Lake decorated the walls.

  Hunter wandered near a huge canvas, its vibrant greens and blues almost hypnotic. She curbed the urge to brush her fingers across painted leaves dancing with the wind. Docile waters lapped against a sloping shoreline. “How beautiful!”

  “Thank you,” Hannah said.

  “Your work?”

  Hannah’s face pinked with pleasure. “My vision of Mystic Lake.”

  “A living, breathing world. Magical.” One that spoke to Hunter in some way.

  “You can touch it if you like,” Hannah said.

  Hunter’s fingers drifted delicately over the canvas. An odd sense of throbbing warmth prickled along her skin. The pulsing increased as her touch approached the point at which a river flowed into the lake. A granite cliff seemed to stand guard at the entrance, shielded behind woods and bushes. Rough paths disappeared among the foliage. “I don’t remember this place.”

  Inside her head, the gray mesh curtain jerked.

  “Cryptic River. The main water source for the lake,” Hannah explained. “It flows from the far mountains through woods and hills, sometimes underground, often across rough terrain. Much of the waterway remains uncharted.”

  “Too dangerous for canoers and kayakers?” Ally asked.

  Hannah nodded. “A few people have tried to explore the river, some losing their lives. A lot of whitewater rapids.”

  Lou looked at his watch. “Maybe we better do some exploring in those files of yours, Hannah. We don’t want to keep you from getting the paper ready.”

  Hannah grinned. “Very thoughtful of you, Lou. But Finn’s story is the holdup.”

  “I’m almost done, woman,” Finn barked from his computer. “I’ll race you. See if you can find the back issues before I finish. If you beat me, I’ll treat you to dinner.”

  “You’re on.” Hannah moved briskly to the filing cabinets. “So where do we begin?”

  “Mary Hawthorne and her husband were killed in a car accident,” Lou said. “Any articles about what caused it and police findings.”

  “And this happened how many years ago?”

  “About twenty-two,” Hunter said.

  “That narrows it down.” Hannah opened three drawers.

  Ally hauled Hunter toward the cabinets. “You can find the right folder much faster.”

  “How?” Hannah asked.

  “Her amulet.” Ally squeezed Hunter’s hand. “Remember how you found Sylvia’s pills?”

  An easy task compared to other undertakings this week. She’d used the amulet to fling crooks and her friend into trees, healed people, manipulated wind elements and solid objects. Finding a few news stories should be a piece of frosted chocolate cake.

  Hunter held out the amulet. She pictured the Grimm fairytale book and the inscription written by Mary Hawthorne to her granddaughter, then concentrated on the mind link Seek her story.

  The sapphire dragon hummed.

  Blue mist rolled out of the amulet toward the cabinet. Hazy vapor swirled into the second drawer and settled on one file. The hum rose to a heavy thrumming and blossomed into a pulsating glow.

  Lou pulled out the folder. “Guess this has what we need.” He handed the file to Hannah.

  She opened it and removed a disk. “Ah! How fortunate we had time to digitize these old issues. Much easier than microfiche.”

  She slipped the disk into her computer. The others gathered around and peered intently at the screen.

  Hannah pointed to the front. “Go help yourselves to some coffee. I can work faster without an audience.”

  Before long, she gave a whistle to get their attention. “I’ve printed out three stories for you.”

  Finn strolled over. “You’ll find my article in there as well. I’ve already inserted it into the edition’s layout. Figured you better proofread it before we go to press.”

  “Hmmpf. Guess you win the bet.” The twinkle in Hannah’s eyes contradicted her apparent grumpiness.

  While he scanned a story, Lou asked Hannah, “Did you know the Hawthornes back in the day?”

  “After I graduated from college with a degree in research and library science, Mrs. Hawthorne asked me to work at the museum organizing various collections.” Clouds swarmed through the dark green eyes. “A lovely woman.”

  “Hey, my father wrote this one.” Finn looked up from his reading to find four pairs of eyes staring at him.

  “Your dad worked for the newspaper before you did?” Hunter asked.

  Finn’s face flushed. “He owned it. I took over after he passed away several years ago.”

  “So you inherited the family business,” Ally scrunched her nose at him. “I thought you started the paper from scratch.”

  “Finn saved it, kept the paper from going bankrupt,” Hannah told her. “Modernized the whole operation and created a quality publication which has become both popular and profitable.”

  Finn fidgeted. “My father didn’t have much business sense, but he was a terrific newsman.”

  Hunter directed everyone’s attention back to the story. “So what did he write about the accident?”

  Thank you, Finn mouthed. “Dad actually interviewed the mechanic who apparently serviced the car the day of the crash. Look here.” He placed the article on the table and pointed. “D. Jones claimed everything was in working order. He blamed the driver’s poor eyesight.”

  Hannah snorted. “Nothing wrong with Mr. Hawthorne’s vision. He didn’t even use reading glasses at his age.”

  “D. Jones? First name Davy?” Ally’s voice edged upward. “The same guy who tried to stab Hunter at the book signing?”

  “He worked in his father’s garage back then,” Hannah said. “Owns it now. Another son taking over the family trade.”

  “And someone with the skills to cause the brakes to malfunction.” Finn folded the paper and put it in his pocket. “This is the kind of information Logan asked me to find.”

  “Past connected to the present?” Lou murmured.

  Hunter’s stomach lurched. Did her grandparents’ deaths have anything to do with the attack on her? Or her parents? “What possible motive could he have?”

  “Money’s usually the main culprit,” Lou said. “Who inherited from the Hawthornes’ deaths?”

  Hunter stared at
him. “I did. When I was three.” Her lips twisted sideways. “Not really the age for hiring a hit man.”

  Lou pulled up a chair to the table, snagged a pen and scribbled in his notebook. “Your mother and aunt didn’t get anything?”

  “Small bequests,” Hannah said.

  “You know the details of the will?” Hunter asked.

  “Your grandmother sometimes confided in me,” Hannah said quietly. “She once told me she sensed you were the one to trust with her legacy.”

  “And not her daughters?” Lou tapped his chin with the end of his pen. “Gotta be more to it.”

  Hannah’s eyes widened. “I should have remembered.”

  “All this happened a long time ago, Hannah,” Lou said. “I know that brain of yours records everything, but these events happened way before your accident.”

  “Logan mentioned the same thing when I told him about Davy Jones’ past. I’d looked up the information for someone else, and my strange memory banks hoarded what I read.” Hannah dashed to her computer. After a few keystrokes, the printer woke up, clattered, and spit out several sheets of paper. “I should have given Logan these articles.”

  For a few minutes the room remained silent as they read.

  Ally spoke first. “So Dave Jones participated with other teenagers in nasty pranks back in the day.”

  “More than kids playing around when they break into the museum and steal rare books and ancient artifacts.” Finn snapped his fingers. “My father wrote this story. Maybe there’s something in his notes.”

  Finn jumped up, dashed to the farthest cabinet, and pulled out the bottom drawer. He removed a stack of manila envelopes and shuffled through them.

  Restless, Hunter rose and paced in front of the table. “Jones and his gang tried the same thing the night of the Masquerade Ball. Odd that the same kind of break-in occurred over twenty years apart.”

  Ally quirked an eyebrow. “Coincidence?”

  “I may be retired as a policeman, Miss Ally, but I find that hard to swallow,” Lou said.

  “I found it!” Finn jogged over and emptied one of the envelope’s contents on the table. Scraps of paper and several photos scattered.

  The others peered at the notes.

  “Gah! Hard to read with the overlapping lines and scrawled scribbles,” Ally muttered.

  “Dad didn’t have the best handwriting.” Finn grabbed several sheets of paper and some pencils. “See if you can pick out anything that might be important.”

  Lou tapped one of the photos. “Looks like your father took a picture of some of the young thieves coming out of the police station. Names written on the bottom include Davy Jones and his cousin Reenie.”

  “Hey! That looks like Dr. Paul.” Ally’s finger traced a younger version of the man. “And the woman next to him is identified as Meredith Hawthorne.”

  Hunter gasped. “My mother?” It couldn’t be! The gray mesh strained and stretched away from the dark enchantment as though trying to wrench free, pulling every neuron and synapses in her brain. Her head was about to explode.

  The sapphire dragon heated her skin. She grasped it and held tight. Show me the truth.

  A blue beam spun out of the amulet and circled the picture. The paper rose into the air and spun faster and faster until a three-dimensional image shimmered in the middle of the floor.

  Hunter controlled the urge to reach out and touch the woman in front of her. If she could, would the memories flood back? How would her life be different if the two of them were together now? Tears flooded her vision. Hunter blinked rapidly, clearing away the tears that briefly blinded her. She gazed longingly at the ghostly image. Mother.

  Hunter stared at the gauzy vision as though hypnotized. She scoured every detail of the translucent face. Stumbling backwards, Hunter struggled to breathe. “Tha-that’s not my mother. It’s Aunt Miranda.”

  “What?!” Ally rushed to Hunter’s side. “How do you know? Miranda and Meredith were identical twins.”

  “Except for the color of their eyes. This woman’s eyes are emerald-green. My mother’s were crystal-blue.”

  Hannah picked up a magnifying glass from her desk and examined the picture. “Hunter’s right. The girl in the photo has green eyes. Miranda must have identified herself as Meredith.”

  “And allowed her sister to be blamed for the break-in?” Hunter’s lips tightened. “Only way to find out is to ask Miranda. I’ll confront her later.”

  Finn held up a paper. “My father interviewed a drunk curled up on a bench in the museum courtyard. A witness to four people running out the front and one or two more out a side door of the museum. The drunk wasn’t sure, thought he might be seeing double.”

  “Or the Sloane twins. Gideon and Gabriel.” Hannah’s eyes glazed for a moment. “Pranksters often seen with the Hawthorne twins. Until Meredith and Connor became a couple and dropped out of the group.” She shook her head as though coming out of a trance and smiled at the others. “The memory banks kicked in again.”

  “Apparently Finn’s dad suspected the Sloane boys, too.” Lou smoothed out one of the notes. “They wouldn’t talk to him. Their mother swore they’d been home all evening.”

  “Nothing in any of the news stories about the police questioning them or the witness,” Ally said.

  Lou turned his palms upward. “Clarissa gave her sons an alibi, and a drunk isn’t exactly a reliable source. Besides, the investigation ended when the Hawthornes dropped all charges.”

  “And changed their wills,” Ally murmured.

  “Even if Meredith wasn’t in the picture, could she have been involved in the robbery?” Finn asked. “Otherwise, why disinherit both daughters?”

  “Did the sisters know they’d been cut out of the will?” Lou asked.

  Hannah shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “Another question for my aunt.” Hunter’s voice grated. She dropped into a chair next to Lou.

  He patted her arm. “A lot to take in. We’ll go over my notes later to try to make sense of all this new information.” He turned to Hannah. “You mentioned someone else wanted to see these news stories. Who?”

  “Clarissa Sloane.”

  “Hmmm. Mention anything about her sons?”

  “No. Only that Dave Jones’ name cropped up, somehow connected to Hunter. Clarissa was trying to find out why.”

  “And that led her to the past?” Hunter asked. “If that’s the case, is there a link, a tie-in, to my parents’ deaths?”

  “Let’s take a gander at those news stories,” Lou said.

  When Hunter reached for her amulet once more, Finn held up a hand. “No magic on this one. Logan paid for copies of those stories. Out of curiosity, I printed a couple duplicates.”

  “Just in case he might lose his?” Sarcasm rumbled through Lou’s words, but his face remained impassive.

  Finn’s lips twisted sideways. “More like a reporter’s inquisitiveness. Sticking his nose into other people’s business.”

  “You already gave me one article,” Hunter said.

  “Right. The one about Logan rescuing you in the lake after your parents’ boat exploded.” Finn handed her a sheet. “I didn’t bring you this one.”

  Hunter took a seat at the small table and started reading. She gasped and stopped. Her hands trembled as she scoured the passage again.

  One line ripped through her: “The Sloanes are survived by their daughters, Hunter, 15, and Katelyn, 12.”

  I have a sister?! How. . .? Where. . .? What. . .? The questions swirled in bright red anger. Her aunt––Logan––had promised no more secrets. And yet they’d kept this vital knowledge from her. How could they? How dare they!

  Hunter clutched her amulet. An explosive blast reverberated painfully against her ears. Unbearable heat flamed within.

  “Logan!” she screamed.

  CHAPTER 31

  S CRATCHY VOICES, LIKE HOARSE BEES, hovered around Logan’s ears. He tried to swat them away; nothing seemed to move. His
eyelids stuck as if sewn together. Was he sleeping? Dreaming? Lost in some nightmare world?

  One of the bees hovered near the left side of his face, buzzing, buzzing, buzzing. As though a blanket had been tossed over the bees, the droning noises softened to a comforting whisper.

  Someone shifted his hand, closed his fingers around an odd shape, something cool and therapeutic. A stone? Warmth, not the unbearable flames he’d endured earlier––when?––replaced the coolness, flowed along his veins, and through his core.

  His eyelids unglued. He blinked against the blue mist fluctuating around him. Hunter?

  I’m here. Her voice soothed him, a serene, calming wave gently rippling inside his head.

  The mist dissolved and Hunter’s face appeared. Worry lines framed intense sapphire eyes. He reached for her but couldn’t move. Pain gripped him as searing spasms skittered along his skin.

  “Don’t move,” she mumbled through clenched teeth. Her hands hovered above his shoulders, not touching, yet somehow holding him in place.

  “What. . .?” he croaked. His head swirled. Fragments of memory floated to the surface. Fiery blast. Body flying, slammed against something hard. Blackness.

  The garage had exploded.

  He must have been injured. Mind linking was easier than speaking. How bad?

  Doctor says first and second degree burns. You’ll be all right. I’ll make sure.

  Convulsive pain throbbed, lacerated his body. Logan gasped, unable to suppress the raspy groans which slipped past his lips.

  Hang on, love. Her words whispered, a poultice extracting the excruciating inflammation from his body.

  Blue fog enveloped him like soft rain, glazing his skin with sweet relief, the burning heat suctioned from his skin. He drifted among filmy vapors seeping into his bones, repairing and restoring his injured body.

  Logan exhaled, reluctant to move despite the end to his suffering. Wary, he inched his eyelids open.

  Hunter touched his arm. “You can sit up now.” Sweat beaded along her forehead, dripped along her cheeks and off her chin.

  Logan’s fingers curled around her hand. “Are you all right?” His voice no longer croaked. He eyed the darkened, sterile atmosphere of what had to be a hospital room.