by Dan Padavona
“You’ll join us again next Wednesday, I hope. We’re grilling filet mignon.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. What’s up?”
“Follow me to my . . . your office.”
“It’s your office now, Thomas. I’m pretty sure I remember the way.”
Thomas closed the door and motioned to the empty seat beside his desk. The role reversal struck a strange chord in Thomas. How many times had he sat in the visitor’s chair with Gray behind the desk? Gray took in the room, his eyes soaking in memories.
“What’s with the secrecy? The door is closed, so it must be important.”
“It’s about Father Josiah Fowler.”
Gray flinched at the priest’s name. He’d never given up believing Father Fowler drove Lana off the road.
“What’s the serpent up to now?”
“You probably read about the body part left inside the church.”
“It was in the newspaper. Nasty business. You suspect Fowler murdered your Jane Doe?”
Thomas folded his hands on the desk.
“Not exactly. And she’s not a Jane Doe until her body surfaces. Fowler claims a man visited during confession. This guy acted as if he knew Fowler from a long time ago. Before he departed, he left a wood box containing a woman’s hand beneath the seat.”
“And Fowler won’t disclose the nature of the confession or the suspect’s name.”
“No.”
Gray puffed out his mustache.
“He’s hiding behind the sacramental seal. The question is, is Fowler protecting himself or the church?”
“That’s what I’m wondering. Nobody at the church saw this guy. My guess is he timed his entrance to avoid the crowd, slipping in and out unnoticed.”
“You visited the neighborhood and knocked on doors?”
“Lambert and I did. Nobody recalls seeing a stranger lingering outside the church, and we don’t know what type of vehicle he drives. We’re in the dark.”
“What about security cameras? I don’t suppose Fowler installed any.”
“Nope.”
Scratching his chin, Gray said, “I’m not surprised. He’s crooked, and no criminal wants a camera recording his actions. I’ll tell you one thing. This stranger made it personal when he left a hand inside the booth. Whoever he is, he has a huge issue with Fowler. Even more than I do.” Gray tapped his fingers on the chair arm. “Figure out what Fowler is hiding, and you’ll catch this guy.”
“I considered bringing in the media. Maybe someone can find a link between Fowler and his visitor.”
“I wouldn’t recommend it. The media will turn the investigation into a circus. I’ll call my old deputies. A few are still around. Someone might recall an accusation involving Fowler. But don’t hold your breath. After Lana died, we turned over every stone and dug into Fowler’s past. We found nothing.”
“He’s a slippery guy. I haven’t trusted him since the Thea Barlow murders.” Thomas regretted bringing up the Barlow investigation. The former sheriff had accused Father Fowler of the murders. Gray’s embarrassment over the ordeal led to him stepping down. “Where should I start? Fowler holes up inside the church like a recluse, and he refuses to disclose anything the man said.”
“Fowler will slip up and show his true colors. Even a snake needs to emerge from a hole to sun itself.”
13
An ocean of dusk spread across the sky above Wolf Lake State Park. The season’s first fireflies danced among the trees, and the campfire drove back the mosquitoes. Scout and LeVar toasted marshmallows on sticks as Darren and Raven readied the meeting area inside the ranger’s cabin.
The camping season wouldn’t hit full stride until schools let out for summer vacation. But a few campers enjoyed the mild night. The family of four watching LeVar and Scout from across the clearing couldn’t have known they were amateur sleuths with a storied history of solving mysteries and catching criminals.
LeVar scanned the forest. The firelight bounced off the trees and reflected into the clearing as darkness thickened. Enjoying the peace inside the park, LeVar understood why Raven wanted to move in with Darren and sell her house to their mother. There was safety here. It was easy to put the day’s troubles in the rear-view mirror and relax. No busy roadways, no exams or essays to write. As night deepened, an endless diamond mine of stars flickered.
Scout caught her breath and pointed.
“A shooting star. Did you see that?”
LeVar followed her outstretched arm to the western sky.
“I missed it.”
“Keep watching. I bet there will be more.”
“Don’t burn your marshmallow,” LeVar said as flames caught Scout’s stick.
Scout had been too focused on the sky to pay attention to her dessert. She swept the stick through the air to douse the fire.
“Perfect,” she said, blowing on the blackened treat before popping the marshmallow into her mouth. “I’m an expert marshmallow roaster, LeVar. You could learn a thing or two.”
“First you profile armed robbers, then you flaunt your expertise with marshmallows. It’s not easy living in your shadow.”
“Yet you keep me around.” Scout glanced at the cabin. “They’re probably expecting us. We should head inside.”
“Aight, but I still have half a bag of marshmallows left.”
LeVar wheeled Scout into the cabin. Darren’s log cabin sat a hundred feet from the welcome center. The interior was one large living space with thick curtains over the windows, a bed tucked against the far wall, a couch with two mismatched chairs, and a tiny kitchen off to the left. Darren served coffee while Raven fixed the throw pillows on the couch. After he set the coffee down, Darren dragged the chairs around to face the couch. When they were settled, Raven clicked her laptop and brought up a digital list of potential cases.
“And so begins another laugh-filled episode of the secret sleuth files,” Raven said, invoking giggles from the others.
Though they made light of their amateur sleuthing activities, their research had helped solve multiple murder cases over the last year. They even located a lost girl named Skye Feron after a kidnapper held her captive on the outskirts of Wolf Lake.
“Let’s get started,” Darren said, sliding onto the couch beside Raven. Before taking over the ranger position at Wolf Lake State Park, Darren worked as a police officer in Syracuse. “We’re all busy, so we can only afford to take on one case. Choose carefully.”
LeVar grabbed a notebook and tapped a pen against the open page.
“How about the Harmony Santos disappearance? Raven and I are already helping Chelsey with the investigation, so we’d have a head start.”
They all shared uncertain looks.
“A four-year-old cold case?” Raven asked. “The chances of Wolf Lake Consulting recovering Harmony Santos alive are slim and none. What about the severed hand at St. Mary’s?”
“I doubt Thomas wants us near his investigation,” Darren said. “He’s under enormous pressure. The media wants an answer, and Father Fowler’s name evokes controversy.”
“But what if there’s another serial killer in Wolf Lake?” Scout asked. “We’d miss out if we blew the case off.”
“It’s difficult to cry serial killer when no women have gone missing in the last month,” LeVar said.
“Well, the hand had to come from somebody. What if the killer snatches his victims around the country and brings them home to Wolf Lake?”
Darren sat forward.
“That’s possible. But until the sheriff’s department gathers evidence, we’re in the dark. I say we hold off on the severed hand case until we have more information.”
Raven and LeVar nodded. Scout shook her head in disappointment.
“There’s a cat burglar in Barton Falls,” LeVar said, drinking coffee.
Raven glanced at her brother.
“Where does the term cat burglar come from? They don’t steal kittens. Why not just call him a burglar?”
“Cat burglars enter homes through upper floor windows, fool. They’re nimble like cats, hence the name. Ya dig?”
“Look at you brimming with knowledge. You’d think you made dean’s list this semester or something.”
“There ain’t no cat burglars in my text books, Sis. I’m dropping common knowledge.”
“What about the Poplar Corners ghost?”
They all turned to Scout. She fidgeted under their glares.
“The Poplar Corners ghost?” LeVar brushed his hair back. “Halloween isn’t until October, Scout, and you’re a little old for make-believe horror stories.”
“The ghost is just an internet legend,” Raven said, drawing a nod from her brother.
“No, I don’t think he’s a legend,” Darren said. “During my Syracuse PD days, I knew a trooper who looked into the case. There are dozens of complaints of some guy staring into people’s windows at night. But nobody can catch him.”
“So he’s a Peeping Tom.” LeVar waved the idea away. “I hope someone nails him, but it doesn’t seem worth the effort.”
Scout rolled over to Raven’s computer and brought up a website devoted to catching the Poplar Corners ghost.
“Over two dozen sightings in the last year,” Scout said, pointing at the dots covering the screen. “Hundreds more this decade. And check out this chart.” She clicked the mouse. “The sightings are up fifty percent since last year.”
“You know how that goes. One person claims the ghost stared into his window, and five more jump on board. They’re all seeing their own reflections.”
“I disagree. The increase in sightings suggests he’s losing control.”
“Scout’s right. We should take the case,” Darren said.
LeVar narrowed his gaze at Darren.
“Okay, convince us.”
“Harmony Santos disappeared from Poplar Corners. What if the same guy peeking in everyone’s windows kidnapped Harmony four years ago? We might solve two mysteries for the price of one.”
Staring at the ceiling, LeVar pondered Darren’s theory.
“It’s not a stretch. A Peeping Tom might graduate to kidnapping.”
“Or murder,” Scout added.
“We can’t prove the ghost kidnapped Harmony Santos, let alone killed her.” LeVar turned his head to his sister. “What’s your opinion?”
Raven extended her legs and crossed them at the ankles.
“Since we don’t have a better option, I say we take the investigation. If it falls flat, we’ll choose a different case next week.”
Darren banged his fist against the coffee table like a gavel.
“So it’s decided. I’m ready to begin tonight, if everyone is willing.”
“No school tomorrow, so I can stay late,” Scout said.
LeVar glanced at the window. Night pushed between the curtains and slipped inside the room.
“Nobody can find this guy,” LeVar said, studying the sightings on the computer screen. “The Poplar Corners ghost avoids detection, so he’s smart. Not your average criminal. We’ll need a miracle to track him down.”
14
Billowing clouds replaced the morning sun when James McKinney stopped his minivan in the parking lot. Beyond the gate, the Poplar Corners town park and its fields of green beckoned. A playground grew out of the ground with swings, slides, and monkey bars connecting two towers.
The park sparkled with children’s laughter when James opened the sliding door. The second he unbuckled Lonnie, the four-year-old boy took off running.
“Slow down, Lonnie.”
James reached for his son, but the boy was already halfway across the blacktop and sprinting toward the open gate. Releasing a frustrated sigh, James surveyed the parking lot. If another vehicle had driven through when Lonnie bolted out of the door . . .
There were only three vehicles besides his van. The sporty compact belonged to Trina, who lived two blocks from James and Lonnie. She must be here with her son, Martin, which explained why Lonnie couldn’t wait to reach the park. Martin and Lonnie were best friends.
James turned sideways and slipped through the opening in the gate. Surrounding the play area, benches sat upon mulch beds. After waving to Trina, James took an open bench between the slide and swing sets. He glanced around the playground. Where did Lonnie go? He turned left and right before Lonnie’s excited voice pulled his eyes toward the towers. Lonnie and Martin climbed to the top and extended their arms toward the monkey bars. Both boys made it halfway across before their grips gave out. They fell laughing to the mulch, brushed off their knees, and ran back to the tower.
“Stay where I can see you,” James said, meeting his son’s eyes.
“Okay, Dad. Watch this.”
Lonnie scrambled up the tower again and leapt to the monkey bars. He almost made it to the end this time. James clapped and hooted while Lonnie stared at his red, sore hands.
“You’re getting closer. Pretty soon we’ll need to find a longer set of bars.”
“I’ll make it next time.”
James grinned. Lonnie and Martin ran to the swing set. Trina caught James’s eye from across the park where she held court with two stay-at-home moms. They shared a wave. James turned his attention to Lonnie, never letting the boy out of his sight. After marrying his wife, Brooke, who died three years ago, James chose Poplar Corners for its promise of small-town safety. He’d made a mistake. After Lonnie came into his life, rumors of the Poplar Corners ghost exploded in frequency.
James didn’t believe in ghosts. But creepers, kidnappers, and child molesters haunted the evening news. They were everywhere, and James refused to let his guard down. Let the gossiping townies weave stories about specters in the night. The real boogeymen were cancer, heart disease, and random blood clots buried deep inside the body like ticking time bombs. A freak stroke took Brooke at thirty-one. Lonnie had been one when Brooke died. James didn’t want Lonnie to forget his mother, so he kept her picture beside Lonnie’s bed. Every night they prayed for Brooke before turning off the light.
Sneakers scuffing through mulch pulled James’s head around.
“Got the day off from work?” Trina asked, sitting beside James.
“I have two days of vacation time to burn before summer.”
Trina bobbed her head in understanding, though the woman quit her job years ago after her uncle left Trina a generous inheritance. James wished he’d fall into money so he could care for Lonnie. Daycare providers were undependable.
“Lonnie and Martin sure are having a good time.”
“They’re inseparable.”
“Sometimes I wish I was a kid again. Nothing to worry about but skinned knees and whatever make-believe aliens or bad guys you fought that day.” Trina waved to a woman on the other side of the swing set. “Oh, that’s Jana. I need to say hello. Call me later. We’d like to have you over for dinner.”
James returned to his duty. Unlike the other parents, James never relaxed, always paranoid about Lonnie running off or a stranger slipping inside the park. A stranger like the wacko who stared into people’s windows in the middle of the night. Martin pushed Lonnie on the swings, a little higher each time as Lonnie pumped his legs.
“Not too high, boys. You’ll flip over the top.”
James shook his head and laughed to himself. He sounded like his parents. Recalling his childhood, he failed to remember any kid flipping over the top of the swing and plummeting to his demise. Physics got in the way once a kid surpassed a ninety-degree angle. But James was an adult now, and adults worried. It was his job.
Speaking of his job, James’s phone hummed. He read the message and scowled. The firm where he worked had lost the Martinson account, and the boss wanted everyone to stay late tomorrow. Wonderful. James already promised Lonnie he’d take the boy to the mall after dinner. Now he needed a sitter. Hopefully Trina would babysit the boys for a few hours after school. While James replied to the message, Lonnie and Martin played with four children from the
neighborhood. They ran circles around Trina and a woman James didn’t recognize. Probably Jana.
The assistant manager, Phillip, replied to James’s text. After four messages filled his mailbox, James sighed. He liked the people he worked with, but they never respected his time off. As the debate spun out of control, James lost track of Lonnie. Keeping up with messages and watching his son proved impossible. When he glanced up, Lonnie was gone.
He stood up from the bench and scanned the park. The boy had been in front of him ten seconds ago. No way he could have run off. The icy cold fear of losing Lonnie struck his chest and froze him to his core.
James exhaled when he heard Lonnie’s voice from the other side of the playground equipment. Slumping against the bench, James stretched his tired legs.
“My birthday is in nine weeks, but Dad says I can have one of my presents sooner if I’m good.”
Trina was great with Lonnie, and the boy loved talking with her. All the more reason James should ask Trina to do him a favor and babysit Lonnie for two hours tomorrow. James rolled his eyes as Lonnie talked her ear off. His gaze fell to the phone when Phillip sent another message. From the corner of his eye, James saw a woman chastising her son for roughhousing. His heart caught in his throat when he realized Trina was yelling at Martin for pushing another boy to the ground. The fallen boy wiped a tear from his eye while a consoling mother knelt in the grass. Who was Lonnie talking to?
James shot off the bench as though electrocuted.
“Lonnie? Where are you?”
No answer.
Pushing a swing aside, James ran beside the playground equipment to dead silence. He knew Lonnie wouldn’t be there when he rounded the towers, that his worst fears would be realized. Breathless, he smacked his shoulder against the corner as he stumbled through the mulch.
“Lonnie!”
“I’m right here, Dad.”