Darkling

by R. B. Chesterton

  She acknowledged the breakfast tray of coffee, toast, juice, maybe a scrambled egg, that I brought her each morning. She’d drink the coffee—everything else remained untouched. In the matter of the two weeks since Margo’s funeral, Berta had become skeletal in appearance.

  “Berta should see a doctor,” Cora told me one sunny afternoon as I dried the dishes she’d washed. Cora liked to help out, and over the past few days, the breach in our relationship had begun to heal. I’d learned the hard way not to go after Annie without proof, and if her name wasn’t mentioned, Cora and I settled into our old relationship.

  “I’ve talked to her and so has Bob. She refuses.”

  “She told me the last time she got so depressed that you helped her.” Cora rinsed out the sink and faced me. “Whatever you did, do it again?”

  Annie was in her room and Donald and Erin were on the front porch doing lessons. The day was incredible—temperatures in the upper sixties, the sun bright and the waters of the Sound a clear blue. I itched to be outside, but I had my chores to finish.

  I’d given Berta hope with Jimmy Finch, and it had proven to be false. “I can’t. Margo’s dead. There’s no hope to spare.”

  “I see.” Cora sat down at the kitchen table. “Hope. It’s what we all live on, isn’t it? No matter how silly or how improbable, we hope. We hope that this time things will be different, that this time it won’t be as bad as we’ve been taught to expect, that people can change and happiness is real and can be found by those determined enough to search for it.”

  I sank into a chair beside her. “Wow. You sound depressed, too.”

  “It’s hard not to be. The brutal death of two young people—that’s a harsh thing to swallow without gagging.” Cora put a hand over her eyes for a moment. “This must be hell for Berta. I know she’s reliving Margo’s death again and again.”

  “I don’t believe they were killed over drugs. Andrew sold a little pot. He wasn’t any kind of dealer, no matter what people say.”

  “What do you think the motive was?”

  I had prepared for this. It was my opportunity to get Cora to at least think about the deaths from a different perspective. “I think Margo was the target and Andrew was collateral damage.”

  Cora’s eyebrows, still dark even though her hair was gray, inched up her forehead. “Who would want to kill Margo?” She was shocked.

  “Someone who was jealous of her.”

  Cora stiffened, and I wondered if I’d taken it too far. My fists clenched and I moved my hands to my lap so she couldn’t see.

  “Who might that be?”

  “Maybe another girl who liked Andrew? He was a handsome boy. Popular. He had his own car.” I shrugged. “Or maybe a boy in town Margo flirted with and then brushed off. Margo was no saint. She liked attention from the boys, and she flaunted herself and her family’s money.” Pointing the finger at Annie was out of the question, but if I could shift Cora’s thinking just a little, I could push for another inch later.

  “After she disappeared, I heard talk.” Cora leaned back in her chair. “She would go up to the Esso station in halter tops and short shorts and flirt with Andrew and anyone else who came up. I never heard or I would have told Berta.”

  My fists unclenched. “She was sixteen and beautiful. She was just becoming aware of her power over boys. She had to try it out. She didn’t do anything really wrong, but she could be callous about other people’s feelings. You know, flirting without thinking. She was filled with her ability to make boys want her.”

  Cora chuckled. “I remember those days. I know you don’t believe it, but I was young once.”

  I’d heard a little about those days. “Did you dance at the Paradise? Were you a flapper?”

  She laughed out loud, pleased to remember those times. “Yes, I was as close to a flapper as a Coden girl could get. Zelda Fitzgerald had an influence on me and my girlfriends. Short dresses, stockings with seams, cloche hats, and binding our breasts. Those were fun times. I’ve got a picture somewhere of me in my favorite flapper dress. It was a scandal here in Coden.”

  “Sigourney was still alive then, wasn’t she?”

  “In the ’20s, yes. She was very old. Belle Fleur was falling into ruin.” Cora looked around her. “Bob has brought this place back to her heyday. When the Hendersons moved here, I anticipated Belle Fleur returned to her grandeur. Bob far exceeded even my dreams.”

  “How did Bob find out about Belle Fleur being up for sale?” I played it innocent.

  “Real estate agents list houses like this one on a national level. I suppose he saw it in some catalogue. Maybe one of those travel magazines.” Her fingers tapped on the tablecloth.

  “I don’t remember ever seeing a FOR SALE sign.” I stood. “I think I’ll make us a bit of coffee. It’ll give me an excuse to check on Berta.”

  “Good idea.” Cora gazed out the kitchen window, lost in thought. “I guess the real estate agency got tired of putting up the signs. Someone always stole them. Anyway, no one ever asked about Belle Fleur. The estate is so large, and we had several bad hurricanes. Waterfront property looked pretty risky, but I guess if you live in a place where an earthquake could send you shuttling off the edge of a cliff into the ocean, a hurricane doesn’t seem so bad.”

  “Excellent point.” I turned on the stove to heat water for the dripolater, then spooned coffee into the basket of the pot.

  “If Bob hadn’t fallen in love with Belle Fleur, no telling what would have happened to the house.”

  “There are plenty of people in Mobile with the money to buy her. Why didn’t someone local?”

  Cora hesitated. “What’s with the sudden interest in real estate?”

  “I’ve always been curious, but Mark and the sheriff were asking some questions about how the Hendersons came to be here.” It was only a tiny white lie. “They said some company out of Montgomery sold Belle Fleur, a realtor or something, but they couldn’t find out a lot of information. I told them you might know.”

  “Me?” Cora was startled.

  “Belle Fleur was always special to you.” I shrugged. “I figured you’d know. You or Chad Petri.”

  Cora’s face showed concern. “There’s nothing to know.”

  “After Sigourney died, who owned Belle Fleur? There were no descendants. So who inherited the property?”

  “Why, I’m not certain. It seems there was someone who worked at the perfume factory who bought the property, but that was such a long time ago. I was busy working in Mobile, and I don’t recall. Why would the sheriff care about that?”

  “I don’t know.” I went to the fridge and got an apple pie I’d baked the day before. I cut three slices and put them on saucers. When I glanced over my shoulder, I saw worry on Cora’s brow. “Are you upset?” I put a slice in front of her.

  “No.”

  She was lying. Cora gave herself away when she couldn’t hold my gaze. She knew more about the sale of Belle Fleur than she was letting on. “Do you think Mr. Petri would know more? In case Mark asks.”

  “He might.”

  The kettle began to sing, and I poured the hot water into the top of the coffee pot and got cups and saucers down. While the water dripped through, I fixed a tray with pie and a coffee cup for Berta. “I’d like to know more about this house. I’ve heard some things about Sigourney. Unpleasant things. A very different picture than what you told me about Belle Fleur.” I poured the freshly brewed coffee into the cup in front of Cora.

  “Every old house has stories attached,” Cora said. She’d regained her balance. Her voice was strong. “There’s always been foolishness about Belle Fleur. Sigourney was a mean woman in her last years. She hurt local children. She broke Si’s leg when she struck him with her cane, and he’s held a grudge all these years. Those are facts. The rest is just foolishness.” She stabbed her fork into the pie and took a bite. “This is wonderful, Mimi. You’ve become an excellent baker.”

  “Berta probably wouldn’t approve of a
ll the sweets, but the children enjoy them.” I poured another cup. “I’ll be right back. Let me take this tray to Berta.”

  Cora stood up abruptly. “Let me do that. I want to have a word with her and then I’ve got to be on my way.”

  “But you didn’t eat your pie.”

  “Wrap it up for me, Mimi. I’ll take it home. I think I should try to reach Berta.”

  There was no point arguing. She was more hardheaded than I. “Okay.”

  She took the tray and I heard her tap lightly on Berta’s door before she entered. Then the door closed and I was alone in the kitchen.

  After I filled a cup with coffee for me, I sat at the table and ate my pie. The kitchen window was open, and the starched white curtains lifted and fell on a breeze that came from the woods. Normally the wind came from the south, crossing the water and picking up the tang of salt. This smelled of pine. I sniffed it, savoring the difference.

  I’d just taken the last bite of pie when I heard something scratching beneath the kitchen window.

  I ignored it. Two weeks had passed. Annie was ruling the roost. She had everything she wanted, so perhaps the creature wouldn’t return.

  The scratching came again, more insistent. The claws scoured the wood. It wanted in, and it would not be denied.

  45

  Easing away from the table, I went to the kitchen window and looked out. The yard rolled toward the woods in the perfect November light. A breeze rustled through the trees, and some dead leaves blew off the scuppernong harbor and scattered toward the front of the house. The empty swing shifted slightly. Nothing was amiss in the yard, but I went to the closet and selected a heavy wooden croquet mallet. I’d moved the set from Annie’s room, knowing the time would come when a weapon would be necessary.

  I’d thought to get a gun—had almost asked Mark to help me find one—but I knew such a request would be met with concern and skepticism. A sudden interest in a firearm would be a red alert. I’d have to settle for various baseball bats Donald left around the house and yard, and the croquet mallets and whatever club or weapon I could find. I didn’t relish the thought of beating the nester to death, but I would if I got the opportunity.

  Grasping the mallet, I went to the back door. Again, I scanned the yard and saw nothing. The scratching sound could have been the wind moving a branch against the side of the house. Or it could have been something far more sinister.

  I wasn’t going to wait in the house to see what came inside to harm us. I opened the door and slipped into the yard. Checking beneath the kitchen window I found the telltale claw marks.

  The fragile calm that I’d worked so hard to maintain was over. The creature wanted only one thing—to destroy the children. To push each one out of the house, to make room for its mistress.

  The thick carpet grass hid the creature’s tracks, but I walked to the edge of the woods, looking for any sign, any evidence of where it had disappeared. It wouldn’t be far. If I could only sneak up on it, I would do what was necessary.

  “Mi-mi.” It called my name from within the shelter of the thick woods. “Play hide and go seek, Mimi. We love that game.”

  My fingers gripped the mallet so tightly my fingernails dug into my palm. “I’m coming,” I answered.

  Branches from a young Tibouchina plant were snapped, the beautiful purple flowers trampled into the dirt in what looked like a place where a dog had dug. The nester had come this way. I stepped into the woods and felt the temperature drop a good ten degrees. Overhead, the trees canopied. Some of the natural hardwoods were bare, but there were enough live oaks to give a dense shade.

  “Mimi.” The voice was soft, enticing. “You’re it!”

  I glanced back at the house. Annie sat on her balcony, watching me. Her amusement made my temper rise, but I stepped deeper into the woods, where she couldn’t see me, and kept going. If I found her cohort, I would put an end to this in a brutal way. Then I’d see what she had to smile about.

  The deeper I walked into the woods, the more the gloom settled around me. The November light was weaker than the full blast of summer sun, but I’d never had the sensation that the forest drank the sunshine. I pulled my coat together and zipped it against the sudden chill and kept walking, my stride long and quick, my chin tucked and my focus on the path.

  “Mi-mi, where are we? Find us. We want to play.”

  I didn’t answer. If I got close enough, I’d whack the little beast with the mallet. To practice my swing, I struck a tree on the side of the path. The solid thwack was gratifying. I could imagine the mallet striking the flesh of the nester.

  “Find the present, Mimi.” The childish giggle came from the woods not too far away. The creature was toying with me. “We made you a gift.”

  I stopped and listened, my breath harsh in my ears.

  “You’re getting warmer.” This was a vile thing. The voice seemed to come from different places, and I waited, hoping it would speak again and give me an indication of where to look. When I didn’t hear anything, I walked forward slowly. I was half a mile from Belle Fleur deep in the woods. I’d walked out without a word to anyone, and I’d left the children alone on the front porch.

  “Warmer! Warmer, Mimi!” The creature sang the words.

  I rounded a bend in the trail and saw something buried in leaves in the middle of the path. Dread twisted my gut, and the copper taste of fear filled my mouth. I couldn’t tell what it was by staring at it. Finally, I kicked it.

  Long blond hair attached to a head rolled across the carpet of leaves. When it struck the base of a sweet gum, the blue eyes popped open. It took an eternity to realize it was not Erin’s head, but that of her favorite doll, Savannah.

  I went to the doll’s head and picked it up carefully by the hair. At last I had proof. Something to show Mark, maybe something to get fingerprints off. I had no doubt I’d find Annie’s prints on the doll—she had to have taken it from Erin’s room. But I hoped for some other prints, those of a creature that was not human, not Erin.

  Holding the doll head by the hair, I started back to Belle Fleur.

  46

  When I came out of the woods, Erin and Donald had moved to the back yard. Erin swung, her blond hair almost touching the ground when she used her legs and body to push higher. Donald nudged a plastic road-grader truck to make pathways for his other toys. He saw me first and jumped up, smiling, to greet me. The smile faded when he saw what I held.

  “Savannah.” He said the doll’s name in a whisper. “What did you do to her?”

  I realized then how the nester had played me. “I found this in the woods.”

  Erin stopped swinging. When she realized what I held, she jumped from the swing and ran toward me. “What did you do to Savannah?” Her face was drained of all color.

  “I found this in the woods.” She grabbed for the doll head, but I snatched it away. “I have to call Mark.”

  “Mark? Why are you calling Mark?” She made another grab for the doll, but I eluded her.

  “He can check for fingerprints.” She was furious at me, and I could tell she wasn’t listening.

  “What good will that do?” Erin’s fists clenched and unclenched at her side. Donald tried to touch her arm, but she flung her hand and struck him in the face. He was so stunned, he didn’t even cry.

  “Erin, someone did this to your doll. I have to find out who.”

  “Look in the mirror, you sick freak! You did it. You did it!” She swung blindly and hit my shoulder with such force, I stumbled backward.

  “Erin! Stop it.” I put up my hands to defend myself, but she kept swinging.

  “I hate you. Why would you do that to Savannah?”

  She was out of control, and I had no choice. I slapped her. The shock and sting of the blow numbed my hand and stopped her in her tracks. The fury left her face as if washed away. She stared at me and then burst into tears.

  “Oh, Erin.” I pulled her into my arms and held her as she sobbed. Donald started crying, too. Tog
ether, we huddled in the yard and cried. I couldn’t stop myself. While I knew it was the pent-up emotions of weeks of horror and grief, and I also knew it was my job to remain in control, to guide the children through these hard times, I couldn’t stop the tears.

  When I looked up, Cora stood on the top step, her brow furrowed with worry. Behind her, Annie waited. Her smile slowly widened, and she gave me a big wink before she turned back inside.

  “Mimi, you really want me to fingerprint a doll head?” Mark sat beside me on the front steps. Even with the potential evidence in a paper bag at my feet, no one believed me. Nor did Mark touch me. I wasn’t surprised, but it still hurt.

  The early darkness of winter had fallen, and with the loss of sun, the temperatures were chilly. I pulled the car coat tighter around me and resisted the urge to jam my hands in my pockets. I needed Mark to do this. Physical evidence was the only thing that would convince people of Annie’s role in what was happening. She’d masterfully played it, time and time again, so that I looked like the bad person, but if her prints were on the doll head—I would get her prints on a glass or something else for comparison—I would have something to fight back with. And if there were unknown prints, nester prints, I could prove that someone was lurking in the house.

  “I know it sounds ridiculous, but someone took that doll’s head into the woods and did this. It’s a warning, Mark.”

  “A warning to whom?”

  To Erin. But I couldn’t say that, either. The nester had returned to Belle Fleur to rid the house of another child, to make more room in the nest. I knew it with the core of my being; but should I be foolish enough to express such an idea, I would be the one removed and put in a place for the insane. “You heard how upset Erin was. Savannah was her childhood friend, a link to her past in California. For god’s sake, the doll looks like Erin. I have to know who did this. Someone is terrorizing the children, and if I find proof, I can stop it.”

  “Frankly, it sounds more like something Donald would do to get back at his sister. I mean, it’s been rough on both kids. Maybe he’s acting out.”