Mystic Falls

by Vickie McKeehan

  After working side by side in the same kitchen for six long months, and despite the language barrier, Jean-Luc found a way to ask Marissa out on a date.

  Their first outing was a free concert put on by folk singers in Greenwich’s Washington Square Park. It soon became a place where the couple returned often to take advantage of the free entertainment. To them, it was like watching a circus where street performers and magicians regularly put on shows, especially on the weekends.

  It was a rare day off for them both when on a warm Sunday afternoon near the fountain in the center of the park, the two shared their first kiss. From that moment on, they made plans to be together and rarely spent any time apart. They practiced their English and spent hours trying to rid themselves of their accents so they would fit in better. They started dreaming about one day owning their own business, maybe moving out of the crowded confines of the city to someplace better with a view of the countryside.

  It wasn’t until after Jean-Luc asked her to marry him that he got the bright idea to move west to Southern California. Jean-Luc saw the golden state as a land of opportunity. And when his cousin, who lived in the San Fernando Valley offered him a job earning double what he made in New York City, he began a deliberate campaign to talk Marissa into moving there.

  “We could go to Disneyland whenever we wanted and every other weekend head to the beach. We could learn to surf on our days off. You love the water,” Jean-Luc pointed out. “We’ll go on one of those Hollywood tours. I bet we could even catch a glimpse of John Wayne or Robert Redford.”

  “Not likely. I can’t believe you want to move so far away to a place neither of us has ever laid eyes on. It makes me worry about you. It’s a bit intimidating. I’m not sure I want to leave New York.”

  “Oh come on, you didn’t let crossing the ocean intimidate you when you wanted to fulfill your dream of getting to America. If that wasn’t enough of a deterrent this should be a piece of cake. Moving to California couldn’t be any scarier than that.”

  “And how will we make this trip. We have no car. What do we use for transportation once we get to this golden city of yours?”

  “We’ll scrimp and save every dime to buy one. We’ll work double shifts if we have to and put the money toward buying our own Mustang, like the one Steve McQueen drives in that film Bullitt. You liked that movie.”

  “Listen to you. A fancy Mustang? You know we can’t afford that. You’re such a dreamer.”

  “You have to dream big, Marissa. Besides, to make the three-thousand-mile trip it’ll have to be a good car, in good shape. Why not buy a new one?”

  “A new car? You’re talking crazy.”

  “Crazy and in love with the most beautiful woman in the world,” he said as he nuzzled her neck.

  “You just want me to give in to you like I did last night.”

  “That too. But we’ll have to learn to drive so we’ll be able to be more independent. There’s no subway in Granada Hills. My cousin says they have buses, but it’s better to own your own vehicle.”

  “Jean-Luc, I think I’d be afraid to drive around in the city with so many cars. I’ve seen pictures of the freeways.”

  “We’ll learn together. We’ll be afraid together. And then maybe we will pick somewhere to live that is not so…full…of so many people.”

  That sounded wonderful to Marissa.

  But then in February, four weeks before they were due to leave, Marissa woke up to the news that a 6.6 earthquake had decimated the San Fernando Valley. The story was all over the television. Pictures from the Sylmar quake showed the horrible devastation. Jean-Luc got a call from his cousin saying his house was still standing but barely. It had suffered tremendous damage when some of the interior walls had caved in.

  After hearing that, Marissa changed her mind. “I’m not moving to a place where such things like that happen.”

  “Marissa, are you forgetting those same kinds of earthquakes sometimes occur in Spain?”

  “I’m not forgetting anything. I remember the bridge in Andalusia collapsing from a powerful quake. But I don’t want to live where they do that kind of devastation.”

  Jean-Luc had kissed the top of her head. “But mon chéri, earthquakes happen all the time up and down the California coast. We talked about this.”

  “Yes, but the earthquake happening so close to the time before we leave, and crushing the walls of your cousin’s house, it’s a sign, a bad sign that we should move somewhere else. I know this in my heart. Please. Listen to me. I’ve seen a vision telling me not to go to Los Angeles, even before this. I didn’t want to say anything for fear of disappointing you. But this earthquake happening, I cannot ignore it. We must not live in the southern part of the state.”

  “Then where? We’ve already given our notices at work. We’ve given our move-out dates to the landlord. They’ve already leased our apartment.”

  “My vision says we should stay to the north, above San Francisco. There’s a small town there that’s right for us. I feel it in my heart. We should go there. I’ve seen it in my dreams.”

  Jean-Luc was hardly convinced. But he saw the worry on her face. “Okay, but things will be different than the way we’d planned. Without the job my cousin promised me, I’ll need to find work right away. It will be much harder and much more challenging than moving in with my cousin.”

  “We’ll manage, Jean-Luc. I know it will be better for us in the long run not having to live with your cousin anyway. You’ll see.”

  When the day came to leave New York, it was still cold. But on that March day with snow flurries drifting down on the sidewalk, they loaded up their few possessions into the slightly used 1970 Ford Maverick they’d purchased and set out for California. They had five hundred dollars in their pockets and the hope that the future would look brighter in the northern part of the state. Jean-Luc could only pray it held a better life.

  Once the couple reached Coyote Wells, they dug in and worked hard. Jean-Luc and Marissa found jobs at a new restaurant in town called Captain Jack’s Grill. They made fast friends with its owner, Jack Bonner, who would turn out to be Lando’s grandfather.

  They worked there until they were able to save enough money to open their chocolate shop, a place they called the Coyote Chocolate Company. Using the recipes Marissa had brought from her native Spain, the two began to sell anything that had to do with chocolate, brownies, sodas, and decadent candy creations.

  For the first two years, they’d lived over the store in a nine-hundred square foot attic-like space that had a tiny bathroom and no tub. The kitchen area was little more than a counter with a sink. They had to rely on the downstairs commercial prep area to fix their meals.

  But through it all, Jean-Luc and Marissa did everything they could to contribute to their adopted homeland, their adopted state, their adopted city. They went out of their way to make friends with everyone---the Native American community as well as the other immigrants that called Coyote Wells home.

  Gemma recalled that story on the walk home---a story she’d heard many times over the course of her lifetime---and wondered for the first time if Marissa’s vision had been an initial indication of her grandmother’s psychic ability. It certainly hadn’t been about earthquakes since her grandparents had ended up in an area with an active fault line. The fact they had taken off to California with only a small amount of cash on hand proved just how much mettle her grandparents possessed.

  These were the people who’d raised her---fearless with an indomitable spirit. Gemma had been eight when her grandfather had developed a bad cough and gone to the local clinic. And then a young ten when he’d succumbed to a virulent form of lung cancer. Poppy’s death had devastated her grandmother.

  She wondered now how she could have turned her back on Gram. How could she have allowed her mother to butt into her life and end a marriage? No, that wasn’t fair. She was done blaming it all on Genevieve. She needed to take some responsibility for her own actions, even if those actio
ns showed an ugly side she wanted to forget.

  Maybe that’s why these days she appreciated the little things a lot more than she ever had before---like sitting in her grandmother’s gardens and watching the sun go down. If only she’d come back more often over the years for visits. She wasn’t sure what she could do about it now to make up for lost time other than make sure Gram’s business stayed open and continued earning a healthy bottom line.

  But to achieve that, she had to work on perfecting those recipes. She needed the same quality every time, not in sporadic spurts.

  Gemma stuck her key in the lock. She still hadn’t gotten used to the thick, double front doors that reminded her of a church. She stepped through a rounded archway into a brightly-lit vestibule with tiled flooring and plants lined up that made it look more like an atrium.

  Ficus and kentia palms lined the walls next to sunny stained-glass windows. The spacious foyer spread out lengthwise in rectangular fashion, and was decorated in creamy yellow paint with colorful tapestries and dream catchers hanging on the walls.

  Marissa had also put up photographs of Gemma over the years from grade school to high school. Looking at them now made Gemma wonder if maybe she should think about taking them down and replacing them with something else. She wasn’t keen on staring at herself every time she opened the door. She hated the reminder of those awkward years during middle school.

  Her loyal mutt Rufus came bounding up, tail wagging, skidding to a stop in front of her. She dropped her purse on the rustic hall bench and bent down to rub the pooch’s ears. Rufus, a chocolate lab mix, greeted her with excited yips and friendly wet kisses.

  “Missed me, didn’t you? Tomorrow maybe we’ll try something else. I’ll take you to the shop again. But you have to promise me you’ll stop licking the floor whenever the butter cream drips on the linoleum. Deal?”

  Rufus woofed in delight at the prospect of another chance to prove he could do it.

  “I bet you need a potty break. Ready to go for a walk?” Gemma led the dog into the kitchen and to the back door. As soon as they reached the doggie door, Rufus started backing away.

  “Buddy, you have to get over this. It’s just a door.” To prove her point, she got down on all fours and wiggled her way up to the opening. She put her hands through the “tunnel” no more than a few inches thick. “See? You won’t disappear or end up in a parallel universe if you go through there. I promise.”

  But Rufus still seemed skeptical.

  She took his favorite toy, a big blue sock monkey, and tossed it through the opening. “Go get it, Rufus. Go get Mr. Monkey.”

  But Rufus stayed put, his butt glued to the floor.

  After fifteen minutes of trying Gemma finally gave up and got to her feet. “Okay, we’ll do it the old-fashioned way.”

  She ended up yanking open the door and watched the dog frolic into the backyard like he didn’t have a care in the world.

  While Rufus enjoyed his playtime, she fixed herself a sandwich and a glass of milk and carried them into the living room. The focal point here was a floor to ceiling kiva style fireplace that took up one entire wall. The other side consisted of floor to ceiling bookshelves filled with novels, historical tomes about local Native legends, and plenty of books on California history.

  The only volumes of anything that remotely resembled psychic phenomenon were perhaps ten hardcovers about famous known psychics who’d been instrumental in solving murder cases.

  That fascinated Gemma. She stacked as many of the books in her arms and brought them over to the sofa. Spreading out to get more comfortable, she propped her feet up and read the opening pages. It didn’t take long to learn about the documented accounts, written by family members and detectives from as far away as Australia and the UK to America, who’d relied on clairvoyants to help them solve homicides going as far back as 1908.

  In one of the books, Marissa had underlined a very revealing passage. The source claimed the FBI relied on psychics all the time, and had for years, especially with missing persons cases. Federal agents just didn’t go around advertising it. In fact, when they had nothing else to go on, when leads had dried up, they routinely turned to a long list of reliable clairvoyants they kept on hand for just that purpose. While agents publicly mocked the notion of using psychics, they quietly, behind the scenes, turned to them for help.

  She slammed the book shut at the hypocrisy, wondering if Lando fit this type of mindset. While laughing at it to others, would he really ignore information if it came from a psychic, even though he welcomed any little tidbit that was called in on a tip line? She didn’t see the difference.

  When she heard Rufus scratching at the back door wanting in, she got up to open the door and screamed when she saw a man standing on the patio with his arms curled around her dog’s neck.

  “Lando! What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Making friends with your hound.”

  “Why?”

  “I like to get to know all the mutts in town. It helps in my profession when I have to answer a call in the middle of the night.”

  “Let’s hope that isn’t me. I didn’t know the chief of police answered calls in the middle of the night.”

  “I have a force of five, including me. Sometimes that limits the choices. Am I allowed to come in like Rufus?”

  “Sure.” She held the door back so man and dog could enter. “Traitor,” she muttered to the canine as soon as he trotted past her and into the kitchen. “Some guard dog you are.”

  Rufus turned his head to look away, unable to look her in the eye.

  “Don’t blame him. I’m good with dogs,” Lando boasted.

  “I’ll ask again. What are you doing here?”

  “I was mad when you left my office.”

  “So I noticed.”

  “But I’ve had time to calm down some. And I needed to explain about why I got so mad, maybe it’ll help us clear the air going forward, especially given our history. Do I get a beer?”

  She relaxed her shoulders. “Sure. Gram kept a craft beer on hand. I don’t know how old it is though. It’s been in the fridge since I got here.”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  She opened the bottled brew and handed it off. “Come into the living room. We can talk in there.”

  Lando dropped into a comfy chair and looked out at the view, the mountain peaks in the distance to the east and noticed they couldn’t compete with the Six Rivers Forest to the south. It seemed like the perfect peaceful setting for a heart to heart talk.

  “This is a pretty room. I always did think your grandmother had good taste.” He finally stared into Gemma’s amber eyes. “It took me a year and a half to get over you when you walked out.”

  “Don’t do this, Lando. I hurt you and I’m sorry for it, sorrier than you could possibly know. If it’s any consolation I’ve regretted my decision at least once a month, that’s a dozen times a year for ten years. In case you’re interested that comes out to...”

  “I don’t care how many times you’ve had second thoughts over the years. I really don’t. We were too young to make a go of it anyway. Period. I didn’t realize that until I went off to Cal State. But now, today, we need to somehow come to a truce. Otherwise we’ll be bumping heads with each other over every little thing, three times a week in a town this size. That’s a problem. My mother to this day still cares about you. My sister, Leia, misses having you for a best friend. Luke still thinks you hung the moon. I’m sick of beating my head against a brick wall when it comes to my own family taking your side.”

  “There isn’t much chance of that since the Bonner family is about as tight as any I know. Look, I don’t want you for an enemy, Lando. I never did. I loved your family almost as much as I loved you. You aren’t a bad guy. But then, I’m not a bad person either.”

  “Are you planning on staying put this time?”

  “Yes.”

  “Even if things go south?”

  “Even if things get t
ough? Isn’t that what you’re really asking me? I guess I deserve that.”

  “I see you went back to using your stepfather’s name.”

  “The minute I signed the divorce papers, I felt I no longer deserved to keep the Bonner name. So I didn’t. Channing was all I ever really had before I married you, after Robert adopted me and made it official. Sarrazin belonged to my grandparents and my mother. Since dear old mom didn’t feel the need to tell me who my father was…Channing was the best I could do.”

  “Fair enough. But for the record, I always thought Gemma Bonner had a nice ring to it.”

  “I hate to put this warm and fuzzy feeling to the test, but what are you doing about Collette Whittaker and Marnie Hightower?”

  For the first time since sitting down, Lando noticed all the books spread out on the sofa. “You need to think twice before you go sticking your nose into what happened to those women. It’s not a good idea.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed you don’t get to tell me what to do anymore. That’s one of the things that got us divorced.”

  “A lot of things split us up, namely your refusing to stick it out during the bad times. You let your mama tell you what to do.”

  “Don’t keep reminding me of that. Besides, that doesn’t have anything to do with the question. Why won’t you answer me about Collette and Marnie?”

  “Because it’s an ongoing investigation.”

  “That’s not good enough.”

  Lando ran a hand through his dark brown hair, shorn off to fit his cop persona. “Ballard was the last person to see both women.”

  “So? He was also sleeping with both women. That might explain how he was the last person to see them. Have you asked him about it?”

  “Of course. I brought him in for an interview after Collette disappeared and I really leaned hard on him after Marnie went missing. He denied any wrongdoing and stuck to his story. But I think he did something to them. I just don’t have enough to go any further. Until I find a body…”