Mystic Falls

by Vickie McKeehan

  “And you’re looking into this yourself? What’s Lando Bonner doing about it?”

  “He’s on board with the effort to get the death certificate changed.”

  “Took him long enough. Why didn’t he notice this right after and say something then? Or better still the day he stood over her body sprawled out on the cement with a big gash in her head?”

  Gemma patted her hand. “I don’t know. I guess he saw an elderly lady on the ground who took a tumble.”

  “What do you suppose gave it away?”

  “Gram was very particular about her gardening tools, always had them hung up neatly in the right order on the wall. That might be why they were out of place, scattered on the floor. Big give away for me. I think whoever killed her, went after her with a vengeance, knocking Gram into the wall, which caused most of the tools to fall down from their hooks.”

  Paloma’s eyes watered. “What’s going on in this town? Who would kill a little old lady like that? Everyone loved her.”

  “You should be getting a call from Elnora soon about having your book club here on Wednesday.”

  “Why? I thought we’d agree to postpone any meetups out of respect for those who died.”

  “I wanted to speak to everyone involved. And the only way I can do that without running around to each person’s house is to ask them questions all at once here. In the meantime, feel free to help me think up some good ones. What do you know about Holly Dowell?”

  “She’s a follower, can’t think for herself. She’ll do whatever her sister, Louise Rawlins, commands her to do. Always has.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because Holly got pregnant once and gave the baby to Louise to raise.”

  “What? Wait. You’re saying Holly gave birth to Mallory? You’re saying Louise is not Mallory’s birth mother?”

  Paloma clucked her tongue. “Nothing slow about you, girl. That’s exactly what I’m saying. Just a handful of people know the truth, the rest bought into Louise’s impossible explanation about going down to Los Angeles to have the baby. Sure, she made the trip there but it was because that’s where Holly was living at the time. Louise simply scooped that baby up and brought her home, claimed Mallory as her own. Louise was never pregnant. Holly on the other hand…”

  “How did you find out?”

  “Because I’m not stupid. Neither was your grandmother.”

  “I never did locate Gram’s journal or her recipes.”

  “You’re kidding? Did you look upstairs?”

  Gemma rolled her eyes at the ceiling. “You mean up in the storage area? Why would it be there? It’s just a bunch of old furniture and other stuff Gram once used in the store.”

  “Take a better look around. Now give me a sack full of those fresh candies you made today and I’ll be on my way.”

  Gemma bagged up a half pound’s worth of Mayan Indulgence and rang up the purchase. “This should hold you until tomorrow.”

  Paloma snickered. “We’ll see. I’m not the only one who has a sweet tooth. Van loves his chocolate as much as I do.”

  After Paloma left, Gemma wrote up a sign for the door that said, “Be back in thirty minutes,” and turned the CLOSED sign around on the door. She clicked the lock into place and headed up the stairs in the back of the store.

  For years, the attic had been used as a catchall for castoff furniture, stuff Jean-Luc and Marissa had used for their own living space back in the days when they were just settling in. Most of it had been purchased at thrift shops and garage sales. Some had even been picked up along the side of the road and reupholstered or painted.

  A sofa in bold lime green stripes and matching chairs still took up most of what used to be deemed their living room. A dining table with chairs cushioned in a weird orange and brown pattern looked like something Edith Bunker might’ve used. An antique bedroom set was covered in layers of dust. An open box of Christmas decorations sat in the corner, piled high with strings of old-fashioned light bulbs on top. A metal high chair that probably belonged to Genevieve was a reminder of just how long this stuff had been up here collecting cobwebs. There were other cartons stacked like a strategic wall around the perimeter that would take some time to dig through.

  Gemma stood, hands on her hips, taking in the clutter. There was no way Marissa had kept her journal up here. For one thing, it didn’t look like anyone had walked through the mess in years, no footprints in the fine dust that had gathered on the floor. She didn’t see the need to waste time picking apart the keepsakes from bygone days and retraced her steps back down to the shop.

  Rufus wagged his tail in greeting, standing at full attention as she went over to unlock the door and turn the sign around. When she looked up, she saw Lando on the other side, waiting to get in. “What are you doing here?”

  “I just got back from the coroner’s office.”

  “And?”

  “Yesterday you mentioned two killers. How did you know that?”

  “I mentioned a blue sedan, too, but you didn’t see your way clear to believing me. Now you do?”

  “Just answer the question.”

  “Why? So you can give me a hard time about…psychic woo-woo stuff…again? No thank you.”

  “Gemma…”

  “Okay, okay. I saw two people out in those woods burying Marnie. Which is the same thing I said before. Satisfied? Now you tell me what the coroner said.”

  “Tuttle believes there were two killers. Collette had two cracks in her skull---one on the right side and one on the back of the head as she was falling down. He thinks it’s possible that two killers delivered those kinds of blows. He says it’s the only explanation for those exact injuries, one right after the other on opposite sides. Marnie’s injuries were almost identical to Collette’s, same location on the right and then on the lower left side of the back of the head. Tuttle also thinks Marnie’s final blow was struck on the way down.”

  “Wow. Really?”

  “It stunned me, too.”

  “Do you believe me now?”

  “Let’s just say I’m cautiously taking baby steps toward accepting what you thought you saw out there near the dump site.”

  “Lame as it is, I guess that’s a start. I’d still like to see you compile a list from Motor Vehicles that shows all the registered Nissan Altimas in town.”

  Lando’s brow crinkled. “That’s what you think the killers drove?”

  “Yeah. Dark blue, 2009 to 2011. I looked it up online until I found the right model.”

  “That’s pretty damn specific. Okay, I’ll get Louise to follow up with the DMV to generate an owner’s list.”

  She patted the side of his face. “Super. As soon as you get it, I’ll help you go through it.”

  “As if. No way.”

  “And just when I thought you were coming over to my way of thinking. You might as well run along now because I need to get back to work. Will I see you tonight?”

  “I hope so, but I do have a couple of killers to catch. Until that happens, I might have to work around the clock.”

  “It’s okay. I wouldn’t mind having some time to myself tonight.”

  “If that was meant as a comfort, it fell way short.” He leaned in to kiss her mouth. “The weekend started out great, like old times. Although in some ways it feels different this time around.”

  “I should hope so. I’m not eighteen anymore or a novice, and you’ve learned a few techniques over the years that I happen to---”

  “Fully appreciate?”

  She smiled. “I’d planned to say thoroughly enjoyed, but appreciate works.”

  He grinned right before his cell phone rang. “Hold that thought.” He checked the number in the digital readout and added, “I’ve gotta take this, it’s Tuttle again. If I get the chance, I’ll call you later, otherwise I’ll probably head to my house if it’s way too late to hook up. If I think you might already be asleep I’ll go on home.”

  She watched him leave, watched as he
used those long legs to stride to his cruiser. She looked over at Rufus. “We have our work cut out for us, but at least he’s made a breakthrough. He’s at least looking into the car angle now. That’s something we hadn’t counted on. Who knows? Maybe when Louise gives him that list and it leads to the killers, we’ll drag him kicking and screaming over to our side.”

  18

  Once she got home that evening Gemma spent the first hour going through the garage, tearing it up in hopes of finding her grandmother’s journal. After searching every nook and cranny she could think of---even dumping out the trash can that held grass clippings from weeks back and going through it pile by pile---she came up empty.

  She looked behind every empty flower pot that sat on the shelves. She picked up bags of potting soil and fertilizer to see if anything had been hidden behind them. She even went over every inch of Gram’s Buick that hadn’t moved since that dreadful night. After hunting through storage containers and everywhere else she could think to look, she gave up.

  It was official. Since Paloma had first mentioned the journal, Gemma had invested hours and hours into trying to find it, turning the house upside down, and now the garage, only to come up with nothing that even resembled a journal.

  Filthy and dirty from the search, she stepped into the mudroom and stripped down to her panties and bra, tossing the rest of her dirty clothes into the washing machine. She dashed down the hallway and into the master bathroom to take a shower.

  After scrubbing off the grime, she blow-dried her hair, taming the natural curl with a flat iron. She went to her closet and pulled on a pair of stretch pants and an oversized shirt for comfort. Since she’d been on her feet most of the day, she decided to take a shortcut to dinner and heated up a can of tomato soup. As a side dish, she made herself a grilled cheese sandwich to use for dunking.

  While she scarfed down everything on her plate, Rufus did the same with his own supper, chomping on the dry food until he’d licked his dish clean.

  She rinsed off her bowl and plate and added them to the dishwasher. “What do we do now, Rufus? I’m exhausted.”

  As if Rufus had the right idea, the dog trotted off toward the solarium on his way outside. Gemma tossed her dish towel on the counter and decided to follow. “What the heck? Relaxing in the garden sounds like as good a plan as any.”

  She took a seat on the bench---her favorite spot in the entire yard where she could sit and watch the sun go down. Tonight, solitude had to be her first priority, otherwise she feared she’d tackle the first person who dared tread on her peace and quiet.

  With Lando working late, it was the perfect time to spend alone. It would allow her to think, to contemplate, to recharge.

  Daffodils were popping up all over the yard in a haphazard pattern of defiance. Purple and gold pansies seemed to stare back at her in a show of disappointment. If she thought flowers were mocking her, it showed just how much she needed an evening of quiet reflection.

  Looking back on the conversation with Paloma she wondered how she could have missed the fact that Mallory wasn’t Louise’s very own. But then, why should she stick her nose into the situation? It had never occurred to her to do so. Even though Mallory Rawlins had been a thorn in her side from the early days on the playground, right into middle school gym classes, and on through high school’s competitive environment, Gemma couldn’t say she’d ever given much thought to Mallory.

  Unless Mallory butted her nose into where it didn’t belong, she’d usually steered clear of that kind of person. Mallory had always been considered one of the “mean girls” and someone best avoided. She remembered a time when Mallory had once egged on a fight outside the ice cream shop between two other girls, locking in her bully status for all time. There was a long list of other times she’d cut class and ended up vandalizing cars in the parking lot or nearby houses. Louise had always covered for her no matter how serious the charges were. If there were fines or reimbursement, Louise would pay them. If there were penalties to pay, Louise got them reduced. Maybe now all the doting Louise had done over the years made sense.

  Gemma breathed in the white sweet clover that had taken over the patch of ground near the house. The white lilies and foxglove grew tall, their stems swaying on the feathery breeze. Dusk brought out the fireflies, first flitting near the honeysuckle, their balls of light flickering, glowing off and on to attract a mate.

  She watched Rufus roll and twitch in the grass like a crazy mutt having a fit or needing a rubdown. It reminded her that she should probably give him a bath. As if the chocolate lab could get any crazier, Rufus stopped his rolling around and sat up fast, too fast, knocking over the flower bed border, a series of flat stones stacked a foot high in uneven fashion. The rock rim had held back lavender and heather, blossoming in a circular patch of purple and green.

  Gemma tilted her head and realized the rocks now had caved in at a funny angle. She stared at those stones until it occurred to her---something odd about the way the boulders formed a distinctive pattern. The stones had recently been rearranged. She went over to put them back, restacking the rocks in an attempt to get them in the same pattern as before.

  After hefting one and then another, she discovered one flat stone in particular was much lighter than the rest. When she turned it over she realized it was made of durable, all-weather fiberglass. Why was there a faux rock among all the real ones?

  Getting down on all fours on the grass, she found the reason. Its place in the stack made for a small hidey hole approximately eight inches wide, large enough for a book. She spotted something red, something completely out of place in a flower bed border.

  Her grandmother’s journal took up the space between a crevice and the other real stones. The book had been covered in clear plastic to prevent it from getting damaged by rain or harsh weather.

  Gemma sat back on her haunches. “Why in the world would Gram hide this out here in the yard?”

  She looked over accusingly at the dog and let out a sigh. “You let me spend hours searching for this thing and you managed to find it by knocking over a few rocks. The least you could’ve done is discover her hiding place several weeks earlier.”

  Gemma slipped the leather-bound journal out of its covering and began to flip through the pages. “This is fascinating stuff. I’m digging out one of those merlots from Wind River and reading this thing from cover to cover. Come on, Rufus. It’s time to get some answers.”

  In the living room, she settled in on the sofa and began to read the first page, dated almost a year earlier.

  What she read, broke Gemma’s heart. Marissa talked about her lonely life approaching seventy.

  If not for my friends I’d have no one to talk to and no one to come around livening up this old house. My daughter hates me, has for so long I don’t know how to correct it or change it. This animosity seems to have always been between us and not something new. Genevieve and I haven’t spoken in years, not since she talked Gemma into leaving her home and following her into the city. Since it happened, my granddaughter visits, but only rarely and when it suits her. She’ll pick the most convenient times out of her busy schedule and stay for a few days, barely long enough to have a decent conversation. It seems I’ve become a burden to my family without even trying, a burden to those I raised and did my best to share the love I had in my heart. I don’t know where I went wrong, only that I did. Knowing isn’t much of a proud legacy for me.

  I’m afraid I’ll die without ever being able to sit down with Gemma and explain what she needs to hear, hear only from me. Genevieve refused to listen, turned her back on everything I had to offer. I can’t let that happen with Gemma. Maybe that’s why I’m so sad today. Not much to look back on and say I succeeded in becoming the kind of mother and grandmother I always wanted to become. I’m not sure what happened, only that the years slipped away. I always thought there’d be more time, more time to spend with Gemma, even Genevieve. I decided long ago to stop trying with my own daughter, stop writing, s
top calling. Was that wrong? I suppose it was.

  Fat tears dropped onto the page Gemma had just read. “Oh, Gram. I’m so sorry I didn’t come around more often.”

  Rufus dropped his head in her lap.

  “What was I thinking, Rufus? How could I have let her down like this? Why didn’t I do more?”

  Rufus tilted his head to lick her hand.

  She brought the dog into her chest, resting her head on his. “I should’ve come here sooner. I should have. I was so unhappy in San Francisco, living there, working for Robert’s firm. What was I thinking to keep pushing, pushing, and then forcing myself to try to make it work when I had this wonderful woman waiting for me back here at home? Now it’s too late. She’s gone and I have to rely on this book to learn her secrets.”

  Rufus whined.

  “Yes, baby, I know, we’re both sad. We have to do something about it, we can’t let Gram’s life have been for nothing.”

  With his nose, Rufus nudged the journal, resting his snout on the pages.

  “Okay, I’ll keep reading, but it’s almost too sad to go on.”

  As she feared, it didn’t get any better. The pages unfolded with despair and even more heart-wrenching loneliness. But there were also passages filled with reminders of Marissa’s personal triumphs. Through them, Gemma chose to focus on the knowledge that her grandmother had known great love in her day. The love Marissa had shared with Jean-Luc had obviously sustained her, certainly over the last ten years when Gemma had walked out of her life.

  Around midnight, Gemma cut the lights out in the living room and carried the journal into the other room to get ready for bed. She curled up under the covers with Rufus nearby, and continued to read.

  There were ordinary, everyday things Marissa had recorded. But what struck Gemma the most was her grandmother’s attention to detail. It was as if the elderly woman knew her time was running out and wanted to catch her granddaughter up to speed on the basics of everything from the house to the business. She’d even made note of what temperature was best for the thermostat at home and how cold the commercial freezer should remain. But as Gemma read on, paragraphs turned more intimate, more personal.