Mystic Falls

by Vickie McKeehan

  My closely-guarded, family recipes handed down to me from my great-grandmother will one day go to Gemma. If only she cared about the soul-satisfying crafting of the very thing that once saved me and her grandfather from financial ruin. Because by the time Jean-Luc and I had reached California, we were flat broke. Add to that, we were foreigners in a town that seemed so different from the life we’d known in New York, let alone how different things were from our own native lands where we’d started out. No longer in Spain or France, we were beginning our new life together in our adopted Golden State with the hope that we could fit in here.

  It took us months to get our footing. We took jobs at the beachside diner known as Captain Jack’s, working seven days a week in the kitchen before we were able to rent a rundown building on Water Street.

  We lived above the pitiful excuse for a shop and still had very little money to spare. It was only after Jean-Luc took an extra job as a carpenter that we began to see the light at the end of the tunnel. We’d saved every dime and tried to talk the owner into letting us buy the shop instead of renting it from him. But he always refused our offer. Then one day, out of the blue, he finally gave in. He sold us the building at a price we could afford. We celebrated with a picnic at Mystic Falls, one of my favorite places about my new home I’ve enjoyed time and again. Although with Jean-Luc’s photographs there are many beautiful spots along the coastline. Lucky for me, he’s captured them all with his camera.

  Even after we owned property, our dream to open the candy store took years to make it happen. But once we opened our doors, the chocolates were a big hit. We were so happy not to be broke all the time. Our neighbors began to stop by with regularity. We made friends and learned that most of the town came from Native American stock. To our surprise, they welcomed us into their homes as if they’d known us for years.

  We were settling in, becoming members of our community. And then I discovered I was expecting. Imagine our joy at having a child of our very own. Looking back, those days were the best time of my life. Never could I have imagined Genevieve would grow up to hate our very existence. But she did give us Gemma to raise. And for that I will always be grateful to her no matter what ugly things she says. I wanted so much for my only granddaughter, not just things money could buy, but I wanted her to be happy without all the trappings her mother loved so much.

  Now, my only hope is that Gemma will eventually grow tired of sitting in a stuffy cubicle all day serving clients. Maybe one day she’ll come back here and find the happiness and the true joy she deserves. Maybe one day she’ll understand the rewards of running her own business, the same way I found out that becoming a candy maker made me happy. I remember the first time someone called me the town’s only chocolatier. The editor of the newspaper ran a story that made me realize I’d finally arrived, finally been accepted for what I could do on my own.

  Over the years, Jean-Luc and I met the nicest people here. There’s my good friend, Roland Swinton, a man who owns the pizza parlor next to ours. His mother was from a small town in southern Italy. Imagine moving thousands of miles away only to meet a man whose mother lived so close to my own village in Spain.

  Jean-Luc and I know how fortunate we’ve been since arriving in California. Like Roland, we were blessed with jobs early on that led us to buy our own store. Roland feels as lucky as we do. The three of us used to laugh about how we finally got a fair shake out of the tight-fisted owner after months of hard-fought negotiations.

  Now that I’ve written all this out on paper, I see how far-fetched the notion is that Gemma would ever want to live here again. Why would a lawyer give up her job and come back to such a small town like Coyote Wells to make chocolate?

  Funny thing about dreams though. So many of them are so far out of reach but somehow manage to come true anyway. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve dreamed the impossible and willed things to be different.

  Gemma sighed as she closed the journal, bookmarking her place with a tissue. “Jeez, Gram, you really know how to make a girl feel guilty.”

  Her eyes grew weary. She looked at the clock and realized it was almost two-thirty. Despite her wanting to read on, she needed sleep. Although one thing became crystal clear. If her grandmother had written one journal it only made sense that there had to be others. But where were they, where had Marissa put them for safekeeping? Before she drifted off, Gemma made a promise to herself not to give up until she’d found each one. Because something told her these books unlocked everything Gram wanted her to know.

  Just that morning, Lando had started putting together two murder books with crime scene photographs and transcripts of interviews he’d already done. He toyed with the idea of starting a third. One that belonged to Marissa Sarrazin.

  He took out the police reports and began to assemble the scant information he had about what he’d seen in the garage.

  When that was done he turned to the other two murder books, adding the paperwork from the day before, the crime scene photographs he’d been staring at, and organized them behind the witness statements.

  The paper trail now was growing. After recovering remains he would add autopsy reports from Tuttle and other lab findings to each binder as he received new information.

  If only the bodies had been located sooner. If only someone had stumbled on Collette back in March maybe he could’ve prevented Marnie’s and Marissa’s deaths from happening.

  He blew out a frustrated breath. Ifs were a waste of time.

  Nearing midnight and still in his office, he stood in front of a white board staring at the few facts of the cases he knew for certain. Under the suspect column there was only one name. He’d written it himself in bold print. Vincent Ballard.

  Lando wished it was different, but the fact that Ballard had been the last person to see two of the victims alive couldn’t be ignored.

  The answers were here, he just had to find the key that unlocked the motive. Why these three women? Why did the killers target these three specifically? He racked his brain, but his head throbbed like a migraine bearing down on his logic. It was time to call it quits and head home.

  The clock on the wall told him it was much too late to stop by Gemma’s. But that didn’t stop him from thinking about her as he walked out the door. He’d left his cruiser parked on Water Street. As he stood on the steps of the station, filling his lungs with fresh air, the row of streetlamps shined their lights down to the square. His eyes tracked to the end of the street and to Lighthouse Landing where a lone figure stood looking back at him.

  Lando ran down the steps at a jog, heading that way, but by the time he reached the lighthouse, the person had taken off. On the sprint back to his cruiser, he told himself it was just someone out for a midnight stroll. But who was he kidding? He had three murders on his hands, and until he found the people responsible, everyone and everything was in play.

  19

  Gemma woke to the sound of raindrops spattering against the bedroom’s sliding glass door, Marissa’s journal still spread across her chest. She’d picked it up again around four-thirty and fallen asleep in mid-sentence.

  Rufus stood next to the bed dancing in place like he had to go out. Tossing back the covers, she got up to slide open the door.

  Shivering in the chilly morning air as the dog dashed outside, she frowned at the wet grass. “You’re gonna get all muddy. No more putting off that bath.”

  Although she itched to get back to reading the journal, she got dressed instead, pulling on a pair of jeans and a pullover top. Finding out more about her grandmother would have to wait until she got to work.

  In the kitchen, she put on coffee and got down the vanilla granola for breakfast. Reaching into the box, she grabbed a handful of almonds and oats, crunching on the mix while she checked her text messages. Lando had sent one around midnight telling her he was heading home. Clearly, he meant what he’d said yesterday and worked until the wee hours trying to ID the killers.

  When Rufus wanted back
in, she grabbed a couple of old towels and latched onto his collar, half-dragging him back out onto the patio to rinse off the mud. There was a tussle because the canine didn’t like water, at least water that came out of a garden hose, otherwise he was fine with rolling around in whatever ditch he could find.

  After drying him off, Gemma ate breakfast and got ready for work. By this time, the rain clouds had moved further east, leaving behind a swath of brilliant sunshine. The air smelled fresh and clean, so much that she decided she’d rather walk to work. She stuffed the journal into her bag, snapped the leash to Rufus’ collar, and headed out the door.

  Houses along the cul-de-sac were a mishmash of architecture---a dabble of craftsman, a succession of Spanish colonial, with several ranch-style mid-centuries thrown in.

  Gemma had forgotten how much she enjoyed the neighborhood. She could still recall the Christmas decorations she and Gram would put up every year, hanging hundreds of twinkling lights along the eaves of the house, even stringing tiny white lights around the fountain.

  Once she and Rufus reached Water Street, they picked up their pace. The beach beckoned at the end of the street. It was tempting to blow off the day and hang out at the beach. But that wasn’t what a responsible businesswoman would do.

  Just before reaching the shop, they had to cross the street. She stepped off the curb and heard Rufus let out a snarl right before he barked. The car seemed to come out of nowhere, a blur of speed and white, moving fast toward the pier. Gemma dived back toward the sidewalk, covering the dog’s body with her own. By the time she sat upright, the vehicle had already made the turn at the corner of the block. She heard tires screeching in the distance.

  Her head throbbed with a searing pain from the gash on her forehead. She looked down at the jeans she’d worn and saw she’d skinned both knees. Blood oozed into the denim. She half-crawled to a sitting position. As Rufus licked her face, she used the dog’s body to help pick herself up off the pavement and get to her feet.

  Gemma squinted up and down the block before hobbling across the street to unlock the door of the shop.

  Limping into the bathroom, she dug around in the cabinet under the sink until she found the bottle of peroxide she kept there. Still shaking, she rolled up her jeans while Rufus stood at the doorway watching her.

  “That was an accident, right? It was just someone who didn’t see us big as life crossing the street. After all, the car wasn’t midnight blue, but white. It was an accident. Yeah, just keep telling yourself that,” she muttered to herself. “It’s better thinking that than someone wants me dead.”

  Around noon, Lando burst through the door in a huff. “I have to learn from Paloma that you almost got ran over by a car this morning. Why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t you at least make an accident report? And look at your jeans. And that gash on your head might need stitches.”

  She rubbed the Band-Aid she’d put there and felt the bump. “I didn’t call you because I’m fine. And what would be the point bothering you when I didn’t get a good description of the driver or the car. It happened too fast. All I know is the vehicle was white and not blue. It was probably just an accident.”

  “You don’t really believe that?”

  “No.”

  “Then why didn’t you pick up the phone and tell me yourself?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry doesn’t cut it. There’s no official report now---”

  “Nothing to go in an official report,” she snapped. “Which is why I didn’t bother. I didn’t see anything but a white car go whizzing past me. Why won’t you ever listen to what I’m saying to you? I didn’t get a license plate number. Nothing.”

  He closed the distance between them to take hold of her chin. Staring into her eyes, he pressed his lips to her forehead. “I almost got sick at my stomach knowing someone tried to hurt you.”

  She leaned into him, patted his chest. “I’m fine, a little rattled maybe, but I’m okay. Thanks for worrying.”

  “Why are you so stubborn? What was the harm in letting me know, personally or officially?”

  “Let it go, Lando. I said I was sorry. Okay?”

  He took a calming breath. “Fine. Look, Luke and Leia invited us to dinner tonight at the restaurant. Any chance I could persuade you to meet us there after you close up?”

  “Sure, I’m fine with dinner. I haven’t seen Luke in…ages. It’ll give us a chance to catch up.”

  That evening, instead of staying in and finishing Marissa’s journal, she got talked into sharing a meal with the Bonner family. Not a hardship, but after the day she’d had, she would’ve preferred a quiet evening at home.

  That was not to be as she slid into a round booth in the corner where the triplets and Lydia were already sharing appetizers and drinks. Seeing them all together again brought back so many memories for Gemma. Good ones. There’d been occasions when Lydia had served all of them lime green Kool-Aid out of a crystal-clear pitcher in this very same booth after school.

  Lydia slapped her hands together. “Look at you. Just in time for happy hour.”

  “I’ll take one of those rum drinks,” Gemma noted as she got comfortable next to Lando. “It’s been a long day.”

  “Well-deserved I hear after almost getting run over this morning,” Leia replied. “What is it about you that when you come back to town all hell breaks loose?”

  “That’s a great question and something somebody should look into in depth,” Gemma hinted, sending Lando a serious gaze. “Either by using old-fashioned police work or getting help from a psychic.”

  She wiggled her eyebrows up and down before poking Lando in the ribs, making a joke out of the suggestion. “Whatever the reason, I think someone wants me pushing up daisies out in Redwood Burial Ground with the others. And soon.”

  “Like Marissa,” Luke offered, staring over the rim of his glass. “Lando told me your theory. It would make sense. But it means it’s someone we know. That hurts on so many levels.” He looked around the eatery. “They might even be sitting in this very restaurant eating their halibut ten feet from us.”

  Leia burrowed an elbow into her brother’s ribs. “That’s disturbing. I’ll be sure to lock my doors tonight.”

  “Remind our dear sibling he’s supposed to protect and serve. Let’s not dwell on murder tonight,” Luke proposed as he raised his glass in salute toward Gemma. “Here’s to officially welcoming you back into the fold. Hard to believe after all this time that the four musketeers are back together again.”

  Gemma snatched up the drink the waiter had just dropped off. “Here’s hoping that the friendship we cemented back in childhood grows even stronger as adults. I always relished my role as D’Artagnan, super glad that you guys let me tag along and be part of your siblinghood. I still feel that way today.”

  Leia sat back with a grin on her face. “We’ve missed you, Gemma. Haven’t we, guys?”

  While Luke readily chimed in with his cheery goodwill, Lando sat in awkward silence until Leia kicked him under the table, prompting him to utter little more than a grunt. That is, until several long seconds dragged by. “It took me years to get over Gemma leaving me. She didn’t leave the town, or you guys, she left me.”

  Lydia shook her head, letting out a huge disappointed groan. “Now’s not the time for this, Lando. Let it go.”

  Sitting beside his mother, Luke glanced over at his brother in disgust. “You gotta eventually realize carrying around all that animosity is bad for the ticker. Besides, you and Gemma are stirring up quite the buzz around here with your overnight stays at her house. It’s obvious you’re back together, which means you couldn’t possibly still harbor that much resentment. So, tell us, what’s the problem?”

  Gemma cocked a brow toward Luke, beginning to get annoyed. “You’d be surprised. Apparently, it’s a complicated situation. Still. After all this time.” Between clenched teeth, she added, “Unbelievable.”

  She downed the rest of her mojito, draining the gla
ss, tempted to bolt.

  The waiter dropped off another plate of appetizers, spinach artichoke squares and Italian pinwheels. Even though they looked tasty, Gemma had lost her appetite. How had she managed to let Lando get to her again?

  Leia felt Gemma’s discomfort from the other side of the booth. Which was why she directed her comments to Lando. “Look, if I sat around harboring all the baggage from the past about getting dumped, I’d never make it out of bed in the morning. Mom and Luke are right, stop dragging around all that bitterness you’ve built up. For God’s sakes, let it go. We’re all together again, that’s what’s important. Why not focus on that for a change?”

  Lando’s hand reached out for Gemma’s. “They’re right. I’m sorry. We agreed to start over from scratch and check all those hard feelings at the door. I’ll work on it if you will.”

  Although Gemma’s heart softened as it always did, she also bristled at being put on the spot in front of his family. Looking around the table at the eager Bonner faces, she finally uttered the word they all wanted to hear. “Sure.”

  Luke shifted in his seat and signaled for the waiter. “Now that peace reigns supreme over Lando’s domain again, let’s order. I’m starving.”

  Gemma recoiled at the idea she’d been dragged into “Lando’s domain” once again and wondered why it bothered her so much. Instead of kicking and screaming her way out or just getting to her feet and walking out, she tried to focus on the family buzz around the table.

  Lydia was scolding Luke about not stopping by more often when Gemma noticed Leia’s phone light up with a string of text messages.

  Lando noticed it too and leaned over to glimpse one of the texts specifically. He spotted Zeb’s name pop up. “What’s Zeb got to say?”

  Leia’s eyes darted around the table. Her effort to conceal the reason behind the texts, fell short. “Nothing. Just asking about a to-go order. I’ll go check on it.”