Anna wasn’t convinced. They might have concocted the whole thing, like kids in a dark theater watching a scary movie, except for a few important facts. “But Liz and I weren’t talking about demonology or astral projection at the time. We were in separate rooms, and we both felt the same thing at the same moment. Plus, Jackson started circling the table, growling. I’ve never seen him do that.”
“Jackson takes his cue from you, Anna. I’ve seen him.”
“Gene . . .”
He held up his hands, granting her the argument.
“Then maybe something really did happen here tonight,” Liz said, glancing from Gene to Anna.
Gene stared ahead, running his forefinger and thumb along the dark stubble on his chin.
“But not necessarily astral projection,” Anna said.
“A minute ago you were sure,” Liz said.
“It was my first thought—my first explanation for what I felt.”
“You thought Alex Root was in this house.”
“That’s because he’s been on my mind, Liz.” Anna absentmindedly grabbed for her cup, fiddled with the handle, then let it go. “Or maybe I’m trying to talk myself out of it now.”
“What about Maddy and Paul?” Liz pressed hard against her seat back, afraid to ask but preparing herself for the answer. “Are we talking something even more serious than freaky Alex taking astral flight?”
“Gene?” Anna said.
“I don’t know what to think,” he said. “But I believe that regardless of what you felt, what happened here—whatever it was—can’t harm you, especially since you have no interest in engaging it.”
Anna rested her fidgeting hands on the table top. She believed that too, though she wondered how firm her belief would have been had she been alone tonight. Or in the dark for more than three seconds.
“The members of the Elk Valley Historical Society are another matter.” Gene spoke slowly and deliberately, with a sternness she rarely heard. “They’re flesh and blood. Never leave yourself alone with any of them. Finish the job you took on, see if you can help Esther Vance, then move on.”
Anna wanted to drop the subject and return to her genealogical research while Liz was still here, so that maybe tonight she could sleep with at least some of the house lights off, but she had to know what Gene thought. Tonight she felt the weight of her past. It had hitched a ride on her, sinking its talons deep into her back. “I think I left myself open to this kind of thing by getting involved in the occult.”
“Liz felt it too,” Gene reminded her.
“Still.”
“Your past only makes you stronger,” he said.
“Does it?” She wanted him to persuade her. Desperately.
“That was nineteen years ago,” he said gently. “You’re allowed to make mistakes. They don’t follow you forever.” He put his hands on the table and pushed himself out of his chair. “Besides, if your mistakes follow you, the same could be said of everyone else, and if that’s true, there’s no such thing as forgiveness and we’re all in a world of trouble.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” Liz said. “Remind me to tell you about high school in Ohio one of these days, Anna. You didn’t know me back then.” She grimaced. “Neither did Dan.”
Anna laughed, imagining an incorrigible teenaged Liz terrorizing Rocky River, Ohio.
“I’ll tell you something else,” Gene said as he headed for the refrigerator. “Talking to Jazmin about Root, reading between the lines, I think she’s considered getting into astral projection. Now you have another connection with her—another way to reach her.”
She had misjudged them, Anna thought. Assigned them hard qualities that were, perhaps, her own. Isn’t that what flawed human beings often did? “Let me fix you a sandwich,” she said, joining Gene in the kitchen.
“I won’t argue.” He kissed her, discreetly as always, and stepped aside, letting her rummage through the refrigerator shelves.
Rifling through the cheese bin, she heard her kitchen phone ring and asked Gene to answer it. A minute later, cradling cheese, cold cuts, mustard, and a plastic container of lettuce, she shut the refrigerator door with her elbow and dumped everything onto the island.
A scowl was forming Gene’s face. “Just a minute,” he said, handing the phone to Anna. “Paul Gilmartin,” he mouthed.
One minute later the call was over. Paul had pleaded with her to meet him, and Anna had agreed. The Buffalo Café at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. She was bringing a friend along, she told him, hanging up before he could object.
11
Anna pulled the Jimmy into a vacant space on Summit Avenue, three blocks west of the Buffalo Café. “You sure you want to do this?” she asked Liz, shutting off the ignition.
“I wouldn’t miss it.” Tucking her laptop under her arm, Liz opened the door and hopped from the seat to the curb. “I’m going to have one heck of a story for ElkNews.com when all this is over. Besides, after last night I seriously need to occupy my mind with something other than astral projection.”
Anna needed the same. Cold, hard genealogical facts and the bright, cleansing light of the sun. All night she’d thought about Russell Thurman and wondered if he had experienced what she had. Had he felt someone’s presence? Was that what he’d meant when he told Clovis he was being watched?
She hooked Jackson’s leash to his collar and took him from the back seat. Wiggling with excitement, he pulled hard on the leash, setting out for Suka and the Buffalo Café before Anna could shut the rear door.
“Jackson boy, calm down,” she said, pulling him back. “We’ll get there soon enough.”
“Is that who I think it is?” Liz said. “Don’t turn around.”
Anna looked up to see Liz, her hand on the Jimmy’s roof, staring across the street. “What is it?” she asked, locking the rear door.
“Yeah, it’s Alex and Maddy. Across the street and half a block down. They look positively Halloweenish and giddy.” Liz looked down quickly, pretending great interest in her shoes. “Now they’re looking this way.”
“What do you mean ‘Halloweenish and giddy’?” Anna said, stepping to the curb. She was dying to turn, but Paul was three blocks away at the Buffalo, and she couldn’t risk Alex and Maddy seeing her and wanting to chat or tag along as she walked down Summit. If they did, she would have to postpone her meeting with Paul.
“He’s carrying a jack-o’-lantern with big red fangs, maybe plastic, and she’s holding some kind of black and red fabric. And they’re all giggly with each other.” Liz looked up again, her eyes darting across the street. “It’s OK now. They’re heading the other way.”
With a firm hold on Jackson’s leash, Anna pivoted to catch a glimpse of the two. Giddy, indeed. They were laughing, gazing, staring into store windows, brushing fingers. Weren’t they afraid Paul would see them? Maybe they didn’t know he was at the Buffalo, but he lived in Elk Park, and news of the two all-but-canoodling downtown was sure to reach him.
“What’s the black and red fabric for?” Liz asked. “It looks like they have mounds of it.”
“Decorations?” Anna said. Halloween had become darker over the years. No longer was it the candy and apple cider holiday of her childhood, and the mildly thrilling stories of ghosts and goblins she’d enjoyed as an eight year old were all but gone, replaced by bloody, hellish stories—none of them wanted by children, really. Adults had done the damage. They had corrupted the holiday in the name of returning to Samhain or in the name of their own warped desires. Maybe Gene was right. There was no going back to the days of streets canopied in autumn leaves as children, carefree and laughing, dashed from door to door. Even Elk Park had fallen prey to the desire to corrupt innocence for modernity’s sake. The main tent at the Harvest Festival was proof of that.
“It’s almost nine,” Anna said, starting for the Buffalo. “Do you think he’ll object to your computer?”
“I’ll just tell him people would be suspicious if I didn’t have it with
me. The Buffalo’s my office.”
Five minutes later, Jackson joyously rolling and jumping with Suka out back, Anna made her way to Paul Gilmartin’s table at the front of the café. Liz was already there, seated across from him, her laptop open.
Paul was scratching at his beard, avoiding eye contact with Liz and watching pedestrians and cars pass by the window. His rust-colored barn jacket was slung over the back of his seat, and he’d showered the table in front of him with crumbs from at least one muffin or scone.
“Sorry, Paul, I had to get my dog settled,” Anna said, giving him a nod and taking a chair next to Liz.
“I ordered for us,” Liz said.
“When you told me you were bringing a friend, I didn’t realize you meant a reporter,” Paul said, releasing his beard and finally looking at Liz.
“I’ve told you I’m not acting as a reporter,” Liz said. “I’m here strictly as a friend.”
“Well, it’s unnecessary,” Paul said.
“I don’t think so,” Anna said. “Not with two people murdered in the past few days.”
“And you think I have something to do with that?”
“I don’t know, Paul.” Anna wasn’t in the mood to mince words. He could accept her terms for talking or he could leave. Last night, before heading home, Gene had again reminded her to be careful, and it was only later she realized she hadn’t said a word to him about Paul Gilmartin being Raymond Toller. She had finally told Gene about Jennifer Toller’s murder, but not Paul’s connection to it. Gilmartin’s real identity was all the more reason to take precautions, regardless of his displeasure.
Paul heaved a sigh and for several seconds said nothing, making it clear that although he was capitulating, Liz had better watch her step.
“Our coffees are up,” Liz said, scooting her chair from the table. “You two go ahead, don’t mind me.” She smiled broadly at Paul and gave her hair clip a pat before making her way to the counter.
Paul didn’t waste any time. The moment Liz was out of earshot he bolted forward in his seat. “I hear you’ve been looking into my family tree even though I asked you not to.”
Anna was silent. It troubled her that Paul knew, but she wasn’t going to confirm or deny, or say anything at all that might lead back to Clovis.
“You have been,” he continued. “And I understand you know my real name.”
Still Anna said nothing. Who had told him? Only Clovis, Liz, and Esther knew she was researching Gilmartin’s family tree. And Zoey. But all Zoey knew was that she was researching Paul. She didn’t have a clue that Paul had changed his name.
“I want you to know why I became Paul Gilmartin,” he said. “Why I left Raymond Toller behind me.” He looked up in irritation as Liz worked her way around Anna’s chair, a cup in each hand.
“Pumpkin spice latte,” Liz said, ceremoniously placing a cup in front of Anna.
“No, black—”
“My treat. Happy Halloween.” She sat, smiled again at Paul, and drew her chair closer to the table. “Paul, Grace has some fantastic looking orange and black muffins. Jack-o’-lantern faces, and big, scary vampire bats made with black icing.”
Anna bit the inside of her lower lip, trying not to laugh.
“Who’s Grace?” he said, anger working its way into his voice.
“She owns the Buffalo,” Anna said. She took a sip of coffee then asked Paul to continue. It was only last night that she’d confirmed Paul’s identity. He couldn’t know if he was spilling secrets she hadn’t yet discovered, but here he was, spilling them. She wanted to hear everything he was willing to say.
Paul sighed again. Loudly. It was hard to tell if his story was truly painful to relate or he was simply petulant and needed to let others know what a trial they were to him.
“My mother was murdered.” He glowered at Liz’s computer, as if on its own it might record and broadcast his tale. “The murderer was never caught. My father, who was suspected of the murder, decided to disappear when I was eighteen. I haven’t seen him since and I don’t care to see him. For all I know, he changed his name too. I don’t want to be associated with him or the murder, and since I’m now working on restoring the Morgan-Sadler House, that’s even more vital. I don’t want to be associated with the murder, I don’t want my wife to be associated with it, and I don’t want that house to be associated with it.”
He slumped back in his chair, drained by his quick-fire recitation of the sad facts. In spite of his gruff tone and his inclination to study demons, Anna felt a certain pity for him. He’d had to grow up fast and under ugly circumstances, and essentially, he’d been made an orphan at age eighteen.
“With your father being head honey maker at the Morgan-Sadler House, you and your mother must have spent time there,” Anna said.
“Weeks at a time during the summer,” Paul said.
Anna saw Liz raise and hold her cup to her mouth. She was assuring Paul of her silence and so encouraging him to keep talking.
“Isn’t it painful for you to work at the house, especially on the hives, knowing she was murdered there?” Anna asked.
“You have to understand. The house holds more good memories than bad for me.”
“Did you ever meet Alex there? Or his grandfather?”
“No, Alex’s grandfather left the hives before I was born, and Alex tells me he didn’t spend much time there. He grew up out of state.”
Paul was tired of the questions—and surprised, Anna thought, that she continued to ask them. He had thought that revealing his worst secrets, like ripping off an old bandage, would bring instant relief and a rapid end to the inquisition. He had calculated the risk of their encounter, and things weren’t working out as planned.
“How does Maddy feel about you working on the house?” Anna said.
Paul looked at his watch and frowned in impatience. He was good at divulging just so much and no more, but Anna could tell this was one question he hadn’t prepared for. “Look, this stays here, do you understand? If you do anything to hurt my marriage—I mean it—if you do anything . . .” He aimed his finger at her face, the seriousness of his threat implied in his inability to put it into words.
“She doesn’t know who you are, does she?” Anna said.
Paul tensed and his right hand closed into a fist. He stared hard at her, his mouth working itself into a faint sneer.
Liz set her cup down on the table.
“What I can’t figure out,” Paul said, “is why you think you have a right to ask me that.”
Anna closed her hands around her cup and pulled it toward her. “You called me, Paul, not the other way around.” She slowly sipped at her coffee, hoping the fury she saw in Paul’s eyes was motivated only by his desire to shield Maddy from his past. If a simple and understandable question sent him to the edge of rage, he was a dangerous man.
“I called you to get you off my back.” His hand still a fist, he spit out the words.
Anna gently set the cup back on the table. “How did you find out I was working on your genealogy?”
“Genealogy. Is that what you call it?”
“That’s what it is.”
“First, I have a question for you. Answer it and I’ll answer your question.”
“I don’t want to play games.”
“It’s not a game to me.”
“Fine, go ahead.”
“Were you hired to research me?”
Paul’s anger was justified to a degree, Anna thought. She knew better than to dive unasked into someone else’s family history, but in spite of that, she’d taken on the job. In the name of helping an elderly widow, of course, but that made no difference to Paul. His privacy had been invaded just the same. She owed him something. “Yes, I was hired.”
“Who hired you?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Then you’re not—”
“Russell Thurman,” Liz said.
Anna looked sharply at Liz, surprised by her sudden interjection. Bu
t it was true, wasn’t it? Russell had even written her a check. And nothing could hurt him now. Not even Paul, Maddy, and their friend Asmodeus. Anna could answer Paul’s question and not quite lie. “That’s why he wanted me to speak before your group last Saturday.”
Paul stared openmouthed at Anna.
“I have no idea why he hired me,” she hurried to explain. “I never ask clients why. And of course, it’s too late to ask him now. Maybe he wondered if you were Raymond Toller.”
“What would give him that idea?”
“Does Alex know? Maybe he said something to Russell.”
“How would Alex know?”
“I’m not saying he does, but his grandfather and your father made honey for Emerson Sadler.” She could tell Paul wasn’t grasping what to her was clear as crystal. “You’re back at the house, restoring the hives. Someone is going to find out sooner or later. Russell suspected something was up.”
“Nothing is up, as you put it. I’ve moved on with my life and want to be left alone.”
“Have you considered the positive side of this?” Anna added. “You know what the house looked like in Sadler’s day, and that would be a big help to Zoey. And you probably have photos, right? You can frame them and scatter them throughout the house. What about photos of your father making honey?”
Paul’s eyes narrowed to slits.
“Tell everyone about Raymond Toller,” Anna continued. “Get it over with—they won’t care.” She knew it wasn’t her place to give this man advice. He’d lived as Paul Gilmartin since he was eighteen and he wasn’t about to become Raymond Toller again.
“Thank you for your suggestion,” Paul said. He glanced at his watch again, this time pulling his sleeve well behind his wrist, and Anna noticed—as Paul had meant her to—the front end of a black-green tattoo. Unlike Maddy’s, Paul’s tattoo was on top of his forearm, and it appeared to be older.
“Wait a minute,” she said. “You said you’d answer my question.”
“Yes?” he said, sliding one leg from under the table into the aisle, ready to go.
Anna Denning Mystery Series Box Set: Books 1–3 Page 63