A Light So Cruel (Pioneer Falls Book 3)

by Heather Davis

  “They’re usually after natural-born wolves. We have the bloodline they want,” Dad said.

  I shivered. “That still grosses me out.”

  “It should,” Dad said. “Sometimes I wonder if we did the right thing by focusing on Bowman. Maybe we should have used the time to try to drive Ezra out.” He gave me a sad smile. “That’s not where my mind naturally goes.”

  I bit my tongue. Of course this was what I’d been wanting Dad to realize for a while, but I didn’t want to be unkind. “You’ve been helping protect the public for a while now, I said. “Your instinct is to save, not kill.”

  “My fatal flaw,” Dad said, finishing off the mac salad. He rinsed the container in the sink. “Even if we found a way to push Ezra out, there’s the problem with Ms. Wilson.”

  “That’s what I’m saying, No ghost means no chapter on Pioneer Falls for Ms. Wilson. I wish I knew more details about her case…” I tried batting my eyelashes at Dad, even though it usually never worked.

  His expression morphed into a frown. “Old case files like that might be hard to come by, but I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, please stay away from Ms. Wilson.”

  “Gotcha.” But I didn’t think he actually meant it. He had to know by now that I wouldn’t sit around waiting for him to bring me a moldy folder. I had an idea of what to do from the books Maggie gave me.

  ***

  “I don’t understand what we’re doing here, in a garage,” Fawn said, plunking down on a crate the next night.

  It didn’t seem right to try to conduct a séance on my own—I needed a kind of circle or something, most of the books said. In a pinch, Rose and Fawn would have to do.

  “Millicent used to live here. It’s connected to the raven cages,” I told Fawn, setting down my bag of supplies.

  “Any vintage stuff of hers hanging around?” Fawn’s eyes lit up.

  “You’d wear a ghost’s old clothes?” Rose said, frowning. “Raiding closets of the dead?”

  “Hmm, intriguing premise for a reality show.” Fawn glanced toward the bags of stuff, craning her neck as if she might see what was in there, despite it being dark.

  “I’m pretty sure there’s no stuff of hers out here. Just her energy.” I set up a makeshift table out of some boxes and a flat piece of cardboard. “It feels less criminal to break into Ms. Wilson’s garage.”

  “Though technically it isn’t,” Rose pointed out. “We’re still breaking in.”

  “Well, it makes me feel better. Besides, she doesn’t seem to come out here very often. Parks her car in front of the house.” The garage was detached from the house, deep in her backyard. And, more important, Morgan had told me there weren’t any security cameras installed out here.

  I lit the tea lights I’d borrowed from Maggie. I set one candle in each of the four directions. My thought was to try to connect to Millicent in a friendly way, if that was even a thing, since she’d tried to contact me via the ravens. They were her friends, so I’d try to be one, too.

  “Won’t Ms. Wilson see our lights?” Rose asked, glancing toward the small windows that overlooked the backyard.

  “Faculty meeting. She shouldn’t be home for another hour or so. I took a look at the agenda on her desk this afternoon.”

  Rose rubbed her arms. “It’s really cold in here. Maybe the spirits are already present.”

  “Or it could just be that it’s November,” Fawn said. “It’ll get down to freezing tonight.”

  “I’m already frozen.” Rose held her fingers out over the candles, seeking heat.

  I grabbed one of her hands. Fawn, taking the hint that we were starting, took the other. We had our circle. “Close your eyes.”

  “They are closed,” the twins said in unison.

  I took a deep breath, trying to clear my mind. I kept picturing Ms. Wilson’s bulletin boards, the strings connecting things. I wasn’t sure if Rose or Fawn could see these images I was conjuring, but I felt Rose’s fingers stiffen in mine.

  “Sorry,” I muttered, and then I took another breath.

  This time I pictured Millicent—the photographs I’d seen in the old newspaper, her school picture with her hair swirled atop her head, the formal jacket, the pearls around her neck. “Millicent. I am here to help you come to the light.”

  “Because werewolves make the best mediums,” muttered Fawn. I squeezed her fingers hard and she yelped.

  “Please take this seriously.”

  Fawn let out a drawn-out sigh. Rose grunted, stifling a laugh maybe, which surprised me.

  “You guys,” I said, my eyes snapping open. “The sooner you focus, the sooner we’re done.”

  “Sorry,” Rose said.

  “I want to get this over with,” Fawn said. “I’ll be quiet, promise.”

  “That’s not enough. I need you to concentrate on Millicent.” I let go of their hands and pulled a printout of a photograph of Millicent from my backpack. I set it on the table in the middle of the candles, something I should have done to start with.

  Rose and Fawn both opened their eyes and took a quick look at the photograph. Then I grabbed their hands again and we started over—this time, after a moment of meditating on the image of Millicent.

  Suddenly, a scratching noise sounded above our heads. Something landing on the roof of the garage. I heard the creak-creak of its clawed feet. Rose heard it too. She didn’t let go of my hand but when I opened my eyes, I saw her gaze moving to the rafters. It was dark outside, not a time for any bird to be flying around, but these ravens were definitely not normal.

  I nodded at Rose, silently telling her to close her eyes again. Meanwhile, the tea light closest to Fawn sputtered. Rose’s forehead wrinkled.

  “Millicent,” I repeated. “We’re here to help you to the light. Is there something you need in order to cross?”

  My nose twitched, I caught a scent of something beyond the lingering hint of motor oil and the damp wood of the garage. I caught the scent of a fruity, floral perfume. Something creaked like a door opening. Fawn let out a little gasp at the noise. I squeezed her fingers, trying to signal her to keep quiet.

  The temperature of the air changed in the air around me, as if we’d actually entered the walk-in freezer Fawn had been complaining about. The air around me felt thinner, like I needed more breaths to take in enough oxygen. My stomach started to ache, cramping with dread, maybe. Goose bumps prickled my skin. I had the feeling something had materialized in the garage. Something scary. I didn’t want to open my eyes. But I needed to.

  Slowly, I cracked open one eyelid. A shimmering light hovered in the corner of the garage, a hazy glow taking shape. I sucked in another deep breath and let both my eyes open. I could do this. I could face this spirit.

  Rose gaped at the same spot, so I realized she had to be seeing the same thing I was. Fawn, meanwhile, still had her eyes closed, her mouth set in a line. I don’t know if ghosts had the ability to weed out haters, but maybe that’s what it was doing.

  Rose pinched my fingers and started to whisper something, but I shook my head. I didn’t want her to disturb whatever was happening.

  “Millicent,” I said softly. “We acknowledge you’re in pain. You were taken away too soon from this mortal life. What keeps you from the light?”

  The glow in the corner became a scene, like a theater projecting a silent film. Millicent and Charlie dancing at the Harvest Festival, then chasing each other through the parking lot, which was filled with big old-fashioned cars with round classic lines, large fenders, some fins, round taillights. Sun shone down upon them, their heads thrown back in laughter, their costumes vibrant. They paused now and then to kiss. But then the scene changed. A dark shadow followed them into the woods.

  Millicent’s face registered shock and surprise as the figure in the shadows reached them. Charlie fell to the ground. Millicent screamed silently, casting her hands into the air, trying to summon her ravens. She struggled against the arms that reached toward her. Her eyes widened as th
e bullet collided with her skull. The killer’s back was to us as they covered the bodies with leaves, not bothering to dig a grave. I saw a flash of red, the inside of the killer’s cape, maybe. Millicent’s own costume was blue and white. I thought of the scrap of ribbon I’d found. Red ribbon near the tree in the woods. It had been from the killer’s costume. Would Millicent be satisfied if we found the killer? Was it that simple?

  I glanced at Rose, whose eyes were glassy, taking in the horrible vision.

  “Are you guys like, catatonic or something?” Fawn said, breaking into my thoughts. I turned to see that her eyes were open, her frown deep.

  Rose hissed out an annoyed breath. “You don’t see that?”

  Already the vision of the murder was fading. I heard the scratching on the roof again. Maybe Millicent’s raven taking off.

  “I see nothing,” Fawn grumbled. “Are you guys playing a joke on me?”

  A car door slammed.

  “Shh!” I let go of my sisters’ hands and quickly blew out the candles. “Ms. Wilson,” I whispered.

  We sat in the dark listening for a moment. Heels tapped on pavement and then there was the sound of a door squeaking open, the barks of Butch the corgi welcoming Ms. Wilson home. That meant she’d be taking Butch out in the backyard soon. Near to us.

  “Let’s go. Fast!” Some hot wax from the tea lights spilled onto my hands as I tried to blow them out and dump them in one of the empty boxes, since I couldn’t put them in my bag. Rose returned the table components to their original location.

  Fawn moved to the window to keep a lookout. “Lights on in the kitchen,” she warned. “Hurry.”

  We slipped out the side door of the garage and silently moved down the side of the house. I held up a hand to tell the girls to pause.

  Then when I heard Ms. Wilson open the back door to let Butch out, we took off running for the street. Two blocks later we paused at the corner.

  “Well, that wasn’t worth it,” Fawn grumbled. “Don’t invite me to your next séance.”

  Rose gave me a solemn look, catching her breath. It felt weird to know that she’d seen what I’d seen. That I wasn’t alone. “Let’s get home. I have to work on a paper,” she said, cutting the silence.

  We moved on toward Wallace Street, Fawn still griping about not having seen anything. Rose and I didn’t talk about it later that night, but I could tell she was rattled. She stayed in her room, studying.

  Even when I made popcorn, trying to entice her downstairs, she ignored the wafting scent. Later, she promptly cut her light out at ten. I didn’t want to think about what kind of dreams the visitation would conjure for her, but I was willing to bet they involved ravens.

  Chapter Nine

  The next night, the old Craftsman house that would soon host the historical society blazed with light. Maggie had been so excited to offer an informational meeting for the community, but really, I knew it was all about the volunteer wrangling.

  In the front parlor, the couch and folding chairs were angled toward the fireplace. Two vases of flowers flanked a mirror on the mantel, adding some brightness. A standing easel held visual aids that Maggie had created. Plans for the layout of the museum, a simple operating budget, some highlights of the collection, and a proposed event schedule. She’d spent a lot of time preparing for this.

  I set out a plate of assorted cookies as Maggie filled the pewter creamer and sugar bowl, glancing nervously at the door.

  “Don’t worry. You announced this at the chamber of commerce meeting, right?”

  “Yes, but those meetings are always long. I’m not sure anyone was paying attention.” She put the half-and-half carton and the sugar container on a tray to return to the kitchen. Then she did a quick swing through the parlor, fluffing throw pillows and straightening the line of chairs. “Music? No music?” she asked, walking to the small stereo placed on a bookcase.

  “Either way.” I ducked into the kitchen to put the half-and-half in the fridge for her.

  Mr. Gray’s setup had been quite simple. He’d never married and the kitchen had never been remodeled from the original design, with the exception of up-to-date appliances. Most of his cooking things we’d boxed up for donation, but I could picture him in there, making a cup of coffee or eating a bowl of beef stew at the kitchen table. He’d been a lone wolf in the true sense.

  I filled a pitcher of water to place next to the refreshments set up on the dining room table. My nose twitched as I passed through the doorway—I smelled our incoming company before I saw them.

  “It was very kind of you to invite us.” Ezra Smith lowered himself into a folding chair near the front, while Gladys hovered nearby. His long white hair hung down over the collar of his flannel shirt, which was tucked into dark jeans held up by red suspenders. His beady dark eyes took in the room, while Gladys propped his cane against a side table.

  “I’m glad to see you two,” Maggie said. “I was afraid no one would come.”

  “We wouldn’t miss it.” Ezra looked up, noticing me at the refreshment table. He nudged Gladys, who then got up and came to get coffee. Her graying brown hair was pulled into a low knot. She wore a burgundy cardigan buttoned over a simple gray knit dress. She was probably around my father’s age, but her stooped posture made her seem older. Hanging around with a bitter old wolf had to be draining, if not contagious.

  “Haven’t seen you since the funeral,” Gladys said, with a smile. “Expected you for a moonlight bowl or two.”

  “You shouldn’t have come tonight. Not when we both know your true intentions for certain residents of Pioneer Falls.”

  “Is that so?” Gladys loosened the top of the insulated coffee carafe and filled two white cups. Then she plopped three sugar cubes in each. Funny that such a sourpuss had a sweet tooth, but I didn’t comment on that.

  I was too busy glaring. “You have no right—”

  “To be close to the memories of my dear Ezzie? This is exactly where we should be, celebrating the past. It was glorious, you know. When the pack ruled it all.” A dreamy look came over her and her thin-lipped smile surfaced.

  “You don’t know what happened when he was here. How brutal they were.”

  She looked offended. “Of course I do. Ezra’s told us wonderful stories. They had the town by the throat.”

  “Killing innocent people isn’t the same as ruling,” I said between gritted teeth.

  “Innocent. That’s an interesting word.” Gladys smiled again and took the coffees over to Ezra.

  I turned to follow her and found Maggie pulling on my sleeve. “Hey, you all right?”

  “Yeah, I just… No, I’m fine.”

  “Gladys is kind of odd, but you looked like you wanted to punch her.”

  I swallowed my rage. “I had a complaint about the bowling alley.”

  Maggie’s eyebrows drew together like she knew I was fibbing. “Okay, sure. Well, we’ve got about ten minutes before we start the program. Oh, wait, here are more folks,” she said, moving toward the entryway.

  I stood awkwardly near the dining room, avoiding eye contact with Gladys and Ezra. Just for something to do, I selected a peanut butter cookie from the plate of treats and ate it in the kitchen doorway. Meanwhile, a few people came into the meeting space, including Ms. Wilson.

  My mouth went dry around the last bite of cookie. She noticed me gawking at her and smiled, and then took a seat next to Gladys and Ezra in the front row.

  In the small group taking their seats behind them, I recognized the town librarian, a retired clerk from the mayor’s office, the manager of the grocery store, Tom’s dad Mr. Lindstrom, and Mr. Delaney, the owner of the flower shop. At the front of the room, Maggie beamed, pleased with the turnout. I felt a little unnerved, convinced that some of these people weren’t here for the right reasons.

  Maggie cleared her throat. “Thanks for coming to the first meeting of the Pioneer Falls Historical Society. Well, I should say the first meeting of the newly revived Pioneer Falls Histori
cal Society. It hasn’t been active in well over twenty years. Most of you know each other, so I don’t think we’ll go around the room with introductions. But I will welcome Ezra and Gladys Smith, who are new to town.”

  Gladys grinned shyly, while Ezra gave Maggie a pained smile. Then they both turned to give the people behind them a wave. I couldn’t help rolling my eyes at their humble, sweet act.

  “Most of you know our new facility was gifted to us by the late Mr. Archibald Gray. Though controversial, he was beloved in town. We’ll have a very small plaque created in his honor and placed near the entryway. Spencer Jones is helping me set up all the non-profit filings and so forth, so we’ll be ready to open to the public in a month or so.”

  The crowd murmured their approval and Maggie smiled. She moved on to the giant cards on her easel. As she walked the audience through the proposed operating budget, there was a gust of air as the front door opened.

  Dad mumbled an apology for being so late as he and Cooper came in. Maggie’s face took on an additional glow seeing my dad. He blushed a little, sinking into a chair in the back row. I had to admit it was kind of sweet.

  After she’d gone through all her points, Maggie opened the floor for questions.

  Mr. Lindstrom raised his hand and said, “I still don’t know how we can avoid mentioning the fact that Mr. Gray was a murderer. That we’re having a plaque for him, let alone hosting the museum in this—”

  “Free building?” my dad piped up.

  “Yes. His bequest was generous.” Maggie gave Dad a grateful smile. “It’s true he had a violent end—snapped, people are saying—but the decades of good work he did in the community should count for something,”

  Mr. Lindstrom smiled thinly. “Doesn’t seem right.”

  “Are you offering another building?” said Dad, earning a few raised eyebrows and a smile from Maggie.

  Ezra coughed in the front row and Gladys patted him on the back.

  Maggie straightened up her presentation cards on the easel and then turned back to us. “I understand some of us feel strongly about the location, but these kinds of sites are often good. As someone pointed out to me, the notoriety can actually drive traffic. People are curious. And despite his tragic end, Mr. Gray had good intentions.”