The house was awfully quiet.
“Here you go,” Cellars said. She handed me the water. “I’m on a private well. Best water you’ll ever have.”
I took a sip, nodded. She was right: it was delicious. “Thank you. I must admit, your message was … unusual.”
“Please, have a seat. I’m sorry about being mysterious, but it couldn’t be helped. I’ve learned the hard way that some folks just don’t want to buy what I’m selling.”
She sipped from her own water glass, and I waited for her to speak. Suddenly, a flurry of activity and noise erupted from upstairs. What sounded like a herd of dogs flew down the stairs and, within seconds, I was surrounded by four little girls, all blond hair and blue eyes and nightgowns in varying shades of sherbet.
“Girls, settle down. This is a detective from the police force. She and Mama need to talk for a bit,” Cellars said. She smiled as the kids grew quiet.
One of the girls asked with wide eyes, “A lady police officer?”
“Yes, my love,” Cellars replied. She lowered her voice and said to me, “They are going to be talking about you for weeks. Their favorite game to play is Cops and Robbers.”
“Mama, Mama, can we play outside?”
Somewhere in the house a clock chimed. Cellars and the girls kept count, mouthing one … two … three … And when the clock finally stopped, Cellars pointed to the front window. All six of us watched as night fell and the world turned dark. We were a few miles from the nearest streetlights, and I guessed that when I stepped outside after we were finished the stars would be breathtaking.
“But, Mama—”
“You know the rules. Play outside when it’s light, quick inside when it’s night. Now off to bed with you, all of you. Teeth and pee. I mean it.”
The girls trudged upstairs in single file, moving like small soldiers who’d been expecting to win a battle in the bedtime war only to be ambushed by an enemy who looked and sounded an awful lot like their mother.
Cellars waited until the last little one had rounded the corner and moved out of sight.
“Well, I suppose I should get right to it,” she said, and rubbed her hands together. “Do you know that I used to work at the history museum?”
I nodded.
“I was horrified to hear of Betty Starbuck’s death. To then hear that Sari Chesney is dead, too … I worked with those women day in and day out, for years. I’m so sorry they’re gone. Then I read online that you think the deaths are related to the missing Rayburn Diary. That all of this, all this death, has something to do with the Rayburn curse. And I knew.”
“Knew what?”
Cellars’s eyes gleamed. “That you’re a believer, too.”
“A believer?”
“I want to show you something.” Cellars stood and went to the bookcase, retrieved a thick binder. She flipped through it. “Ah, here we go.”
I stared at the black-and-white photograph she handed me. Five young women, dressed in long skirts and high-collared blouses, stood in front of the River Street Methodist Church. Their arms were linked, their faces lit with smiles.
I flipped the photograph over and whistled when I saw the date: September 1897.
“Old picture. Who are they?”
“The Lost Girls. It’s the only known photograph of all five of them, at least as far as my research shows me. And I’ve done a lot of research. Within a month of this photograph, all five were dead.” She paused. “Look at their faces. Look at their smiles. Do these girls seem unhappy?”
“Appearances can be deceiving.” I studied the photograph. “But … no. No, they look happy.”
“They’re buried in my churchyard. When I first arrived in Cedar Valley, about six years ago, I made a point of walking the graves. Seemed only right that if I was going to be the caretaker of the church, I should get to know my neighbors, so to speak. Right from the start, there was something … magnetic about their particular graves. I’ll show you, after we’re done talking, and you can tell me if you sense the same thing.”
Cellars added another log to the fire, and the dying flames roared back to life with a crackle and hiss. “Anyway, along with the parsonage and the church, I inherited a large amount of old records, historical things. Aside from the girls, the horses, and a bit of maintenance work here and there, I’ve got some time on my hands, and I love to read. Especially in the evenings. So I started looking into a few things, and I have a theory. It doesn’t make me very popular at the local watering holes, but I’ve made peace with that.”
I set the water down on an end table and leaned forward. “I’m all ears.”
“I don’t think those girls wanted to die. I think they were driven to kill themselves. And I think it’s happening again.”
* * *
Cellars saw the skepticism on my face. She sat down and clasped her hands together. “Please, just hear me out, and if I haven’t convinced you after that, then fine.”
I nodded to indicate that I was still with her. Relieved, she took a deep breath.
“Okay. For lack of a better title, I’ve taken to calling it the Sixty-Year Event. In 1837, Harris Theroux was mauled to death at Lost Lake by a large grizzly bear … never mind that grizzlies had never before and have never since been seen in these parts. In 1897, the Lost Girls experienced a so-called mass hysteria and drowned themselves. In 1957, three hunters died in a grotesque murder-suicide a quarter mile from the lake.” Cellars shifted in her seat on the far end of the couch. “You see where I’m going with this, don’t you?”
“Yes. There’s a sixty-year span between the deaths. Sari Chesney’s death fits your timeline. What about before 1837, before the fur traders and miners claimed this land as their own?”
Cellars frowned. “That’s been harder to determine. Something happened at the lake in 1777, something that is only hinted at in the tribal histories I’ve found. After the event, the Ute avoided Lost Lake, even though its waters were flush with fish and the land around the lake was fertile. As to what occurred before that—well, my research has hit a wall.”
“You think Harris Theroux was killed by a man?”
“Let’s just say I’m skeptical it was a bear.”
I was quiet, thinking. Outside, one of the horses snorted loudly, and Cellars cocked her head, listening. After a moment, though, the night fell silent again, and she relaxed.
“A mountain lion’s been sniffing around the property this week. I think I’ll put the horses in the barn tonight. I’d hate for the cat to tussle with one of them.”
“Ruby, you’ve convinced me that an unusual pattern has occurred over the last two hundred years. But surely there have been other deaths at Lost Lake … heart attacks, maybe? Wayward hikers succumbing to the elements?”
She shook her head. “Honest to god, I’ve checked with the city clerk and the town archivist. Any free moment I had at the museum, I was researching the lake. I’ve scoured obituaries going back to the first edition of The Valley Voice. Aside from the deaths I’ve mentioned, there have been no others at Lost Lake.”
“You said the Lost Girls were driven to kill themselves. Driven by what or whom?”
Worry clouded her eyes. “That’s the missing piece of the puzzle. I’d say by the lake itself, but that’s crazy. And yet … I’ve been up there, poking around. It’s easily the most beautiful lake I’ve ever seen, but there’s a presence there. When I walk the shores, I feel as though there’s someone or something watching me. Truth be told, I stopped going a few years ago. I’d hoped this year would pass by without any deaths, and yet here we are.”
“Yes, here we are…” I said slowly.
The whole thing was incredibly bizarre, and yet hadn’t I felt that same presence at Lost Lake? Didn’t the very thought of returning there put an ice-cold rock in the pit of my stomach?
Her eyes widened. “My god, you’ve felt it, too.”
“I don’t know what I felt … Could there be some poison in the water, a fungus in
the soil? Something organic that causes a reaction in humans or animals?”
“Possibly.”
“Surely you have a theory?”
Outside, another snort from one of the horses. I watched as Cellars’s shoulders tensed, but once more, the night fell silent and she relaxed.
“This damn mountain lion’s got me on edge.”
“You have a rifle?”
“Yes, but the cat would have to be practically on my neck before I’d shoot it. This is her territory, her land. The horses and me and the girls, we’re just renters. A theory? Sure. I’ve got half a dozen. There are rumors that the Silver Foxes were members of a satanic cult. In exchange for fabulous riches and the opportunity to rule Cedar Valley, they sacrificed a young man. The cult is still in existence and, every sixty years, a fresh sacrifice is required. That’s one half-assed theory. Another is that a backwoods interbreeding family of mountain folk are living up in the woods by the lake, killing people according to some strange astrological calendar. Zodiac killers, maybe. I’ve got other theories, but I’ll stop there. Suffice it to say, I believe, Detective.”
“What am I supposed to do with this, Ruby? I can’t flush out the forests in search of some incestuous tribe.”
Cellars looked crestfallen. “I thought … I thought there would be something you could do. Warn people, maybe. Put up a perimeter. Close off access to the lake. You and I will be dead and gone when the next sixty-year event occurs, but think of future generations. Think of my daughters. Do you have kids? You have an opportunity to save lives, Detective.”
I stood, uncomfortable with the sheen in her eyes, the flush that had appeared on her cheeks. “I appreciate all of this, I really do. I’m going to take it back to my team, and we’ll look into it.”
Cellars suddenly stood and crossed the room to the door, putting a hand on the knob. “Please, come with me to the graves.”
“Now? It’s pitch black outside.”
“I’m begging you. If you don’t sense what I sense, out there in the churchyard, I’ll never bother you again. But if you do … if you do sense it, then maybe I’m not crazy,” Cellars said. She jammed her Stetson on her head and grabbed two large flashlights from a shelf next to the door.
Finally, I nodded. I’d come this far already.
She grinned and handed me one of the lights. I switched it on and followed Cellars across the meadow, comforted in the darkness by the twin beams of light and the soft snorts and whinnies of the horses in the corral.
As I’d thought, the stars were brilliant in both their number and their luminosity.
We skirted the church itself and entered the graveyard through a rusty gate that screeched like a wounded owl.
“Another thing on my to-do list,” Cellars muttered. “Careful where you step; there are some low-to-the-ground headstones. I’d hate for you to trip.”
She led me to the back of the graveyard. We were far from the church now, far from the familiar noises of the horses and the warm glow of the house. I shivered, regretting that I hadn’t grabbed my jacket from the car. I wondered, not for the first time, at the strange places my career took me.
“Here we are.” Cellars played her light over five identical tombstones, lined up in a row. “Though their deaths were judged suicides, the good Reverend Elias Rayburn granted burial rights to all five women. No doubt his decision was due in part to the mass hysteria—or temporary insanity—thought to inflict the poor women and in part to the fact that one of the women was his very own niece, Roberta Rayburn.”
“The reverend was Owen Rayburn’s brother?”
“Yes, his only sibling.” Cellars’s light dimmed. She shook the flashlight, and the bulb went out with a soft sizzle. “Damn. Let’s not linger. That mountain lion could be anywhere, and while I have confidence that the horses would alert us to its presence, we may have just enough distance between us and the horses to make that confidence … inaccurate.”
While I had no desire to test that theory, something kept me rooted in place.
I shone my flashlight over each tombstone, reading the name, the birth and death dates. The air here was warmer, and though it was impossible to see anything beyond a few feet, the downward slope of the ground told me this particular section of the graveyard was sunken and likely protected from the wind.
Cellars suddenly spoke, and I jumped, aware that some minutes had passed.
“You feel it too, don’t you?” She moved a little closer. “It’s … magnetic. Or hypnotic. I haven’t decided which. Let’s head back now. If I may lead the way?”
She took the flashlight from my hand, and I followed close behind her. We parted ways at my car and, as I pulled away, she moved to the corral and ducked between the wooden slats of the gate, moving like a small ghost in the immense darkness.
Chapter Twenty-eight
I was exhausted and unnerved by the time I got home. As I pulled into the driveway, I was surprised to see Clementine’s car next to Brody’s truck.
As I stepped into the front hall, reaching down to scratch Seamus’s back, I stopped short.
Brody’s rolling suitcase, a carry-on bag, and his laptop case were stacked in a neat pile next to the door. Frowning, I called out, “Honey?”
Brody came out of the kitchen, Grace in his arms. “Oh good, you’re here. Clementine’s got to leave soon.”
I set my things down. “What’s with the luggage?”
“I’ve got to be on a flight to Beijing, leaving Denver at five a.m. I’ll drive to the airport tonight and crash at one of the hotels.” He checked his watch and swore, his hazel eyes darkening. “In fact, I need to leave very soon.”
“Excuse me, what? You’re driving to Denver now? And then flying to China?” I was so surprised, it was hard to get the words out. “What are you talking about?”
“The Chinese have questions, technical questions, about some of the clauses in the contract. You know, the one I was telling you about a couple of weeks ago? Anyway, they’re asking for me. I worked with a few of them, years ago, in Mongolia. Look, there’s twenty million dollars on the line, Gemma. I have to go. I owe it to Harry,” Brody said.
He put the baby in my arms and leaned in for a kiss but I turned away, burying my face in Grace’s neck, inhaling the sweet, innocent smell of her skin, desperately trying not to lose my temper.
Brody sighed. “Babe, I’ll only be gone a week, two at the most.”
“Two weeks? This is crazy. What the hell am I supposed to do with the baby? I’m in the middle of two homicide investigations.”
“Harry took a chance hiring me, Gemma. I have to go. We knew travel might be part of the deal.” Brody was amped up, excited to be headed back out into the field. “After we hammer out the contract, Harry wants me to fly to the western part of the country and check on operations.”
“Is Harry going, too?”
“No, just me. He’s tied up with the courts this week.”
I rolled my eyes. Harry was on his third divorce, and rumor had it that this one might just clean him out for good.
Brody finally seemed to notice that my mood had darkened. “I’m sorry, honey. I can’t say no.”
Taking a deep breath, I nodded. I shifted Grace to my other hip and nudged Seamus away with my foot so I could stand closer to Brody and give him a hug.
“We’ll be fine. What can I do to help?”
He leaned in and nuzzled my cheek. “Nothing. I love you. I’ll call when I land.”
Brody picked up his luggage and walked out the door. I called out after him, “Text me when you reach Denver. I don’t want to worry all night that you’ve crashed in a ravine somewhere.”
“Will do. I love you,” he called back with a wave.
I slowly closed the front door and stood in the hall for a long moment.
Clementine appeared, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. “Dinner’s in the oven. I take it I should come a little early tomorrow?”
“That would be great. Somethi
ng smells wonderful; did you cook?”
“Are you kidding? I threw a frozen potpie in the oven and cranked the heat. Should be ready in twenty minutes. I figured you’d be hungry.”
“What would I do without you?”
Clementine shrugged. “Beats me. I have a feeling you’d live on vending machine food for a while, then your teeth would fall out and your pancreas would shut down and you’d die. It would probably be both painful and slow. Not a great way to go.”
“Agreed. How is everything else going? School … your boy problem?”
“School’s good, nearly wrapped up. And I ended things with Joe. He turned out to be a stage-five clinger. It’s too bad, he was a nice guy. Until the calls started.”
I frowned. “What’s a stage-five clinger?”
“Someone who gets too attached too fast. Like, you go on two dates with them and suddenly they’re looking at wedding china and naming the babies you’ll have together. That was Joe. Clingers are … well, they’re emotionally needy.”
“God, I had no idea there was a term for this. I hope I haven’t been a clinger.”
Clementine burst into laughter.
“What’s so funny?”
“You are so not a clinger. You’re like the total opposite. I don’t even think they have a word for what you are…”
Suddenly I wasn’t sure if she was complimenting or mocking me. She left, still laughing, and I took a moment to glance in the hall mirror after I shut and locked the door.
Did I look like a clinger?
I quickly fed Grace, then put her straight to bed. After she was asleep, I spent a long time sitting on the living room floor, flipping through a photo album stuffed with pictures of Brody and me, marveling at the winding and often broken road our lives had taken thus far.
Beijing.
It was a hell of a lot closer to Tokyo than Cedar Valley was.
Closer to the university where Brody had spent a semester as a guest lecturer, where he’d been wined and dined and seduced …
I tried to slam the door on that train of thought, but an image of Celeste Takashima, with her long dark hair and eyes the color of amber, barreled into my mind anyway. After Brody had confessed their affair, I’d made him tell me everything. I even searched for her online and found a picture. She was ten years older than him and, when she wasn’t rappelling down glaciers and hiking up volcanos, she lived in a small apartment in Tokyo.
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