by Debra Webb
That would be her cue to exit. Except that...she stared at his face, specifically his left cheek. A little puffy and the pale skin there was a deep reddish color as if he’d been punched or...kicked.
The tingle of adrenaline rushed over her nerve endings as the images from last night’s encounter zoomed into high-def clarity in her mind’s eye. Right height...right build...
“Barton slipped on the ice last night when he was carrying in firewood,” his wife said. She sent a look of concern at her husband’s face. “Poor dear, almost gave himself a black eye.”
The innkeeper waved off her worries. “I should have been more careful.” He stared straight at Sarah then. “You can never be too careful in the dark...especially this time of year.” His meaning was crystal clear.
He’d been the one and, on some level, he wanted her to know it.
“I’m always careful, Mr. Harvey,” Sarah returned, her own meaning unmistakable. “There’s no telling what or who you’ll run into.”
Their gazes held a moment longer before Sarah turned her back and headed for her room.
If the innkeeper thought he could scare her off, he should give it his best shot. Sure, he’d shaken her up last night, but she wasn’t running.
No way.
“I understand you’re leaving us,” he called after Sarah.
Was there an echo in this village?
Sarah paused near the newel post at the bottom of the staircase. She met the man’s haughty expression. “Not yet, Mr. Harvey. When the time comes you’ll be the first to know.”
If looks could kill Sarah would have dropped dead right there on the polished hardwood. Instead, she mounted the stairs to the second floor.
The harsh murmur of voices told her that Mr. Harvey was letting Mrs. Harvey know that she was not to be fraternizing with the inn’s one guest.
Nothing like being the most popular girl in town.
Happened every time.
The difference between her and Alicia Appleton was Sarah never got a crown.
◆◆◆
After going through her research material and comparing what she’d learned before arriving in Youngstown to what she’d discovered firsthand, Sarah hit the streets. She needed to think without any distractions...particularly Kale Conner.
Without doubt she appreciated his rescuing her the night before, but that was the exception to the norm not the rule. Sarah wasn’t in the habit of needing a rescue. She had been taking care of herself for a very long time.
As if the thought had triggered the wrong file retrieval, memories flooded her brain, swelled in her throat. Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel as she attempted to push them away. Blood-soaked earth. Bones...so many bones. Rotted dresses...disintegrating purses. Shoes with broken heels.
Her mind conjured the image of a little blond-haired girl—needy and vulnerable—hugging her pillow beneath the stairs...the sound of heavy footsteps on the wood floor...
That was a long time ago, she reminded herself. Sarah Newton would never be vulnerable again. And she damned sure didn’t need anyone.
“No way in hell,” she muttered.
Not even a guy who seriously stirred the desire for sex.
That was why she never let anyone close.
It was far too easy to become dependent.
She didn’t like being dependent.
Dependency fostered weakness.
More clips from her childhood flashed in her head. Praying that her mother would come find her before the voices got her. Burrowing her way to the very back of the closet...
“Stupid.”
The voices she later learned were those of her mother’s victims.
The chill seeped deeper into Sarah’s bones.
That was the thing about a really shitty childhood; you learned that prayer was a waste of time.
Sarah braked for a pedestrian crossing the street. She surveyed the village shops that lined the street. The people here were deep in denial. Certain that no one they knew would commit such a heinous deed and that earnest prayer would somehow turn this tragedy around. Didn’t they understand that Alicia Appleton would die soon if she wasn’t found?
According to the police reports she’d reviewed, every registered cave and abandoned or unused structure in the Youngstown area as well as the surrounding woods had been searched repeatedly. Neighboring villages had cooperated by conducting their own searches in similar areas.
With no results.
If it weren’t for the roses, Sarah would take a hard look at the possibility that the kid had hitched a ride to New York. Less than eight hours’ driving distance, it wouldn’t be that difficult. Just risky when one took into account the freaks, kooks, and perverts on the road.
The bus lines, airlines, and trains that served the region had all received the bulletin with her photo as soon as she was reported missing. No one had seen her. If she’d left Youngstown, it hadn’t been via public transportation.
Yet she was nowhere to be found. Alicia Appleton had simply vanished.
There were no suspects. No nothing. Not in Alicia’s case or Valerie’s.
Who hated Valerie Gerard enough to want her dead? Who hadn’t forgotten that she’d won a spelling bee in fourth grade? Who considered her a liar? Chief Willard insisted friends and family had been interviewed repeatedly and that Valerie had no enemies. But that wasn’t true.
The truth is what it is.
And someone killed Valerie with considerably more hacking than was necessary. Labeled her a liar in her own blood. After viewing all the crime scene photos, Sarah’s confidence in the investigation had boosted a little. Photos of the victim before her arms and legs had been scraped loose from the stone had been taken. Maybe they’d done a better job than she’d first thought. The newly revealed detail about the missing organs from the victims in the twenty-year-old case confirmed her conclusions that they were unrelated to Valerie’s murder.
Brady Harvey’s sister, Melody, was nineteen. She would have known Valerie. But her mother hadn’t mentioned Valerie’s murder. Only Alicia’s disappearance.
Strange.
Passing Bay View Cemetery, Sarah braked.
The big iron gates yawned open but that wasn’t what attracted her attention.
That dumb crow on the headstone.
“Freezing your ass off, huh?”
She shook her head, told herself to drive on.
But she didn’t.
She turned onto the narrow strip of pavement that cut through the middle of the cemetery. Snow encroached on either side of the asphalt, narrowing it even more. She shut off the engine and got out. Snow immediately poked up her pants legs and slithered into her Converses.
Massive oak trees stood like sentinels, their gnarled roots reaching out to the sleeping residents. A few newer headstones were interspersed here and there; near ancestors, she supposed. Woods bordered the back of the cemetery, while streets flanked the other three sides.
Sarah walked along the rows of headstones until she reached the last one. Beyond that final row, at the very back of the property, sitting next to two stone cross markers, was the witch’s headstone. The crow perched there eyed Sarah before flapping its wings indignantly and taking off. It lit on a naked branch high above her head.
“So where’s your friends?” Sarah scanned the nearby trees. Maybe he was a loner. Like her.
“Don’t worry,” she said aloud. “I won’t be here long.”
Sarah started forward again.
Then froze.
A girl stood on the other side of the headstone. Long black hair. Hooded sweatshirt and jeans, all black—goth style. She lifted her gaze to Sarah’s.
For two stuttering heartbeats they looked at each other without moving or speaking.
Where had she come from? Sarah started to say hello but the girl spoke.
“You’re Sarah Newton, aren’t you?”
Didn’t take a crystal ball to guess her identity. There weren’t that ma
ny strangers around outside the two or three lingering reporters who appeared to prefer their lodging accommodations to trudging through the snow.
“Yes.” Sarah took another step in the girl’s direction. “And you are?”
Teenager, Sarah decided. Seventeen or eighteen. She watched as Sarah lessened the distance between them one step at a time, but she didn’t answer the question.
Sarah stopped a few feet away, on the same side of the marker. Worn by time and the elements, the name on the headstone was barely visible.
Matilda Calder. Mattie.
Oddly, all three headstones on this final short row faced the back of the cemetery whereas all the rest faced the street. A way of indicating they were outcasts, maybe?
“Do you visit her often?” Sarah asked. No need to wait for her name to ask questions.
“I’m the only one who comes,” the girl said.
If she was around eighteen, she’d be the same age as the missing girl.
“Some people don’t like visiting their deceased loved ones. Too sad.” Sarah hadn’t been to her mother’s grave since the pallbearers lowered her coffin into the ground. She’d never been to her father’s. In her case, it didn’t have a whole lot to do with sadness. That sickening emptiness she knew far too well sucked at her insides. She forced it away.
“You should visit.”
Sarah’s attention snapped back to the girl. “What’s your name?” She still hadn’t answered that question. And definitely shouldn’t know that about Sarah. What was she? Psychic? The day someone proved ESP to her, Sarah would maybe consider the possibility. Then again, the kid could have meant you should visit as in people in general should visit their deceased loved ones.
“Matilda.”
Okay, so this was officially weird. “Matilda?”
The girl nodded to the headstone. “She was my great-great-grandmother. I’m named after her.”
Maybe not so weird.
Matilda pointed to the two cross markers. “Those were her friends.”
“Is that your pet?” Sarah jerked her head toward the tree where the crow waited patiently, probably for them to leave. Matilda stared at the crow, then shook her head.
Inept stab at making conversation.
“She was a witch, you know,” the girl said matter-of-factly.
Sarah nodded. “I heard.”
“But she helped people.” Matilda’s attention returned to the headstone. “She wouldn’t have let this happen.”
“You mean what happened to Valerie and Alicia?”
Matilda nodded once.
“I guess you go to school with Alicia?”
“Did.” She glanced up at the crow again. “But I quit this year.”
What kind of parents would let their daughter quit school? Particularly if she’d made it all the way to her senior year.
“You don’t like school?” Another lame question.
She shrugged.
“Did you know Valerie?”
“She tutored me in math year before last.”
The kid needed a coat. She had to be freezing. The sweatshirt couldn’t be that warm even if she had layers on underneath.
“Would you like to sit in my car?”
Matilda shook her head. “I gotta get home.”
Now or never. “Do you know of anyone who would have wanted to hurt Valerie or Alicia?”
“Lots of people are jealous.” She searched Sarah’s face with curious eyes that were the most bizarre shade of gold. Sarah hadn’t noticed that before. “But none of the kids around here would hurt them. Not for real.”
“What about the kids Valerie beat in that spelling bee way back in fourth grade?” Okay, that was a stretch.
Another indifferent shrug.
Who remembered what happened in third or fourth grade? If one of Valerie’s classmates had held a grudge over a spelling bee that long, then he or she needed to get a life.
That theory suddenly seemed about as farfetched as the curse theory. Unless mental illness was involved. In light of the mutilation that was a definite possibility.
“I sure hope the police find some answers soon.” The statement wasn’t really directed at the girl. Just thinking out loud. Keeping the silence from dragging on too long.
Thankfully Sarah hadn’t said the rest of what she thought.
Before it’s too late for Alicia.
The tree branches groaned and scratched as the wind picked up. Standing out here much longer was about as appealing as being mugged. But Sarah wanted to talk to the girl as long as possible. She mentally scrambled for a way to meet both goals.
“Can I give you a lift home?” Good idea.
Matilda shook her head. “It’s not that far. I like walking.”
“It’ll be dark soon.” Sarah surveyed the sky. Another clear night. Which meant it would be even colder.
“I’m not afraid of the dark.”
One girl was dead, another missing. A young girl shouldn’t be out walking alone. Especially at dark.
“Until the police catch the person responsible for what’s happened, it’s probably not a good idea to be walking alone in the dark.”
“They won’t catch him.”
Anticipation prickled Sarah’s chilled flesh. “They’re trying very hard. I’m sure they will.”
Those eerie gold eyes held Sarah’s. “They can’t catch him.”
That feeling, the one that made your skin prickle and the hair on your neck stand on end, sent Sarah’s instincts to the next level. “Why do you say that?”
“Because he’s the devil. Cops can’t catch the devil.”
Chapter 17
A passing car drew Sarah’s attention to the street. She turned back to Matilda. “What makes you think—”
The girl was gone.
Taken aback, Sarah scanned the cemetery. The only way she could have disappeared so quickly was to have headed into the woods behind her great-great-grandmother’s grave.
Strange girl.
Cops can’t catch the devil.
“Yeah, right, kid.”
Sarah’s cell vibrated.
Three guesses who’d show up on her caller ID, and the first two didn’t count.
He’d called repeatedly today. Each time Sarah had ignored him. But twelve was the number. If she didn’t answer this time her editor would send a search party. Her editor and shrink used the same strategy to keep her in line.
Sarah dragged out the phone and accepted the call. “Newton.”
“You almost missed me,” Tae Green warned. “I had my finger on my cell’s speed dial for Frank.”
Frank. Sarah curled her lip in disgust. Frank Sampson had been Tae’s heavy for twenty years. Whenever Tae needed one of his reporters located, extricated, or reined in, Frank was the man he called.
“Your intimidation tactics don’t work on me, Tae.” Sarah wasn’t afraid of Frank; she just didn’t like him.
“Call me when you arrive means the second you cross into the city limits, not the next day. Oh, wait, you didn’t call me period. I called you.”
Yeah, yeah, her editor was a comedian. Appeared to be lots of those around.
“Don’t give up your day job, Tae. I’m here. I’m alive so far and I’ve only pissed off a couple of people.” She almost lost her balance on a patch of ice. “Happy?”
“What’s going on up there? The news channels are buzzing with word that the Youngstown chief of police is about to hold a press conference. What’s up with that?”
Sarah halted a couple steps shy of reaching her car. “When?” Willard hadn’t said anything about any news conference. If one was happening any minute, he had to have known when she was in his office. So much for cooperation. He and his buddy the mayor had been placating her. Giving her just enough slack to distract her from what they were really up to.
Unfortunately it had worked.
“Apparently the chief is one of the people you’ve pissed off—so far.”
“He was p
issed off before I got here.” She opened the driver’s side door and plopped into the seat. “I should go and find out where that press conference is going down.” Damn Kale Conner for not calling her. He probably knew this morning when he was so happy to play the hero host. Why the hell had she trusted him, even a little bit?
“Answer one question before you go.”
She knew the drill. Twenty-four hours on location, assess the situation, determine if there is a story. If there’s no story, pack up and hit the road for the next assignment.
“There’s a story here, Tae.” She started the car and dragged her seat belt across her lap. “No matter what the chief says in his press conference, trust me, there’s something else going on.” She hesitated before shifting into reverse, her attention tugged back to Mattie Calder’s headstone.
The black crow had resumed his vigil.
Wasn’t necessarily the same bird. Probably not. There could be something close by the Calder headstone that attracted the damned creatures. Maybe a shiny frame around a photograph on one of the headstones. Maybe some kind of prey that wasn’t readily obvious. Didn’t have to be the headstone or the person buried in that precise spot.
What the hell was she thinking? Of course it wasn’t.
Spooks, goblins, and ghouls—including witches and devils—didn’t commit murder. People did.
As Sarah watched, another crow landed on a tree branch not a dozen feet away. That creepy sensation she got when she was onto something big made her skin crawl.
Or maybe it was the need to find the press conference. And quite possibly the overwhelming urge to kick Conner’s cute butt.
Still...her attention lingered on the headstone and its ominous visitor.
“I’m waiting, Newton.”
“What?” She shook her head to clear it. “Oh...yeah. The whole curse thing was really hyped in the beginning. Other than a few who’d rather believe an unseen force is responsible for what’s happened, at this point I think most folks understand they’re dealing with a mere human here. But...”
How did she explain this part? Her job involved debunking myths, cutting through the lore and getting to the heart of the matter when no one else appeared so inclined. Hanging around a stereotypical murder investigation wasn’t in her job description.