The Curse of Misty Wayfair

by Jaime Jo Wright

  Heidi looked to Emma, who smiled. “It’s okay,” Emma said.

  She didn’t seem disturbed by the fact they were leaving the game unfinished. Probably because it was Rhett. Heidi was learning that Emma would make just about any adjustment for Rhett. He was her safe person.

  Heidi studied Rhett’s broad back as she followed him outside. She frowned at herself. She wanted a safe person too.

  She always had.

  They rounded the house to the backyard that was bordered by woods. A square block with five black circles on it sat at the edge of the woods, with a few hay bales piled behind it. Rhett paused about twenty yards away, and Heidi noticed two hooks jammed into the ground, bows hanging from them.

  She gave Rhett a raised eyebrow. “Are you going hunting?”

  Rhett leaned over and lifted one of the bows from its hanger. It was black with neon-pink strings, an arrow already mounted on it, wrapped with neon-pink wraps.

  “Target practice.” He ran a thumb over the pink fletching on the arrow. “It’s how I de-stress.”

  “De-stress,” Heidi echoed. Shoot things with a bow and arrow. Yes. This was the Northwoods of Wisconsin.

  Rhett met her eyes. His gaze was frank and open. “You need to unwind.”

  That was obvious. Heidi rolled her eyes and gave him a silly smile. “You think?”

  She wanted to cry.

  Rhett glossed over her retort and the underlying emotion. He looked down at the bow. “This is Emma’s. She’s okay with you using it. It’s set to pull back forty pounds. Let’s see if you can.”

  Heidi blinked incredulously. The man was serious. “I’ve no clue how to shoot an arrow.”

  “I know.” Rhett extended the bow toward her.

  She stepped back. “My hand.” Waving it toward him, her hand bandaged from the, thankfully, minor burns she’d received from the fire.

  “The grip rests between your thumb and forefinger. You don’t have to strangle it.” He demonstrated and then handed her the bow.

  Heidi took the bow by its grip and steadied herself, surprised by the fact it wasn’t as heavy as she’d expected. He was right. It balanced remarkably well, and she didn’t need to grasp it with the full embrace of her hand.

  “Give me your right hand.” Again with the commands.

  Heidi held out her hand, and her palm instantly warmed when Rhett took it and slipped a black—thingy—over her wrist. It had a metal clasp that dangled from it.

  “This is the release,” he explained, buckling it around her wrist like a watchband. “Pull back on the trigger here with your thumb and clip onto the D-loop on the bowstring. It might rub your burn a bit when you do this, ’cause you have to hold the grip tighter. Raise the bow and don’t throttle the grip. The arrow’s in the rest, so when ready, see if you can pull back the string.”

  “Just like that?” Heidi had no idea what he was talking about. “There’s got to be a better way to do this.”

  A tiny smile quirked the corner of his mouth. “There is. But you don’t have the patience for it.”

  She tilted her head and glowered at him. “Really?”

  “Just pull it back.” He neared her, the bow between them, and he positioned himself, like he was ready to grab her forearm and help her pull back the string.

  But he didn’t.

  Heidi pulled. Nothing happened. She gave him a doubtful look. “It won’t move.”

  Rhett gave her a gray stare. “You need to really pull it.”

  “I am!” She argued, half laughing, half whining.

  Rhett shook his head. “It uses a distinct set of muscles to pull back a bowstring. But you should be able to pull back forty pounds.”

  “How would you know?” Heidi retorted.

  Rhett’s eyebrows creased inward. “Because I had to pin you down outside the cabin when it was on fire, and you just about clocked me with a right hook. So, pull it back.”

  “Fine.” Heidi refocused, and this time she pulled the string back. Her arm quivered. She couldn’t get the string over the crux of the pull.

  “Too hard?” he asked. It was a sincere question, not taunting. He reached toward her arm to assist, but paused when Heidi gave her head a stubborn shake.

  “No.” Heidi put a few more grunts into her tug until the string was all the way back. “Holy wow! This is hard to hold.”

  Rhett was intent on the bow and her form. Or what little form she had.

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “Forty pounds might be too hard since you’re not used to it. The draw length should be good, though. You’re about Emma’s arm span.”

  “Okay, fine. What do I do now?” Heidi gasped, her arm shaking from the exertion of holding back the string.

  “Look through the peep, line up the first pin in the sight, and release it. At the block.”

  “What?” Heidi half hollered at him. Did he think she knew something—anything—about archery? Because she didn’t.

  “Aim and release,” he barked.

  She closed an eye and saw some glowing green pin in a round thing, aimed her arrow, and released the trigger. The string instantly let go. The arrow shot through the dusk and cleared the target, sticking instead into a hay bale behind it.

  Heidi spun, the bow in hand, and gave a well-deserved slap to Rhett’s shoulder with her other hand. “You’re horrid.” She was peeved, and added to that, mortified and embarrassed.

  Rhett reached for the bow.

  Heidi swapped it to her right hand, as her burns were starting to sting. She pulled it away from him and leveled him with a glare. “No. I don’t need to be made a fool of. Not today. Not ever.”

  “You’re not a fool.” Rhett sidestepped her and tugged the bow from her grip.

  “Then what was this? A lesson in how to look stupid?”

  “Nope.” Rhett hung the bow on its stand. “C’mon.” He hiked toward the hay bale.

  Heidi chased after him. “This is no de-stressor, if that’s what you’re thinking. My arm hurts! Not to mention, I doubt anyone learns how to use a bow without a good lesson on the parts of a bow!” She hissed the last words. “You even said there was an easier way!”

  Rhett was at the hay bale now. He reached up and pushed his left hand against it as he yanked the arrow from the hay with his right.

  “You’re right.” He turned and stared down at her, holding the arrow against his leg. “There is. It’s called a lesson.”

  Heidi was suddenly aware of how tall he was. She opened her mouth to argue, then snapped it shut.

  “But this is how you do life.” His words pierced her like the arrow. “You’re obstinate. You don’t want to be taught.”

  “What do you mean?” Fine. He had some overarching point he wanted to make?

  Then go ahead, Rhett Crawford, make it.

  “You just do stuff—without first thinking it through.”

  “Whatever.” Heidi was finished with this conversation. She spun on her heel to stalk back to the house. It was annoying how perceptive he was—oh, and that he was right.

  “Then you ignore it and walk away,” he added.

  Heidi stopped, her back to him.

  “You’ve got to stop, Heidi. Just stop.”

  She heard him come up behind her. There it was. The hand on her arm, turning her toward him. Darn it. Heidi dropped her gaze to the grass beneath their feet. Her eyes burned with tears. It was what her family had always told her, and yet for some reason it sounded different coming from Rhett.

  “The same way you won’t learn how to shoot with a bow by just doing it, you won’t figure out what’s going on here—in Pleasant Valley—with your family by jumping in and being reckless. When you get hurt, you shut down. But if you’d just slow down, if you’d let people help you, if you’d . . .” He stopped, almost as if the words took too much energy to spit out.

  Heidi looked up.

  Rhett’s expression was intense. She couldn’t look away. For the first time, for real, she saw what Connie had meant when
she said he’d muscle his way in like a bear, but that he really, truly wanted to rescue.

  “Let me help you,” he finished, a sigh following his declaration, as though his words were lame.

  But they weren’t lame. Heidi felt her chin quiver. She pressed her lips together and looked past him at the hay bale and archery target. Tears escaped, and she wrapped her arms around herself.

  “No one wants me,” she whispered. Aware she almost sounded like a wounded toddler who’d lost her way in a supermarket. “I saw a woman—at the fire, Rhett. I really did, whether anyone believes me or not.” Heidi lifted her eyes, not trying to hide the tears this time. “She pulled me out. She looks like that old picture in the album. I tried to talk to my mom. She’s completely losing it and thinks I’m dead. Maybe I am—to her. I don’t know. And Vicki thinks I’m nuts. Heck, I think I’m nuts. I can’t do it anymore. I don’t know where I belong, I don’t know who I am—who my family is. I’m a mess, Rhett. I’m such a mess!”

  Her last words released in a choked sob.

  Rhett drew her toward him. She stumbled, resisting at first. He gave another tug, the arrow dropping to the ground at his feet. Then her face was buried in his chest.

  And, he was safe.

  Chapter 29

  This was new. Sitting beside Rhett at the police station, Heidi gave him a sideways glance. It was very different having someone accompanying her for no other reason than to be supportive. She was sort of afraid to look at him for fear he’d evaporate and she’d slip back into her normal state of self-reliance. It was an anomaly she struggled to comprehend. Being an independent woman by nature and by sheer circumstance of life, the element of having someone on her team was comforting. Maybe too much so. She didn’t want to get used to it, and as she’d guarded herself with the Crawfords before, one moment of face-planting in Rhett’s chest didn’t mean he was her cohort in life forever.

  Footsteps on the hard linoleum floor of the station drew her attention. Detective Davidson came toward them from down the hall, wearing a polite smile, a flicker of interest in his eyes. He was nice too, Heidi remembered from the night of the lodge break-in . . . but he wasn’t Rhett.

  Oh man. She needed to quit this right now. She was already getting too soft toward the giant.

  “Why don’t you come in here?” Detective Davidson waved them toward a tiny room with a table and chairs.

  They each took a seat. Heidi drew her hair back into a ponytail, then released it, letting the blue-blond strands fall over her shoulders. She drew in a sigh. To calm herself. A familiar weight settled on her chest. Unsolved questions. A vivid image of a woman slamming her hand on the window, screaming at her, and then vanishing afterward.

  “All right.” Detective Davidson leaned forward on the table, folding his hands together. “I’ll get straight to it. We confirmed that the fire at the lodge was arson. I’ve already met with Vicki and Brad.” He shot Heidi a hesitant look. “I guess you’re staying at the Crawfords’ for now?”

  A raised eyebrow.

  For sure, he’d want to deduce any strife between family. Motives. Possible interpersonal reasons for striking at each other.

  Heidi nodded. Connie had extended the offer, she’d taken it, and probably had the best sleep in her life last night, camped out in their guest room. Rhett had gone back to his place not long after her meltdown, and she’d ended up sipping hot cocoa with Connie until midnight. Talking. Just . . . talking.

  “Okay.” The detective rolled his lips together in thought. “So, what we know is, between the original break-in and the message on your mirror, the graffiti at the asylum ruins, and now the fire, all this really does seem to be targeting you, Heidi. Your sister mentioned a note card left under your windshield wiper too?”

  Vicki was thorough. Heidi nodded. While she didn’t miss the fast glance Rhett tossed her, she decided to ignore it.

  “It wasn’t too unlike the message on the mirror. Basically implying I am mad or insane.”

  “Do you still have the note?” Detective Davidson asked.

  Now she felt stupid for not reporting it. “Yes.”

  He smiled. “We’ll need to get that from you, Heidi. We haven’t turned up much for fingerprints or evidence. But your sister seems to think”—he looked at Rhett—“maybe you have someone from your past or even present who might have it in for you?”

  Heidi bit back an irritated response. She swallowed.

  Rhett spoke before she could say anything. “Mike, there’s more to this that you need to know.”

  Mike? First-name basis. Small town. Heidi let Rhett talk. Let him help her, he’d asked. Okay. She’d try to do that.

  Mike leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, frowning. “Ooookay?”

  Rhett ran his fingers over the brim of his greasy cap. “Heidi told me a woman helped pull her from the flames. It wasn’t a guest of the lodge either. When we accounted for everyone after the fire, there was no such woman.”

  Mike glanced between them. “Yeah, I heard about that.”

  “I believe her,” Rhett stated.

  Heidi blinked and stared at him. The three words were simple. But they were ginormous. The act of believing what she said . . . Heidi bit the inside of her cheek.

  “Also,” Rhett continued, firmness lacing his voice, “the woman who pulled Heidi from the cabin was the same woman she saw looking in her window the day of the break-in.”

  “Really?” Mike was interested now. He leaned forward again.

  Rhett nodded. “Where it gets strange is that this woman looks exactly like someone in a photograph my parents found in an old album at a sale. And both women look just like Heidi.”

  Mike blinked, not saying anything.

  Heidi squirmed in her chair, but she noted Rhett sat there casually as though he hadn’t sounded just a tad off himself.

  “Next, you’re going to tell me it’s Misty Wayfair.” A wry smile teased Mike’s mouth.

  Rhett responded with a small grin himself. It transformed his face from grumpy to rustic-handsome. “It’s not, no. But the photograph does have her name penciled on the back of it.”

  Mike chuckled. His expression was disbelief and interest all rolled into one. “So . . . Misty Wayfair has returned, eh? After, what, a hundred and fifty years?”

  “She’s more interesting than Paul Bunyan,” Rhett retorted.

  “She’s still just a legend.”

  “With some credibility.” Rhett’s words put a final exclamation point on the banter.

  Mike nodded. “Fair enough. She was murdered in these parts, they say, but her ghost? Are you saying you believe in a ghost story?”

  “No.” Rhett shook his head.

  “Okay, I give up.” Mike palmed the air. “What are you saying?”

  Rhett looked at Heidi. She tried to read his face but couldn’t decipher if he wanted her to talk now that he’d used his quota of words for the day, or if he wanted her permission to explore ideas. Heidi opted for the latter and gave him a nod of encouragement. She was shocked when he tossed her back an almost imperceptible wink.

  “I think Heidi is connected to Misty Wayfair. I think Heidi might be a descendent of the Coyles, who were rumored to play a part in the murder. Heidi coming here now seems to have exposed some old local history. Could be there are relations in the area who are protective of that story.”

  “Why do you think she’s related to the Coyles?”

  Heidi could tell Mike’s brain was trying to wrap around the theory. She wasn’t sure she understood it herself, but then added, “The woman in the old photograph was identified as Mary Coyle. If I look exactly like her, it’s possible I’m—”

  “Related to her,” Mike finished. “Got it. But you’re not from around here?”

  “Not that I know of.” Heidi shook her head.

  Mike frowned. “Have you talked to Vicki about this possible family connection?”

  Heidi’s shoulders sagged. “I did ask her about our family hist
ory, and she’s clueless.”

  “Okay.” Mike braced his palms on the tabletop. “Here’s where we need to start. Let me do some investigating around town. See if there’s anyone still in the area with some odd vested interest in this whole legend. Especially anyone connected to it who might also have reason to want to see you hurt. Heidi, you dig into your family history some more and either confirm the link to the Coyles or eliminate it. I need to see a solid connection, and right now it’s a stretch. But if you think it’s valid,” Mike said, tipping his head at Rhett, “then I don’t mind looking into it.”

  Heidi couldn’t squelch the gratefulness that swelled within her. She tried not to let it show but had a feeling her emotions were splayed all over her face when she met Rhett’s eyes.

  Rhett turned back to Mike. “Thanks,” he said and then stood.

  Mike stopped him. “Wait. I need to see this picture. For real. Heidi, if you have a doppelgänger from the turn of the century, and one running around town starting fires and leaving odd messages, there’s something really strange going on. And we need to get to the bottom of it.”

  An understatement if she’d ever heard one. But, Heidi had to admit, it was nice to finally be heard.

  Heidi gave the memory-care facility a hesitant look. Rhett put the truck into park, rolled down his window a few inches, and reached up onto the dash to give Archie the complimentary scratch behind the ears. The cat trilled and nudged his hand. Heidi could only assume when it got significantly warmer out, Rhett would finally leave Archie at his place. But for now, the dash of his truck seemed to be the cat’s happy place during the day. They had left Rüger at the Crawford home, leaving a gaping space between her and Rhett on the truck’s front seat.

  “What are we doing here?” she asked.

  He shut his door and came around to meet her. He eyed her with his commonsense stare.

  “I just saw my mom two days ago,” Heidi added.

  “Yep.” Rhett stepped to the side, motioning for her to step out of the truck.

  She did, but she didn’t take any further steps toward the facility. Instead, she rolled the hem of her shirt between her fingers, the navy blue material soft in her hand. “My mom isn’t going to help us. She can’t remember things, and she—she doesn’t know me at all.”