Chapter 35
Heidi
She was a Coyle. It wouldn’t have meant much to her, even a month ago. The Coyles weren’t a link to some famous ancestry. It wasn’t like she’d uncovered she was a descendent of JFK or something. But here? In Pleasant Valley? The Coyles were a legend, apparently. A legend that had, in the end, chased the remaining Coyles from town and resulted in a legal name change.
Emma was sitting at the Crawfords’ kitchen table when Heidi came down for breakfast. It had been a fitful sleep, in spite of her conversation with Rhett at the river. She poured coffee, noting how Emma leaned into the laptop in front of her, wrapped into a vivid story. Only it wasn’t a story.
Heidi moved behind Emma and studied the screen. Lines, tiny leaves, people’s names, and links. Emma finally seemed to notice Heidi. She drew back from her computer, adjusting the purple infinity scarf around her neck.
“What are you studying?” Heidi could only assume Rhett had put Emma on the trail of more information.
The younger woman gave Heidi a smile. “Dorothea Reed. The photographer of Mary Coyle’s portrait.”
“Ahh.” Heidi took a sip of her coffee. She was going to refrain from plying Emma with questions. The information would be forthcoming without them, and Emma would remain relaxed and not feel interrogated.
Heidi went to a different chair and slipped onto it. Her yoga pants kept her legs warm from the chill of the glossy wood. Someone had opened the windows, and the cool morning breeze filtered in, bringing with it the aroma of pine.
The front door opened. Rhett entered, Rüger pushing past him to nose Ducie, who lay under the kitchen table.
“Morning,” Emma stated.
“Hey, baby girl.” Rhett reached out and squeezed her shoulder as he beelined for the coffeepot. The man might have his own place, but he should save the money and move back home. After all, he seemed to spend every spare moment here.
Heidi eyed him. His jeans, his customary flannel shirt over a T-shirt, and that cap of his. The man never changed.
A meow startled her, and she glanced at her feet. Archie rubbed against her leg while both dogs ignored the yellow cat.
“Where’d you come from?” Heidi crooned, leaning over to lift the cat onto her lap.
“Gonna be too warm today,” Rhett answered for the cat.
Well, good. The man was considerate and realized living in the cab of a truck wasn’t always healthy for a cat. Not to mention, where was the litter box? Heidi ignored the random question as Rhett asked a more important one of Emma.
“What’d you find?” Rhett leaned over his sister’s shoulder.
Emma wasted no time in getting down to business.
“Dorothea Reed, also known as Thea, came to Pleasant Valley in 1908. She worked at Amos Brothers Photography. There isn’t much known about her.”
“Huh.” Rhett sipped his coffee. “What’s her ancestry?”
Emma shook her head. “There isn’t any.”
“What about the Coyles?” he inquired.
“There are lots of Coyles.” Emma’s response was confident.
“Is my mother listed in the lineage?” Heidi inserted.
Emma nodded. “Yes.”
It figured. All this time, some of her ancestral history was only a mouse click away. Of course, not knowing her mother had her name legally changed as a child put a curb in that. But now . . .
Heidi exchanged glances with Rhett. It seemed he read her thoughts.
“What about Loretta’s children? Is Heidi listed?” he asked.
Emma shook her head. “No. There are no more records after Loretta.”
Back to square one.
“What about using my mom’s legal name?”
Emma nodded. “I found her. You. Vicki.”
Heidi sagged back in her chair, clutching her coffee mug. Thea Reed had turned up empty. Her mother’s family tree was linked to the Coyles, but that was it. No dead daughter. No ghosts, outside of the Misty Wayfair story.
“Did you look up Misty Wayfair, Emma?” Rhett slid into a chair opposite Heidi. It creaked beneath his bulk.
“Misty Wayfair was killed in 1851. There are no newspaper articles, but there is a death certificate.”
“May I see it?” Heidi moved closer to Emma, who tilted her laptop so that Heidi could view the screen.
The old document image popped up, scrolling cursive in ink across yellowed paper. Very straightforward and unimpressive.
“What about the old trunk? Thea Reed’s trunk?” Heidi set her mug on the table. “There could be more clues in there.”
“Wouldn’t hurt to look again. Now that we know you’re a Coyle.” Rhett stood and tugged his ball cap down onto his forehead. “I’m going to work. I’ll let Mike know we confirmed your background.”
Heidi couldn’t help the twinge of disappointment that he wasn’t sticking around for the day. That he was going to work and leaving her to fend for herself. She had to be realistic. She was safe—for now—with no imminent danger hanging over her head.
“I’ll help you.” Emma’s soft words interrupted Heidi’s embarrassingly long gaze at Rhett as she watched him through the window. Archie shifted on her lap, his purr growing louder at the attention of Heidi’s hand. She realized with a start, the one-eyed Rüger was at her feet, much like Ducie was at Emma’s.
It seemed Rhett had left a part of him with her after all.
Dumb.
That was a dumb idea.
Still, Heidi found herself holding on to it as she followed Emma from the room, two attentive pets on her heels.
She’d learned not to talk a lot, especially when Emma was in deep concentration. Heidi paged through an old bread tin filled with doilies, strips of hand-tatted lace, handkerchiefs with embroidered flowers, and even a few linen towels. It seemed, for all their searching, they had uncovered Thea Reed’s linen collection.
Heidi released a sigh and folded a handkerchief, laying it back on top of the other linens. Emma’s computer had been traded in for an iPad. She had it balanced on her lap, comparing public records to newspaper articles she’d discovered. But they were of the First World War. Nothing that pertained to Misty Wayfair, the deceased Mary Coyle look-alike, or Heidi’s family.
Emma put down the newspaper article and turned her attention to Heidi. “Simeon Coyle fought in the war.”
“Who?” Heidi raised an eyebrow.
Emma handed her the news clipping. “Simeon Coyle. According to the ancestry site, he is Mary Coyle’s older brother. They also had a sister, Rose.”
“Huh.” Heidi skimmed the clipping.
Emma browsed the family tree on her tablet. “Simeon Coyle is your great-grandfather.”
“What!” The news article dropped from her hand. “He’s my mom’s grandpa?”
Emma studied Heidi’s surprised face. Heidi scolded herself for reacting so exuberantly. Emma gave a quick nod, assessing Heidi’s control and seeing that things weren’t going to explode into chaos.
“Your mother was born in 1943. Simeon Coyle had two sons. One of them, Peter, was your mother’s father.”
“Right. Grandpa. He died shortly after I turned four, so I never really knew him. Who was Simeon married to?” Heidi looked over Emma’s shoulder at the family tree on-screen.
Emma squinted. She fingered the screen, scrolling up. “Alice Fortune.”
“Wait.” Heidi worked hard to quell the energy surging through her. She wanted to launch herself toward her phone that sat on the coffee table a few yards away and call Rhett. She tempered her reaction, not wanting to upset Emma.
Emma eyed her.
Heidi waggled her fingers with nervous energy. “Okay, okay. Hold on here.” She eased away and reached for her phone, then scooted back next to Emma. Pulling up a note app, she started to type. Making notes herself would help her comprehend the mixed-up family tree.
“So, Reginald Kramer was Mathilda Coyle’s father and Simeon’s grandfather.”
&nbs
p; “Yes.” Emma nodded.
“Okay. So technically”—the thought occurred to Heidi—“I’m a descendant of Pleasant Valley’s lumber mogul, either way you spin it. Simeon Coyle was the grandson of the founder of Kramer Logging, Reginald Kramer. Then, Simeon ends up married to Edward Fortune’s heir, Alice? Who was the heir to Kramer Logging?”
“Yes,” Emma affirmed.
“My brain is whirling right now.” Heidi blinked, staring at her app. “So, because Reginald Kramer disowned his daughter Mathilda for marrying a Coyle, he willed his company to his nephew, and it came under the ownership of the Fortunes. So technically, by Fortune or by Coyle, in a different set of circumstances, my family could have inherited Kramer Logging.”
Heidi bit at her fingernail. Were the Fortunes of today upset about Heidi coming to town? Was their lineage somehow in question—or their rights to the logging company? No. It couldn’t be that. They’d have no reason to try to burn down a cabin, or write crazy messages aimed at Heidi, when the law would be clearly on their side by way of written wills and inheritance. It wasn’t a monarchy where a lost prince returned home to claim the throne.
She drew her finger back as her teeth bit too deep into the skin beneath her nail. The family tree was threaded and a bit confusing, but it didn’t lend to any direct aim at her.
Emma spoke up, her finger stroking the iPad. “Edward Fortune, Alice’s father, wasn’t Reginald Kramer’s direct nephew. He was Reginald’s wife’s nephew from her first marriage.”
“So, no blood relation to Simeon?” Heidi ventured.
“None,” Emma replied.
“That means he was cousin to Alice by name only.”
“True.”
“Well, there’s a plus.” Heidi’s mind continued to spin. What a mess this was!
She stood. Rüger jumped up next to her, wagging his tail and sharing her pent-up energy. Archie eyed them from his spot on the couch while Ducie lifted his head briefly before lowering it between his paws with a puff of air that flapped his jowls.
Heidi crossed her arms and turned to stare out the window, over the Crawfords’ mowed lawn and the small flower garden that circled the mailbox at the end of the drive. Musing, she fixated on the salmon pink blossoms of the geraniums. If she was in the direct line of the Kramer-Fortune logging enterprise of Pleasant Valley, then the age-old curse of Misty Wayfair became even more interlinked. They were all descendants in one way or another. The primary common denominator that connected them beyond the logging business was the murder of Misty Wayfair. How was it, after the big rift when Mathilda Kramer married Fergus Coyle, that Simeon, their grandson, spun around and remarried back into the Kramer-Fortune family?
It didn’t make sense.
Not with the curse of Misty Wayfair lingering over the Coyles, determined to bury them all. No one who believed it was real would have allowed Simeon Coyle back into their family tree.
Heidi tugged her phone from her pocket and shot off a quick text. Within seconds, her phone chimed in response. She thumbed the screen and read the text from Connie.
Sure. Go ahead. Emma should enjoy some history sleuthing. Please keep it straightforward.
Heidi smiled. She met Emma’s inquiring gaze. “How about we take a trip to Kramer Logging?”
Emma’s eyes brightened. “Dad works there!”
“Yes.” Heidi nodded and eyed her friend. “Emma, what if the whole story about Misty Wayfair was actually solved—years ago?”
Emma looked up at her and frowned in confusion.
Heidi attempted to explain. “If Misty Wayfair was put to rest for good, and that enabled Simeon to reconcile with his family and remarry indirectly, then it really was just a story. There was no ghost.”
Emma furrowed her brows at Heidi. She might as well have said No duh, but she didn’t. “There was never a ghost.”
Heidi met Emma’s frank look. “But even you—you said you saw her. When we were at the asylum ruins.”
Emma shook her head. “No. I said it was Misty Wayfair’s home.”
Heidi tried to understand her. She was literal. Very literal. So, Emma would have said she saw Misty Wayfair if in fact she had seen her.
“What do you mean it was her home?” Heidi asked.
Emma shrugged. “The legend says it was. After she died. She haunted it.” The young woman twisted her scarf around her neck, straightening it.
Heidi let out a small laugh of bewilderment. “But—so then—why did you—?” She needed to tiptoe around her words. Emma required precise, clear questions. “What made you scared that day?”
Emma’s eyes grew wide, remembering. “The woman. In the upstairs window. She scared me.”
Heidi knelt next to Emma. She refrained from the instinct to grab her hand. “Emma, what woman?”
Emma gave her a quizzical look, as if Heidi should know. “The woman who looks like you.”
Chapter 36
Thea
Thea tried to calm her nerves as she gripped the desk in the asylum office. She held her hand over her stomach that still swirled darkly. Last night had been restless, and she’d lost the contents of her stomach twice. Today, even the walk to the asylum seemed laborious. A walk she normally half ran after her unsettling interlude with whoever had taunted her from the woods.
She lifted a cup of tea Rose had given her. Even the nurturing Rose had noticed Thea wasn’t feeling well, but Thea had no intentions of letting Rose know it was emotional angst. Or at least she thought it was. She certainly wasn’t going to announce to Rose that Simeon had suspicions their grandmother had killed Misty Wayfair in a jealous fit. That Edward Fortune had later built an asylum by Misty’s grave in what seemed to be a gesture for the mentally ill daughter Misty had left behind. Thea’s mother.
By no means did she intend on saying anything about her suspicions that Effie—Effie!—was the mystical Misty Wayfair who haunted the woods of Pleasant Valley, who somehow escaped from the asylum in bouts of freedom. And if it was Effie, then more than likely it was also Penelope, when she’d been alive.
Thea dropped onto her chair, holding her head in her hands as the room swirled. Had Penelope been the first “ghost” sighting? An asylum patient snuck from her prison in the dark of night, haunting the home of the Coyles?
Only Effie would know the answer to that—if Effie was well enough to tell. Or sane enough.
Thea stood, stumbling into the desk. She righted herself. Now was not the time to be falling ill. She peeked into the asylum hallway, hoping to avoid Dr. Ackerman or one of the nurses. She had no idea if she would be able to make it upstairs undetected, let alone to Effie’s room. But she had to try.
Her steps were purposeful, in spite of how heavy her legs felt. She reached the top of the stairs and paused. She could hear voices to the right, down the hallway toward the dormitories and the commons room. A nerve-wracking howl from a patient. Nurses’ footsteps as they hurried to calm them.
Thea turned to the left. The hallway was empty. She hurried down it, reached Effie’s door, and pushed it open. She darted inside and shut the door behind her.
Effie lay pale and listless on the bed. If possible, even more gaunt and ill than before. But her eyes were open. She moved her mouth on sight of Thea. Her words barely above a whisper.
“You came back.”
Thea hurried to her side, kneeling by the bed and grasping Effie’s hand. The room whirled for a moment, and Thea blinked fast to clear her focus.
“I’m here.”
“I can see Death. It’s knocking on my door.” Effie coughed, squeezing her eyes shut.
“No. No, it can’t be.” Thea gripped Effie’s hand. “Effie?”
The older woman opened her eyes and stared at Thea. “I saw you, in the window of the boardinghouse, that night.”
It had been Effie. Thea remembered seeing the woman dancing, free and unfettered, down the street. She hadn’t imagined her. But, she was not Misty Wayfair’s ghost. She was real, and hopeful, and long
ing for a different life.
“Yes.” Thea nodded.
Effie closed her eyes and whispered hoarsely, “Penelope always hoped you would come back. I wish she were here to see you.”
Thea swallowed hard, squeezing Effie’s hand tighter. “Did my mother—did she know how to escape this place too?”
Effie offered a weak nod. “Through the basement. It’s simple to sneak past the night nurse. And it’s often forgotten to lock the basement hatch from the outside.”
“Why do you come back here? When you’re free? Why did my mother come back here to die—to be tested and experimented on?” Thea swiped at a tear that trailed down her face.
Effie smiled in resignation. “We had nowhere else to go. She couldn’t go back to the Fortunes. They’d left her here to be cared for.”
“Why? Why did Edward Fortune take my mother in as a child? Why did he create this place for her? A place of torment and a—a prison?” Thea blinked a few times in succession as the room grew blurry and then cleared.
Effie seemed to be fading. Drained and tired. She opened her eyes. Tired eyes that had lost their will to fight but had regained some clarity in the wake of Thea’s arrival.
“Edward Fortune was her father, and Misty Wayfair her mother. He made it look as though it were Fergus Coyle who’d spawned a love child, but it wasn’t him. He was innocent. Mathilda Coyle killed Misty for no reason, and Edward Fortune kept her secret. Penelope never forgave Mathilda—even though she’d been lied to. She would watch their house at night. She would sing to calm herself when she longed to scream at the woman who killed Misty—Penelope’s mother—in a jealous fit.”
Thea’s breath shook as she drew it in, attempting to steady herself. Her suspicions were all being confirmed. She was a Fortune. A non-blood-related distant cousin to Simeon. The lofty, entitled Edward Fortune’s granddaughter. He had directed her to move a plant during his portrait, stared down his nose at her as she provided photographic services in the wake of Mr. Amos’s attack. If Effie could see her striking resemblance to Misty Wayfair, then so must Edward Fortune! Yet he’d said nothing. Done nothing!
Thea rose from beside Effie’s bed. The woman had slipped into a deep sleep. She laid Effie’s hand over her stomach and brushed the woman’s graying hair from her forehead.
The Curse of Misty Wayfair Page 31