by Dawn Eastman
I broke into his lecture to defend myself. “I want to keep innocent people safe, too. I think Tish was innocent. Certainly she didn’t deserve to be murdered. It’s bad enough that Sara was killed, but whoever did it is now attacking others.” I stopped, realizing I had just made his case for him.
Mac smiled. It was the slow smile I had loved long ago.
“Then you understand why I am asking—no, begging—you to step away from this case?”
“I understand.” I looked away from him at the murky stream below.
“I don’t think you do.” He grabbed my shoulder and forced me to look at him. “I don’t know if it was you or one of your gang of amateur spies that did it, and it doesn’t matter.”
My heart raced in panic at the thought that he’d found out we had broken into Sara’s house to have a séance.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I shrugged my shoulder free.
“Lisa Harkness told me this morning that everyone in town thinks you know who killed Sara and Tish. Apparently, the story goes, now that you’re back you’ll be ‘assisting’ the police in the investigation using your psychic powers.” He threw his hands in the air and walked a few steps away.
“I didn’t start that rumor, Mac. I didn’t have anything to do with it.” But I thought I knew who had. Either Lisa had misinterpreted my meetings with Andrews, or Vi had been working her own angle on the case. It would have been nice to know I was being set up as bait.
“I don’t want you hurt.” Mac turned back to me and lowered his voice. “When I think of you walking into Tish’s house, unarmed, with a murderer probably only a few seconds away . . . I just want to shake you for being so stupid.” He grabbed my arm and shook it to demonstrate and threaten.
I flinched a bit at his intensity.
“I said I understand.”
“I know what you said. I also know that you won’t stop until this is solved. I don’t know why you’re mad at me, but don’t let it cloud your judgment.” His eyes had gotten dark, and I couldn’t look away. “I need you to consider one thing—your friends and family are involved now. You might think you can protect yourself, but can you protect all of them?”
“Got it, Mac. I’ll back off.” I took a step away from him and rubbed my arm. “I’ll get the rest of them to back off.”
“I’m going to hold you to this.” His eyes were the steely gray of Lake Michigan before a storm.
“Just get to work.” I turned away from him and listened while he clomped up the trail the way he had come.
23
I walked the rest of the way to Message Circle after Mac left. There had been no kissing. Maybe my dreams were not as predictive as I thought, although that one had felt like it was telling me something.
Message Circle was formed in the 1940s, when so many people flocked to town for messages about loved ones that it became easier to do group readings. Grandma always felt that vibrations were high in this section of the woods. Whether it was from a cache of crystals buried there or some other confluence of energy, messages came frequently and in bulk.
By the time I came along, Message Circle had become more of a “free taste” kind of service. The mediums and psychics would do short, free readings for anyone in the audience, and these inevitably led to paying sessions. I couldn’t remember what the summer hours were, but I was pleased to find it deserted.
I sat on the boulder centerpiece of the circle and waited. I had never personally received a message here—only the ones that Tish or one of the other readers had passed along during the daily circles. One had been from my grandfather, telling me to keep an eye on my grandmother. That was the year before she died. The rest were from unidentified sources, telling me that they sensed great talent. I always suspected my mother had planted those readings. The place was deserted now and peaceful.
I had come here often after my grandmother died, hoping for something, anything from her. Wishing she were still alive to tell me what to do with the dreams and visions, but mostly wishing she had passed on the secret to blocking them.
Later, I decided to do the opposite of whatever her book told me to do. Once I did that, only the occasional dream, like the wedding dream, or the one about Diana’s parents, ever stuck with me. For the past few years in Ann Arbor, I had been free of them entirely. I wasn’t happy that they seemed to be coming back.
I listened to the birds and squirrels for a while until the coffee I’d gulped earlier began to burn in my otherwise empty stomach. I remembered Mom’s banana bread sitting on the counter at home and decided that today was not going to be my first-message day.
I had grabbed my bag and stood to go when I heard a clicking in the distance. It didn’t sound like any bird or squirrel I had ever heard. It sounded mechanical. Then it stopped. I shook my head, thinking I was hearing things, but as I started to walk I heard it again. Click-click-click.
I couldn’t see anything in the woods. It stopped again.
“Hello? Is someone there?” I said to the woods.
No answer, no clicking.
If this was my message, I had no idea what it meant. My stomach growled. I shook off the feeling that someone was out there in the woods. I’d spent hours—days—of my life wandering among these trees and knew it was easy to get spooked by weird sounds.
I took the path toward the parking lot, and either the clicking had stopped or my shoes on the path drowned out the sound, although I felt my ears straining to catch it.
In my Jeep I took a deep breath and realized I had been speed-walking. I turned on the car, rolled the windows down, and pulled out onto Singapore Highway. It ran parallel to the coast of Lake Michigan about a mile in from the water. It was my favorite road to drive because it curved through the trees, but it didn’t have a ridiculously low speed limit.
I was enjoying the wind in my hair and trying not to think about Mac, when I came upon the one sharp turn in the road. I tapped the brake to take the turn but nothing happened. I pressed hard on the brake as my Jeep sped toward the curve. The pedal went straight to the floor. I downshifted into second gear, but I was going too fast, and my tires hit the gravel shoulder. It was too late to straighten the wheel, and suddenly the Jeep was rolling and I couldn’t tell which way was up. Something slammed into my left shoulder and it exploded in pain. There was a loud screeching, grinding noise and then silence.
I waited a moment, trying to get my bearings. I’d only rolled once, down into the slope at the side of the road, but now my Jeep was lying on its side, driver’s side down. Fortunately, the windows were open, so there was no broken glass near me. The windshield was cracked, the engine was still running, and I reached out with a shaky hand to shut it off. I unlatched my seat belt and looked for my bag. My entire left arm throbbed, and when I tried to move it the pain shot up my arm into my shoulder. Blood soaked through my shirt. I needed to call for help. But I couldn’t see my bag.
“Hey, are you okay?” a voice shouted from outside.
“I think so. I need help getting out. Do you have a phone?”
I heard crunching footsteps and looked up to see Milo peering into my car. I saw my reflection in his sunglasses and realized that the man I most suspected of killing two women had me trapped.
“Are you hurt?”
“I think it’s just my arm. Will you call for help?”
“Let me get you out of there. Can you stand up?” He extended his hand through the passenger window.
With Milo guiding me and then lifting me out of the wreckage, I was finally free of the car. As soon as I could, I backed away from him, and looked around for anything I could use as a weapon if needed.
“What happened? Did you swerve to avoid hitting something?” he asked, handing me my bag, which he had also rescued.
“No, my brakes didn’t work, and I was probably going too fast when I hit the turn.�
�� I put the bag on my right shoulder.
“I didn’t see it happen; you were in the ditch already when I came along.” He glanced inside the Jeep.
“I practically stood on the brake, and it went right to the floor. Nothing. It was like I didn’t have any brakes.” I rummaged in my bag with my right hand and found my phone. I felt my shoulders relax just knowing I could contact the rest of the world.
He walked around to the other side of the Jeep and took off his sunglasses to look at the undercarriage.
“Someone’s messed with your brake line.” He pointed with his glasses.
“What?” Forgetting my suspicions, I went around the car to see what he was looking at.
There it was—a hole in the brake line; just big enough to slowly drain the fluid. I thought back over the morning. The car had been fine on my way out to the woods. No other vehicles had been in the lot when I got there or when I left. How long had I been sitting at Message Circle?
“What have you been up to?” Milo shielded his eyes from the sun.
“What do you mean?” I took a step back. I hoped to get the car between us again.
“Someone just tried to kill you.”
24
I didn’t want Mac to find out about this, but I watched as Milo pulled out his phone and called the police.
My heart had kept up a steady, rapid beat, and my hands shook from the adrenaline. My fight-or-flight response was in overdrive, and I didn’t know which I was going to need to do. I put some more distance between us and hoped that someone, anyone, would drive along the road.
“I’m sure they’ll send someone soon. Thanks for the rescue and all,” I said. I thought my voice sounded thin, but all I could hear clearly was the blood rushing in my ears and my self-defense instructor telling me to go for the eyes.
“You’re welcome. Do you want to wait in my car?”
“No, you must have lots of things to do.” I backed up some more and scanned the area for anything I could use to defend myself. “You don’t have to wait with me.”
Milo narrowed his eyes.
“Are you afraid of me?” He stepped closer.
“No, of course not.” I clutched my phone and stood my ground. “Why would I be afraid?”
“I don’t know. But you’re holding your bag like it’s a weapon, and you jump away when I get within three feet of you.”
“You’re imagining things,” I said, and forced myself to smile.
“You are afraid. Why?”
“Well, the last time I saw you, the whole town suspected you of murder.”
His eyebrows twitched up, as if he hadn’t expected an honest answer. He had nice eyes and couldn’t quite hold the tough-guy glare.
“Is that why you’ve been following me with your sidekick and that pack of dogs?”
“He’s not my sidekick, he’s my nephew, and no one’s been following you.” I adopted my own squinty expression.
He smiled. “Okay. But you aren’t very subtle. And the old lady you have working for you is not great at hiding.”
I sighed. I knew Vi would be terrible at this. “That’s my aunt Vi. She thinks she’s a spy.”
“You’ve probably discovered I’m not that interesting,” he said.
“Why did you come back here? No one’s seen you in sixteen years. Some people still think you killed Julia.” I shifted my bag to my left hand, forgetting about my arm for the moment and wincing.
“I’ve got some unfinished business. Hey, let me take a look at that.” Milo gestured to my arm.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” I said, glancing at my blood-soaked sleeve.
“I know; you’re a tough police officer and all.”
I looked up and held his gaze.
He shrugged. “You’re not the only one who listens to gossip.”
He stepped closer, gently took my left hand, and turned it to examine my arm. And then I knew. Mac was right. As Milo held my hand, I knew that he hadn’t killed Tish or Sara or Julia.
Sometimes during a police investigation, I would sense innocence from touching a suspect—it felt light and happy, like root beer bubbles popping against my nose. The other feeling was dark and deep in my stomach, like something awful trying to claw its way out. It didn’t happen very often, but I couldn’t misinterpret it. Milo was one of the good guys.
My shoulder ached and my arm burned high up under my sleeve. I felt a tug and heard a rip.
“Sorry. This shirt was a goner anyway.” Milo tossed the ripped fabric into the Jeep. “You must have landed on something sharp. It tore your shirt, and you’ve got a pretty good gash here.”
I looked down to see a three-inch, oozing cut along my upper arm. I started to touch it, and Milo grabbed my hand.
“Your hand is filthy from climbing out of the car. Come sit by my car. I have a first aid kit.”
He led me to his tan Honda sedan, and I leaned against the hood while he got his supplies.
“How’s the strip mall development going?”
“It’s not, so far. I haven’t quite worked out the zoning issues, and I need to buy some more land.” He found some sort of stinging stuff to drip on the cut. My eyes watered.
“I’m sorry your return to Crystal Haven has been unsuccessful,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Oh, I haven’t given up hope yet.” He wrapped gauze around my arm and tied it gently.
I was feeling more secure now. Cars zipped past every few minutes. Some slowed and the drivers asked if we needed help. Milo waved them along.
Finally, a squad car pulled onto the shoulder and threw gravel as it skidded to a stop. My pulse pounded in my ears when Mac jumped out of the car.
“Clyde, are you okay?” He’d left his cane in the car in his haste, and he stumbled on the uneven ground. Even with everything else going on, a warm feeling flared in my chest when I saw how worried Mac was.
“I’m fine, I think.” I moved my arm a bit, saw the gauze turn red, and decided to keep it still. Mac saw it, too, and when I looked in his eyes I saw anger and something else. Something like fear, but it was gone in an instant. He nodded at me and turned to Milo.
“Milo, thanks for stopping to help.” Mac shook his hand.
“Let me show you what we found.” He led Mac down the incline to where my Jeep lay on its side.
The two of them gestured and bent to look closer. Mac rubbed his jaw, glanced at me, and quickly looked away. Milo shook his head and pointed up the road. I turned my back on them. No longer afraid, my face felt hot with anger. Someone had cut my brake line. They could have killed me. What if Seth had been with me? My promise to Mac faded as I resolved to find the person who had done this.
* * *
Mac insisted on stopping at the Urgent Care Clinic. By the time I got home, everyone knew about the accident. A few of the passing drivers had felt the need to call my mother. And, of course, Dad had heard the call go out on the police radio. Mom hurried out of the house to meet us as Mac and I pulled up the driveway.
“Oh, Clyde! Are you okay? What happened? I heard you rolled your car.” She was already opening the door, and Mac was forced to slam on the brake. “You always drive too fast along that road. I’ve told you before. . . .”
Mac held up his hand.
“It wasn’t her fault, Mrs. Fortune. There was something wrong with her brakes, and she couldn’t slow down to take the turn.”
“I’ve been telling her to get a new car for a long time, Mac. That thing is an antique, is what it is. Now I hope you’ll listen and get rid of it, Clyde.” I refrained from mentioning Dad’s Buick.
“Mom, can I go in the house, please?”
Her eyes welled up as she took a good look at me. My arm was mummified in white gauze and I was covered in dirt. I probably hadn’t pulled all the leaves and twigs out of my hair. The b
lood on my shirt didn’t help matters. I must have looked even worse than I felt.
“I’ll make you some coffee and something to eat.” She flapped her hands in the direction of the house and followed behind me. “Mac, do you want to join us?” She turned back after starting up the front steps.
Mac looked at me for a moment, and I sensed his hesitation.
“Mac has a lot of work to do, Mom.”
He nodded once and looked away.
“Mrs. Fortune, Clyde is supposed to rest today. She’s had stitches in her arm and the doctor couldn’t rule out a concussion.” He had the nerve to wink at me.
I glared at him and turned to go into the house. He knew that telling my mother I had orders from a doctor was the best way to keep me out of his hair for a while.
“You go right to the couch and lie down,” Mom said, fussing. “I’ll bring you something to eat.”
* * *
Dad squeezed my good shoulder and said he was late for the office. He rushed off after making me promise to stay home. Seth, Vi, and Mom peppered me with questions about the accident, and I tried to answer in between bites of sandwich. Vi said Seth had mentioned he’d felt weird this morning, and then the calls came in about my car. Vi and Mom were convinced Seth had had his first vision. I thought he’d had too many candy bars.
I was not allowed to do anything after the lie Mac told my mother about the concussion. The doctor had said my arm would hurt where the stitches were and that I should take it easy, but that was it. He didn’t say I was an invalid. Mom chose to believe Mac’s version. She scurried in and out of the room, providing more food and drink.
“I think we should go back out to Message Circle and see if anyone saw anything,” said Vi.
“No one was there, Vi.” I watched her pace through the living room.