Tommy pulled on a heavy winter coat and glanced at his watch. However it all went down, it would all be happening over the next three hours.
Chapter Forty-Four
Crimson Cove, Oregon
January 19, 1942
Opening statements in the State of Oregon v. Onyx Webb were scheduled to begin on Monday at 10:00 a.m. sharp. Everyone in the country knew about it, thanks in large part to the publicity effort around George Dietz’s salacious little home movie.
The local paper, the Crimson Cove Courier, ran front-page stories every day for two months straight, starting with the movie’s premiere at The Night Owl Theater on Halloween all the way to the present. Today’s headline read:
Ghost Woman Faces Murder Charge in Trial of the Century!
As a result, every media outlet in the United States descended on Crimson Cove to cover the impending trial of husband-killer Onyx Webb, and things became every bit as bad as Hell Daniels had feared they would.
Fortunately for Onyx, Hell Daniels had blocked the road leading to the lighthouse to keep the crazies out of the area, having no idea she’d been living there for the past six months.
Onyx sat at the Singer sewing machine, pushing the red fabric slowly beneath the needle. The irony that Ulrich had bought the sewing machine for her from the Sears catalog was not lost on her.
Making a glove that would cover her right hand and run up her arm, all the way to her shoulder, had been easy. But she found fashioning a mask that would cover the right side of her face—the area where she’d been burned in the fire—more difficult. But on her third attempt, she finally got it.
Onyx found a black dress hanging in the closet and put it on, the odor of the smoke still noticeable—to her, at least. With any luck it wouldn’t be as noticeable to the jury. The last thing she wanted was to be a constant reminder that she had been the one to set the fire that killed Ulrich. The district attorney would be doing enough of that on his own.
Onyx slid the glove on, pulling the fabric up her arm and used a bit of elastic from a pair of Ulrich’s suspenders to hold the glove in place. The last thing Onyx could afford was for the glove to accidently slide down her arm and everyone see her unburned arm.
Affixing the mask so it would not move was more difficult. For this she used a small amount of spirit gum—an adhesive used by actors to hold a wig in place—which she’d lifted from George Dietz’s movie supply kit when the kid was sleeping. Again, the irony was not lost on her.
The biggest challenge Onyx faced was what to do about Claudia, who the paper said would be the state’s star witness. The answer came from Claudia herself.
Literally.
Six weeks earlier, Onyx had made two very important discoveries. The first was a stack of letters she found stuffed in the pocket of one of Ulrich’s suits.
All of the letters were from Claudia, and after reading them it was obvious to Onyx why Ulrich had tried to kill her. This woman was relentless and not afraid of making threats—threats Ulrich could not stand up to.
The second discovery happened as Onyx was standing in front of a full-length mirror, brushing her hair, deep in thought as to how she wanted to deal with Claudia.
Suddenly, Onyx’s reflection evaporated, and she found herself watching Claudia sitting at a small dressing table. How was this possible? Onyx thought. Was this simply her imagination, or was Onyx actually seeing into Claudia’s world?
Onyx continued watching until finally Claudia climbed into bed and turned out the light.
Onyx waited another fifteen minutes for good measure until she was sure Claudia was fast asleep. Then she reached out and pushed her fingers against the glass… and through it to the other side.
So, if she could put her hand through the mirror, could she…?
Having nothing to lose, Onyx stepped forward toward the mirror and—as if by magic—she found herself passing through the glass into Claudia’s bedroom.
My, God! Onyx thought. She had the ability to transport herself from one place to another using a mirror as a portal. How it was possible didn’t matter—what mattered was that she could.
How many other things would she learn about being a ghost? Onyx wondered as she stood there, a mere ten feet from the foot of Claudia’s bed, watching the woman asleep.
The temptation to reach down, wrap her hands around Claudia’s neck, and strangle her, was almost overwhelming. But then another idea began to take shape in Onyx’s mind.
A better idea.
It was an idea that—if it worked—would not only deliver a well-deserved dose of karma where Claudia was concerned, but could also be a way for Onyx to clear her name.
Chapter Forty-Five
Orlando, Florida
August 4, 2010
Five days after returning from the disastrous ground-breaking ceremony in DeSoto, Missouri, all three of the Mulvaney men found themselves hiding out from the media. Declan retreated to the Mulvaney Mansion in Charleston, Bruce flew the Global XRS to London, while Koda opted to work from the sanctuary of his penthouse in the 55 West building in downtown Orlando.
Compounding the already salacious news of the discovery of buried bodies at the Open Arms was the information released by Nathaniel Cryer and Olympia Fudge about Declan and the missing priest. This placed Koda’s grandfather in the crosshairs of the paparazzi more than it did him.
Koda knew firsthand that once the speculation mill started, all you could do was hunker down and wait things out until Lindsey Lohan missed a court date or Tiger Woods got photographed with a gaggle of floozies and pushed you off the front page.
Instead of things getting better, they got worse.
A journalist from CNN dug into the story and discovered that no birth records could be found for Bruce Mulvaney. Was he an adopted orphan, too? Maybe he’d been purchased on the black market?
Koda warned his father that fleeing to the UK was not the answer. “The British tabloids are brutal, Dad. Once your picture hits the front page, you won’t be able to hide there, either.”
“Trust me, I can handle the media. Besides, this thing won’t be news over there,” Bruce said. Twenty-four hours later, Bruce fled London for his condo in Malta.
While Koda did not wish this type of media scrutiny on anyone, it was gratifying that his father understood how little it took to make a spectacle of yourself.
In the midst of all this, Koda received a FedEx package containing additional information from Stormy Boyd, including a considerable number of documents pertaining to Wyatt Scrogger and his murder trial.
It was immediately clear that Quinn Cole’s testimony was key to Scrogger being found guilty and placed on death row. And to think Quinn and Wyatt had been best friends prior to Juniper’s disappearance.
Koda tried to imagine Dane turning on him, testifying against him in a murder trial. Or himself turning on Dane?
It was unthinkable.
Koda glanced around the penthouse, and then tried to wrap his brain around what it must have been like for Wyatt Scrogger to have spent every day for the past thirty years locked in a box for something he had not done.
There were few things worse than that. Except for having your legs cut off by some sadistic serial killer, perhaps.
Why had Stormy included so much information on Wyatt Scrogger? Was the private investigator suggesting Koda do something to help the man? Because the Mulvaney family had money and connections?
Whatever Stormy’s intent, Koda had to admit he was intrigued. But as he read the information in the file, Koda started to question Stormy Boyd’s belief that they’d convicted the wrong guy. The evidence against Wyatt Scrogger was overwhelming.
According to the prosecution transcripts, Scrogger had made inappropriate jokes and unwanted advances toward Juniper in front of her brother, Quinn, mere hours before she went missing.
A pair of Juniper’s panties had been found by police in Scrogger’s car. As were her shoes. And several strands of red hair were discove
red on the rear bumper. But even more damning was the syringe with traces of ketamine that was found along with them. Scrogger even made a joke about using ketamine on girls on his answering machine.
And Wyatt Scrogger’s main line of defense? He had been in two bars all night, consumed ten to twelve beers, and then went straight home. In other words, he’d been too drunk to have killed anyone.
The final document in the file was an interview that Scrogger’s court-appointed attorney had given with USA Today in 1998. According to the attorney:
“I’ve been fighting to prove Wyatt’s innocence for fifteen years. And that entire time he’s been caged in a cell that measures eight feet by ten feet, twenty hours a day. The treatment of my client is nothing short of state-sponsored torture.”
The article went on with a lengthy description of the horrors of the prison system, including things such as lack of exercise time, sunlight, and human interaction. The article wrapped with the public defender saying:
“There are eighty-eight men in line to be executed, with an average wait time of 14.8 years. Wyatt Scrogger has just passed the fifteen-year mark, and every year I tell him to hang on just a little longer. How much longer should an innocent man have to wait to be released from hell?”
Koda knew one of two situations existed. Wyatt Scrogger had killed Juniper Cole and every day in prison was God’s way of delivering justice. Or he hadn’t killed her, and every day he’d been locked up was proof there is no God at all.
When his cell phone rang, Koda didn’t answer because he didn’t recognize the number. Thirty seconds later it rang again, and he saw Robyn’s name on the screen.
“Hey,” Koda said. “Was that you just now?”
“Yeah, I called from the landline here at DJ’s, and then realized you wouldn’t answer if you didn’t recognize the number,” Robyn said.
“Yeah, things are crazy again after what happened in Missouri,” Koda said.
“I figured as much,” Robyn said. “That’s why I was calling—to see if you were doing okay. That, and today is August 4. It’s been one month.”
“Dane,” Koda said. “I know, one month.”
“Everybody keeps telling me it will get better in time,” Robyn said. “I’m not sure it will.”
“You know what Dane’s parents said? No one who knew or loved Dane will ever get over it—but we will get through it.”
“I hope they’re right,” Robyn said.
“Yeah, me too,” Koda said. “Listen, are you doing anything tomorrow? I’m thinking of going up to Georgia.”
“What’s in Georgia?” Robyn asked.
“I’m thinking about going to the prison in Jackson.”
“Where death row is?” Robyn asked. “Dear God, I’m afraid to ask.”
“It’s about the girl I saw in the mirror at the Forsyth Park Hotel,” Koda said. “I hired a private investigator, and I know who the girl is.”
“And she’s in prison?”
“No, she’s not in prison, dumdum,” Koda said. “The man who killed her is in prison, and I want to see if I can talk to him. Besides, I’ve been wanting to take the Lamborghini out for a spin. Nothing clears the mind better than hitting 180 on an open road.”
“Sure,” Robyn said. “But under one condition. Can we stop and see my brother and sister-in-law in Augusta? It’s two hours from Jackson.”
“Not if we’re in the Lamborghini, it isn’t.”
Robyn hung up the phone, having never gotten to the real reason she had called. But it was okay.
She would be with Koda the entire day tomorrow, and she could talk to him about it then.
Quote
“No matter how unfair the world may seem, the world is perfect just the way it is.”
The 31 Immutable Matters
of Life & Death
Dear Reader,
I’m so glad you decided to give our story a read.
Do you feel the tension?
Is it getting harder to put the books down?
The characters (and ghosts) continue to evolve in book 4. The darkness is building. You think you know what comes next, but you’re wrong.
GRAB Onyx Webb: Book Four NOW
Sincerely, Diandra Archer
p.s. Thanks to everyone who left a review of the first two books in the series. They always make my day.
Onyx Webb: Book Three Page 18