Spirit Lake

by Vickie McKeehan

  “Nothing slow about you. It also means that he probably wasn’t that old when he killed Jane Doe. We think she was around fourteen. What if the killer was around that same age? What if Jane Doe came to town to specifically meet up with her killer?”

  “But there was no Internet back then, no online dating.”

  “That’s not true. There was something called a pen pal network back then that began in 1985. It was like a bulletin board people used for hooking up with each other. You could choose to be platonic or romantic and take it from there. Jane Doe could’ve been lured here to the area by her killer using that kind of methodology.”

  Zeb leaned back in his chair, wide-eyed and impressed.

  But before he could comment, Gemma went on, “I’d like to take a look at the place where Chloe’s body was found. Who knows? I might get something stronger from the place where she died. Do you have any of her clothing, anything that belonged to her?”

  Zeb frowned. “You’d have to handle those through the bag or wearing gloves.”

  “That’s fine.”

  He stood up. “Come with me. I’ll take you to the evidence room. If you want to go see the exact location where her body was found, I’ll clear my calendar on Monday and take you out there myself.”

  Gemma had no intention of waiting that long. Plus, she wanted to go out there by herself. “Sure. That’ll be fine.”

  Zeb cut his eyes to hers. “Not to pry or anything but are you still on that kick about the three shamans boosting your psychic ability?”

  “After my less than stellar experience with Aponivi, not so much.” She touched the turquoise pendant she wore around her neck that always brought her confidence, and the moonstone ring on her finger that doubled as a reminder she could pick up on things from the past. “Although…it would be nice to round out the trinity and catch a break with Salisaw.”

  “Is that why you want to go out there alone? To catch a glimpse of some legendary figure from olden times?”

  She winced. “I thought you believed in that stuff?”

  “I do. My people have seen Salisaw many times over the years. My mother could clue you in on his entire presence. Of all the ancient shamans, Salisaw is the most powerful of the three. You might not want to go out there until you’re fully prepared.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Look, Gemma. Everyone knows you didn’t handle Aponivi that well and resorted to drinking some potion Callie conjured up made from mescaline, a potion that almost killed you.”

  She already knew people were laughing behind her back about that incident. “I don’t see you standing out in Shadow Canyon waving down Aponivi. He took me by surprise.”

  “If you say so,” Zeb charged, unlocking the door of the evidence room and retrieving the box marked Pendleton. He laid out the contents on a nearby table.

  Gemma took inventory of the various evidence bags, studying the pair of jeans, a floral blouse, a pair of white canvas sneakers, an inexpensive costume ring, and a beaded necklace. Another bag held Chloe’s driver’s license and a plain brown wallet. “Is this it?”

  “That’s it.”

  “No suitcase, no purse, just the billfold?”

  “You’re looking at everything we found. We combed the beach and the surrounding woods, spread out for a mile radius. We used tracking dogs and didn’t come up with a single other item. It’s like Chloe and her killer pulled up to the parking area, got out of a vehicle, walked down to the waterline, and the two got into some sort of argument, and he killed her.”

  Gemma picked up one of the bags containing the woman’s blouse. Through the plastic, she rubbed her hand over the fabric. “Nothing. I’m getting nothing this way. Where are those gloves you mentioned?”

  Zeb handed her a pair of latex.

  But even using gloves and holding Chloe’s top in her hands didn’t get a reaction. “Maybe I’ve completely lost it, if I ever had it in the first place.” She placed the shirt back into the bag and left the room, disgusted with herself and the entire idea that she could solve anything.

  Zeb caught up with her before she reached the outer office. “What’s wrong?”

  “You know what’s wrong. I’m no good at this.”

  “Gemma, earlier you gave me a scenario of what might’ve happened…with a serial murderer. That’s more than I’ve had before. I think you’re putting too much pressure on yourself by thinking your power comes from touching or holding an item. It’s like you’ve been watching too many episodes of Psychic Detectives.”

  “But that’s what psychics do, they touch things and get visions.”

  “Not all do that. I wish I could take you out to the crime scene now. But I have a meeting with the Tribal Council in about ten minutes. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go out there by yourself, especially when you’re feeling…down like this. Wait for Lando.”

  She whirled on her heels. “Lando’s too busy. Even though he’s hoping he caught the guy doing the burglaries around town, he still has a few pressing issues to get done, and with a mayor’s race coming up, things are keeping him hopping.”

  “I heard about that. Arlo Stokely versus Sam Wells. Some choice at the polls, the lunatic fringe or the power-hungry mogul.”

  “Exactly. If I decide to go, I’m perfectly capable of taking a drive out there by myself. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a big girl. I don’t need a chaperone wherever I go.”

  “That being said, you just laid out a theory about a serial killer. If there’s even a remote possibility it’s fact, then you might want to go prepared.”

  “I don’t think he’s lurking around the lake waiting for me to show up. That’s ridiculous. Besides, I’m not planning to hike out there at night. It’s the middle of summer. Spirit Lake is about as busy a place as the corner bait shop this time of year. I wouldn’t be alone, with tourists milling about. I couldn’t throw a rock without it landing on a hundred or so sunbathers trying to get a tan.”

  Zeb held up his hands. “Fair enough. But just remember one thing. If this is a serial offender, I doubt these are his only two victims.”

  “Then where are the bodies?”

  “You said yourself they’re capable of changing things up.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Gemma said, as she moved toward the door. “By the way, Leia says you guys have moved up the wedding to October.”

  “I think we should just run off and get married. I liked Lando’s idea of having Callie perform the ceremony.”

  “Want me to put a bug in her ear about that?”

  Zeb’s face lit up. “Would you?”

  “You bet. I gotta run now. Go on to your meeting.”

  But as she walked out to the car, Zeb’s words echoed back at her. Was she right about a serial offender? If so, where were the other bodies? If he’d left two out in the open, then why conceal his other victims? It didn’t make sense.

  Gemma shook off the notion that her own theory might involve a serial killer. Twenty-five years apart probably meant the two murders were unrelated. But she did want to see the crime scene. Or at least that was what she told herself. A trip to Spirit Lake meant she might be able to conjure up Salisaw, the third shaman on her quest to get better at this psychic thing. She could certainly use the insight.

  The keeper of knowledge was said to inhabit the waters of the lake. Whispers about sightings over the years claimed he could take the shape of a waterspout, forming in the middle of the lake and only move close to shore to ward off danger.

  As she exited the parking lot, she decided it was all a hokey legend, a story created by the people when times were tough, times when they needed to believe in something to get them through all the death and dying. She didn’t blame her ancestors for conjuring up a shaman like Kamena. After all, they’d needed to believe in miracles to endure the heartache and pain of the past, the loss of loved ones, shattered lives that couldn’t be put back together. Without lore and fairy tales, they had nothing.
Their dignity and pride had been ripped from them and taken away.

  She wasn’t sure how to reconcile the fact that her grandmother had been able to help her neighbors with such complete devotion. But then, maybe that was nothing more than a fluke. Maybe Marissa Sarrazin might’ve had a gift. Maybe the woman had simply been an excellent friend and listener to those she cared about, and because of that, could guide people to where they needed to be in life.

  “This is all your fault, Vince Ballard,” Gemma muttered aloud as she made the turn toward Spirit Lake. “You’re the one who put this stupid psychic stuff in my head in the first place.”

  She slid a music CD by Whitehorse into the player and cranked up the volume. Drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, she was determined to end this silly notion of mystical shamans once and for all.

  4

  The traffic picked up as she drove along the winding stretch of two-lane blacktop nestled between the coast and the mountains.

  It was a spooky place even during the day, made eerie by the summer fog that tended to roll in and hover over the dense thicket of cottonwoods and cypress. The weather phenomenon had something to do with vapor getting sucked over the much warmer lake water. But all Gemma knew was that locals usually avoided the nature trails during the months of June, July, and August. They knew better than to jog or venture out on the paths in the soupy, stubborn fog that some days refused to lift at all.

  On the other hand, tourists poured in from all over the state, packing the parking lots, completely ignoring the thick haze and Native legends.

  The entire five-acre region was rumored to be haunted. Spirit warriors could often be seen walking or riding through the mist. Babies could be heard crying. Voices were often reported when there was no one there.

  Historically the place had been a gathering spot for the feather dance where tribes held their religious ceremonies, opened their arms to other villages, and traded for goods. This was long before settlers or troops ever reached the area, long before massacres, long before they were wiped out to extinction.

  Gemma knew the legend. Spirit Lake had once been the site of a vicious sneak attack where armed townspeople had showed up during the feather dance and set fire to an entire village. Women and children were burned alive, the men taken out and shot.

  As she got out of the car, she could feel the violent past hang in the hot, humid air of summer. Whether it was left over from Chloe’s murder or from two hundred years ago, she felt the sinister energy like no other time in her life.

  She scanned the beach. She’d been right about the crowds. It was a hive of activity. Tourists went about having fun unaware of any lingering bad vibes. Active children tossed beachballs back and forth in the air, running around playing keep-away. Swimmers bobbed up and down in the warm lake water while others stretched out on their blankets sunbathing under an overcast sky, the clouds blocking out the streams of sunlight.

  Funny how people were drawn to water no matter what the poor weather conditions were, Gemma thought, as she made her way through the throng.

  According to the police report, Chloe’s body had been found thirty yards away from the parking lot at the main point of entry and ten yards from the lake itself.

  Walking along the shore, she felt a chill in the air, something out of place in the hot, humid climate. The thick sand made for tough footing. In one spot, she lost her balance and went down unceremoniously, landing on her bottom. Pushing herself up, her right hand felt something hard in the loose silt. Her fingers tightened around the object as she lifted it out of the sand. A jolt went through her body straight to her spine, like an electric current.

  She suddenly felt like she was floating, rising through the mist and out over the lake. Below her the people had disappeared. She was alone, drifting, hovering over the body of water. In a montage of fast-moving clips, she was caught up and whisked into a world of constant motion, a funnel that kept whirling around her until she was thrust back by a slamming force into droplets of silvery water.

  She heard a warrior’s chant, faintly at first, then growing louder until it seemed to surround her, the song coming from every direction.

  Salisaw looked like a bronzed god with raven hair flowing down to his waist. His chest was bare all except for the breastplate he wore, the armor made from bone and adorned with beadwork, tiny seashells, and eagle feathers. A deerskin loincloth hung from his waist. He galloped toward her riding the biggest black stallion she’d ever seen. War paint decorated his arms and face. In his fist, he clutched a lance made of flint and ash.

  Even though he presented a menacing image, she felt oddly comforted and protected by his presence.

  “It takes very little courage to face your enemies, but a mighty heart to stand up for what is right.”

  “Gram lived her life like that.”

  “And so shall you.”

  “But…”

  Salisaw lifted his arm in the air, the lance rising above his head. “You have doubts. I sense your heart is not fully prepared to move forward.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. But I’m confused about all this. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  “The turquoise stone was a gift from Kamena. It held one third of your power and the moonstone Aponivi gave you…”

  “Wait. Let’s get this right. Technically, Aponivi didn’t give me anything except a chance to experience a downburst of wind. Lando Bonner is the one who came across the moonstone while rock hunting in Shadow Canyon years ago when he was a kid. All Aponivi really did was scare the crap out of me with a big puff of wind.”

  Salisaw’s head fell back as he roared with laughter at the depiction. “Aponivi. Big puff of wind. Hot air. Nothing to be afraid of with that one.”

  Fearing she’d said the wrong thing, she backtracked. “I didn’t mean…Aponivi is…a little more than hot air. But he mostly talked in riddles and I had to keep up. In fact, it took a visit to a friend and a serious trip on mescaline to get the job done. I’m hoping for a lot more from you.”

  “And you shall have it.”

  “Really? The thing is I’ve been hearing that promise for quite some time now. I’m beginning to think you’ve got the wrong person. Because I don’t pick up on things like I thought I would.”

  “Your impatience will be your undoing.”

  “And patience isn’t exactly paying off for me, now is it? Why did the three of you abandon your people when they needed you the most?”

  “Who told you that?”

  “A friend.”

  “The same friend who sent you on a fuzzy journey into the past, the same one who endangered your life?”

  “Callie had no idea I’d have that kind of reaction to it. Besides, it wasn’t that fuzzy. I solved the case, didn’t I? I was able to see the entire thing play out and take down the people responsible.”

  “I see. So what you really seek is fame and perhaps fortune?”

  Gemma narrowed her eyes. “Not at all. I can certainly see why your people lost faith. If you lack that kind of perception, I’m sure they expected more from their most powerful shaman, certainly more than a bunch of hot air and spouting water.”

  “You will need that plucky spirit to endure the mockery that comes when you show the deniers what you can do with your ability.”

  She made a derisive sound in her throat. “I’ve had to deal with a critical, overbearing mother for most of my life, so whatever people throw at me now doesn’t faze me much. Here’s the thing that baffles me about you guys. Kamena seemed…I don’t know…much more helpful than you and Aponivi. Why is that?”

  “Kamena is the female spirit. You connect with her on a much deeper level, female soul to female soul.”

  “Figures,” she muttered. “Then why didn’t you guys pick a male for this job? My grandmother obviously had the sight. She was gifted. But she also saw things about the future. I don’t seem to have that same kind of ability. When I do see things, it’s mostly from the past.”


  “Your grandmother had that unique warrior spirit who could battle with the best of them. She fought for those who could not. You have the same kind of heart but lack the innate confidence to follow through.”

  “What do I do about that?”

  “Find answers. With each success, you will gain more insight into yourself, gain more confidence. Find the solution and you will earn the respect from others.”

  She was far from convinced. But she held up the intense blue, tumbled stone that she’d plucked from the sand. It glittered with streaks of silver, gleaming with power in the soft blue mist where each drop of water that touched it reflected light. “See what I found.”

  “Lapis completes the circle. The blue represents water, which enhances your power and brings you through to the other side. Having that, shows that you have arrived at your destination, fully prepared to seek the past, aware of the gift you hold. While your quest may end, your responsibility begins. You must take great care to guard against doubt. Do not abuse your gift. Keep the lapis stone with you at all times. It amplifies the triad as nothing else can. In times of heartbreak, it will soothe the visions that come to you, disturbing as they might be. It will bring peace in times of trouble. It will alert you to danger when it turns warm.”

  “So this is real?”

  Salisaw’s head barely nodded. “Your power comes from these three stones, keep them together as one. Without each stone, your power is diminished, useless. Together these totems make up the strongest of medicine. From this point forward, if used correctly, they will show you the path you have chosen to walk. As long as you choose to go along the true path with a true heart, they will guide you. But if you stray from that footpath, they will become nothing more than pretty stones in a rock collection you wear around your neck. You must always choose wisely.”

  Gemma heard those words echo out over the lake as she found herself plopped back onto the beach.

  She looked around at the tourists. The scene was the same as she had left it. Nothing seemed to have changed along the shore and yet everything had changed inside her.