Samhain Secrets

by Jennifer David Hesse

  I was elated to have her camera. Now, I might actually be able to provide some answers for my grieving mother.

  As I came to a crossroads, where one street led to my house and another led downtown, I decided to make a pit stop at home. I needed to use the bathroom and wash up. I’d make it quick. Wes was bartending tonight, so I wouldn’t have to explain myself.

  Standing on the stoop, fumbling for my key while cradling the camera, I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. With a sigh, I grabbed it to check the message. It was from Farrah, and it said, “Look behind you.”

  I whipped around.

  “Boo!”

  “Oh, my gosh! You’re back!”

  Laughing, she ran up the sidewalk. “Yeah, I had a chance to switch flights and decided to take it. I was tired of Atlanta and wanted to be here for Halloween. Want to go to the Loose? Let’s go inside and conjure up some costumes.”

  “Actually, I have a thing . . .”

  “Wait. Where have you been?” She squinted at me in the porchlight. “Is that dirt on your face? Are your jeans ripped, and not in a trendy, artful way?”

  I looked down at my pants. “Dang.”

  “Did someone attack you?” she exclaimed.

  “No, no. Nothing like that.”

  “Give me your keys, girlfriend. Let’s get you inside.”

  I complied and followed her to the living room. In a rush of words, I told her about my vision and experience in the woods, ending with my brief encounter with Levi. Her mouth gaped in a large, round O the whole time.

  “Hold this,” I said, handing her the camera, “while I use the bathroom.”

  When I rejoined her a couple minutes later, she was still in awe. “So, this is what happens when I leave you for three nights!”

  “I haven’t even told you about the excitement at the party yesterday, or the ghosts at Mrs. Hammerlin’s house. But there’s no time now. I gotta get this camera to the police.”

  “But, but,” Farrah sputtered. “Why can’t Wes develop the film? Aren’t you dying to see what’s on this camera?”

  “Wes doesn’t have a darkroom. He might be able to borrow one at the university, but I don’t want to risk it. The camera is damaged. The police forensics unit will know what to do. Want to come with me?”

  “Of course! I’m never leaving your side again. Let me just use your bathroom first. I came straight here from the airport.”

  While waiting for Farrah, I went to the kitchen for a glass of water. I’d taken one gulp when there was a knock at the door. I frowned. What now?

  I looked through the peephole and saw a huddle of people in costume. They were too tall to be children, and besides it was much too late for trick-or-treating. I figured they must be teenagers, especially since their masks tended toward the macabre. I noticed a couple of skull faces and a deformed zombie. I opened the door to tell them we had no candy—and was immediately knocked to the floor.

  I tried to call out, but someone clamped a hand over my mouth. Another person held me down. I struggled with all my might, twisting and writhing on the ground, but I was pinned under the weight of one of the monsters. In the midst of the tumult, I thought I heard the cat hiss. I gnashed my teeth, trying desperately to bite the flesh pressed to my mouth. It was no use.

  Then, as suddenly as it began, it was over. The weight lifted, and I was free. I pushed myself to my hands and knees and looked up in time to see four men—not teenagers, I was pretty sure—barrel out the door. At the same time, Farrah came out of the bathroom and shrieked.

  I ran to the door. The ghouls ran down the street toward the park and disappeared from sight.

  “Oh, my God!” screamed Farrah. “What just happened? Are you okay?”

  I swallowed the bile in my throat and managed to nod.

  “Should we call 9-1-1?” She reached for her phone.

  “It’s too late for that,” I said. “There’s nothing the cops can do now.”

  I looked at the table where I’d left Josephine’s camera, already knowing what I’d see. An empty space. The camera was gone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  We called the police anyway. I realized it was best to report the attack right after it happened, especially with those creepy, masked goons on the loose. I didn’t know the officers who responded, so I didn’t mention Aunt Josephine. I told them a camera was stolen without telling them where I’d obtained it. I still planned to follow up with Detective Rhinehardt in the morning.

  When the officers left, Farrah asked me if I was up for going to the Loose for a nightcap. Wes would still be working for another hour or so until closing time. But I was in no mood to be around any more costumed revelers—and probably wouldn’t be for a very long time. Farrah was fine with that. She rummaged in my freezer for snacks and found a vegan pizza. As she switched on the stove, she ordered me to go put on my pajamas and wait for her in the living room. For the next hour, we sipped wine, ate pizza, and speculated about who was behind Josephine’s murder.

  “It’s definitely a conspiracy,” said Farrah. “It was six men who attacked you, right?”

  “Five or six. Yeah.”

  “That means Gil is still a suspect. He could be the mastermind. In fact, if it’s a conspiracy, anyone with an alibi is now fair game.”

  I took a sip of wine and leaned my head back on the couch. I had brought Farrah up to speed on everything she’d missed the past couple of days. Her reasoning matched my own. It now seemed as if we were looking for not just one culprit, but a whole group of people. The first thing I thought of was all those folders in Levi’s cabin. Maybe the group of criminals we were after were the ecoterrorists from Josephine’s past.

  “You know who leads a whole big secret society of people,” Farrah continued. “Fern Lopez. Didn’t Zeke say her ‘Sisterhood’ was all over the world? She must have been pretty unhappy when Josephine went off and formed her own group. Maybe there was a rivalry there.”

  “I don’t know that Josephine formed her own group, necessarily. But Fern does seem to have mixed feelings about Josephine. Could just be hurt feelings.”

  “Or jealousy or resentment. Or anger, if Josephine stole Fern’s trade secrets.”

  “Hmm. I suppose it’s possible. Speaking of Fern, did you happen to find out who owns that property she wants?”

  “Yeah. I emailed you the info. It’s bank-owned.”

  “Oh, I guess I haven’t checked my email lately. Thanks a million. Maybe I can coax Fern into telling me more now. Like who else Josephine worked with. There has to be someone else. Doesn’t there?” I closed my eyes. I was becoming too sleepy to think anymore.

  Farrah got up and took my plate and glass. “You go to bed,” she said. “I’ll hang out here until Wes comes home.”

  “You will?”

  “You bet.”

  I went upstairs and crawled into bed. As I drifted off to sleep, a disturbing thought swam to the surface of my mind, like a shark in murky waters. Someone knew I’d found that camera tonight. Someone who knew what the camera signified, knew where it was hidden, and knew where I lived.

  I was exceedingly grateful Farrah had stayed.

  * * *

  The next morning, Wes and I took a walk through the neighborhood. Along the way, I picked up discarded candy wrappers, imagining it was what Aunt Josephine would have done. We talked a little about my experiences the previous evening. Wes expressed his concern, as I knew he would, but he was remarkably calm—especially about my decision to head into a dark forest by myself without telling anyone. I figured Farrah must have warned him not to lecture me. There was a time and a place for cool reflection, and I wasn’t there yet. I was too nervous about my parents arriving the next day. And that Josephine’s killer was still running around scot-free.

  When we returned home, Wes tagged along behind me as I washed up and straightened the house. He was supposed to go help his dad with a home improvement project today, but he didn’t want to leave me. “Why don’t you come
along?” he suggested. “You can hang out with my mom. She’s been wanting to have us over for dinner anyway.”

  “I’ll stop by later,” I promised. “You go ahead. I need to go see Detective Rhinehardt first.”

  Wes wasn’t happy about leaving me alone, but I finally convinced him that the police station was about the safest place I could be. Since it was Sunday, I gave Rhinehardt a call first to find out if he’d be in his office. He said he’d be there a little while longer and could meet with me if I came now.

  As eager as I was to speak to him, I found myself dragging my heels. By the time I parked in front of the station and headed to the entrance, I was almost ready to turn around and go back home. How could I explain the fact that I’d found Josephine’s camera in a tree last night? Was I really going to tell him I was led to the forest by a psychic vision—after summoning my aunt’s ghost?

  No. No, I was not. I couldn’t do it.

  I would make up an excuse about not feeling well. I walked up to the front desk to leave a message with the officer on duty, when Rhinehardt came out to the lobby. He looked so haggard, I immediately set aside my own anxieties. With his puffy eyes, unshaven jawline, and rumpled suit, it was obvious he’d been up all night.

  “Come on back,” he said.

  “Is this a bad time? We can talk later.”

  “Nah. Halloween is always a pain in the neck. Almost as bad as New Year’s Eve. Did I hear right that you had a run-in with some punks at your house? There was an alert issued to be on the lookout for a gang of creeps fitting the description you gave. Sorry to say, they weren’t apprehended.”

  “I’m not surprised. They probably removed their costumes right away. About that—”

  “About Gil Johnson,” Rhinehardt cut in. “I have some good news and bad news.”

  “Oh?” For a moment, I forgot all about Josephine’s camera. “Did he wake up?”

  “Affirmative. He came to early this morning. He had a concussion, but the doctor said he’s recovering nicely. Problem is, he’s refusing to talk. Johnson claims he doesn’t know who hit him and doesn’t know anything about a note—which we never found, by the way. To all our other questions, he only said, ‘Sorry. Can’t help you out.’ Tough nut, that one.”

  “Shoot,” I said, unable to hide my disappointment. So, Gil was still mistrustful of the police. “He has to know something. He could still be in danger.”

  Rhinehardt smiled grimly. I wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know.

  “Can he receive visitors?”

  “Sure, I believe so.” He eyed me carefully, then stood up and touched my arm as he opened the door. “You learn anything from him, you be sure to let me know ASAP.”

  “I will.” I’d call Rhinehardt at home, if I had to. I had no more time to lose.

  * * *

  The Edindale Medical Center was a modern, six-story hospital serving all of Edin County. Wes’s mom’s cousin, Sharon, worked at the intake desk, so I stopped by to say hi. She looked up Gil’s room number for me and told me visiting hours started at 11:00, which was in ten minutes. We chatted for a minute, then I left to find my way to the fourth floor.

  The second I stepped off the elevator I could tell something was amiss. People were running and yelling. At first, I assumed it was a medical emergency, until I heard someone holler, “Call security!”

  With increasing alarm, I made my way down the hall toward Gil’s room—which seemed to be at the center of all the commotion. A wide-eyed candy striper stood in front of Gil’s closed door.

  “What happened?” I asked. “Is Mr. Johnson okay?”

  “A nurse is with him now,” the girl answered. “I’m not supposed to let anyone in except the doctor or the police.”

  “The police?”

  “Yeah.” She bit her lip, clearly unnerved. “There was a guy in here messing around the patient’s bed. He wore a skeleton mask! When the nurse came in, he punched her and ran out.”

  “Oh, my God!”

  “I know! A bunch of people ran after him, but he was fast.”

  “Which way did they go?”

  “That way, probably to the back stairs.” She pointed down an empty hall.

  Without hesitating, I took off in pursuit. I knew I was at the tail end of the chase, but I hoped to at least catch a glimpse of the intruder. I heaved open the door to the stairs and trotted down four flights, my footsteps echoing in the stairwell. When I reached the bottom, I burst through the steel exit door and found myself in the employee parking lot.

  I ran a few steps, then faltered, blinking in the sunlight. There was no one in sight. No hospital personnel, no police, no masked bandits. Either they’d outrun me, or they didn’t come this way.

  I turned back, only to find the door had locked behind me. I’d have to walk around to the front entrance. I headed around the side of the building, past a landscaped hedge bordering the parking lot. I hadn’t gotten very far when I heard someone sneeze. I paused, looking around. Was someone behind the hedgerow?

  Curious, I walked to the end of the row and peeked around. A man was blowing his nose into a cloth handkerchief. It was Levi Markham.

  “Oh, hello,” he said, when he spotted me. “These darn allergies.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “What are you doing back here?”

  He acted confused by the question and slightly defensive. “I’m taking a walk, getting some fresh air. Though, I don’t know that I owe you any explanations. You never tell me what you’re up to.”

  How do you like that? Levi Markham, Mr. Mystery himself, thinks I’m holding back.

  We glared at one another. Maybe it was the broad daylight that emboldened me, or the fact that we were next to a hospital full of people—not to mention the fact that the police were supposedly on their way. Whatever the reason, I felt more irritated than afraid.

  Who was this guy? Was he a shy author conducting research about the Sorghum bombing for a book he planned to write? Or did he have a personal connection to the bombing? Was he a relative of one of the victims, intent on seeking vengeance, one bomber at a time? Maybe he was a relative of one of the coconspirators, such as poor, unlucky Davey.

  Levi turned his head and sneezed again, ending our staring contest. Slowly, like clouds parting on a mild, windless day, another possibility came to mind.

  “Who are you really?”

  “What?” He appeared startled.

  “I know you’re not who you say you are. You might as well fess up. You’re not really a writer, are you?”

  “What are you talking about?” He looked around in exaggerated disbelief. He really wasn’t a very good liar.

  “Why do you have a file on my aunt Josephine?”

  “I knew you searched my cabin!”

  “You didn’t answer my question. Why were you after her? What’s your interest in the Sorghum bombing?” I recalled my earlier theory that Josephine had been running from the law. And I remembered the authoritative way Levi had held a gun and ordered me to “stop.” When he reached into his inner jacket pocket, I didn’t even flinch.

  “Special Agent Len Martinwood,” he said, showing me a very real-looking badge. “FBI.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  I was having some difficulty adjusting to Levi’s real name. He didn’t look like a “Len Martinwood” to me. When I asked him if I could continue calling him “Levi,” he said, “Please do. I’m still undercover.”

  We sat on a bench in the flower garden next to the hospital. He told me he had been tracking Josephine for months. She was wanted as an ecoterrorist in connection with the Sorghum bombing. He was also investigating Gil.

  “The bombing happened decades ago,” I said. “Why now?”

  “The case was never closed,” he answered. “Every now and then, new administrations will assign agents to take a fresh look at cold case files. I was assigned to this one.”

  “Does Detective Rhinehardt know about you?” I asked.

  He nodded
. “I try to work with local law enforcement whenever I can. This time, I had to identify myself when Josephine turned up dead.”

  “No wonder Rhinehardt said you were okay. I kept trying to tell him you were hiding something.”

  “You suspected me in your aunt’s murder?”

  “Well, you were obviously lying. What was I supposed to think?”

  He opened his mouth as if to respond, then thought better of it.

  “Never mind,” I said. “Tell me about Gil. Who do you think attacked him? And what was he doing at the costume party anyway? I thought he’d gone into hiding.”

  “You might be right about that. I can think of two reasons he might’ve come out of hiding. Either he was trying to track down Josephine’s killer and thought he could get a lead at the party—”

  Kind of like me, I thought.

  “—or else someone lured him there with an offer he couldn’t refuse.”

  “Hmm. I wish I knew what was in that note he was given.”

  “Actually, I have that.” Levi patted his pocket. Seeing my raised eyebrows, he explained. “I tipped the groundskeeper last night and asked him to keep an eye out for it. I just met up with him before coming here.”

  “So much for working with the local police.”

  “I’m heading over to the police station next,” he said, a touch defensively.

  “Okay. So, what did the note say?”

  He hesitated, and I gave him a pretty please look until he sighed. “The note was written in plain block letters. It said, ‘I know what happened to JO. Come to the gazebo behind the mansion.’”

  I bit my lip as I pondered the message. It was consistent with both of Levi’s theories. Gil could have been innocently seeking information about Josephine’s death. Or he could already know what happened to her because he was involved. In that case, maybe someone was trying to blackmail him. Or punish him.

  On the other hand, if someone was targeting people involved in the Sorghum bombing, Gil could have been summoned to the party for an entirely different reason.