The service was straightforward. The Reverend Thomas Grimsby gave a heartfelt eulogy. “Daisy is with God, for … surely, if there’s a waiting room in heaven, then she’ll be the first in line.” There were tearful remembrances. “Today we celebrate her life.”
When it was over, Brandon and five pallbearers slow-walked the coffin out of the church toward the waiting hearse. A solemn parade of mourners followed, and then everyone got in their cars and joined the funeral procession across town toward the cemetery.
Forty-five minutes later, hundreds were gathered beneath the sprawling oaks of Pioneer Memorial Park. Everything shimmered in the stained-glass sun. The burial mound was at the top of a hill. There were heavy bulldozer imprints on the grass. They stood among carved limestone markers, granite headstones, and ornate brownstone urns with Gothic and Egyptian motifs. Between two large floral arrangements was a propped easel displaying an airbrushed photograph of Daisy.
“She looks so happy,” everyone agreed.
People kept their voices low and their tissues handy. There were anguished faces and lowered eyes. Carved into Daisy’s brand-new marble headstone was an angel, her wings spread protectively over the hole in the ground. Natalie held back and observed relatives and family friends closest to the grave site. Brandon stood as rigid as a monolith. Grace was sobbing silently into her tissue. Lindsey and Ellie were trying to comfort her.
Daisy’s students and fellow teachers were holding heart-shaped balloons, which they planned to release at the end of the ceremony. The reverend spoke at length about Daisy’s accomplishments, and then others stepped forward to eulogize her.
Jasmine Forester’s good breeding showed in her comportment—head held high, chin thrust forward, breathing rapidly through her nose. “Daisy used to light up a room,” she said. “Why would anyone want to harm such a beautiful human being?” She ended by saying, “We’ve been through hell. We need closure.” She glanced at Natalie. “We want to know what happened to our precious girl.”
Next, the pallbearers placed the coffin on a contraption that painstakingly lowered Daisy and her unborn child into the ground. Natalie listened to the mechanical hum of the lowering device and watched the casket disappear behind the stacks of sod.
Feelings welled up, threatening to overpower her. She recalled Willow’s razor-straight bangs and her long ashen hair catching the sunlight and blowing loose around her shoulders. Elegant, articulate Willow used to keep junk food in the trunk of her car, an old Chevy Nova they called the Snoozemobile because of its lousy acceleration. Joey had given it to her on her sixteenth birthday, and Willow used to love cruising around in that thing. She’d taken Natalie, Grace, and Daisy for rides in the mountains, and they’d crank the radio and sing along to Laura Nyro’s “Wedding Bell Blues.” Whenever they stopped to explore a hiking trail, Willow would take deliberate, delicate steps across the rocks, as if it was a decision she’d made to be graceful.
Now prayers were said. More tears were shed. Finally, the mourners took turns scooping handfuls of dirt onto the casket, and the students and teachers released their balloons. Silver hearts filled the sky.
After it was over, Natalie tracked down Reverend Grimsby. “Now’s probably not the time,” she apologized, “but Daisy made an appointment to see you about an urgent matter, I understand.”
“Yes,” he said with warm gray eyes.
“Do you know what she wanted to discuss with you?”
He pursed his lips and glanced around. “I couldn’t possibly share her confidences with you, but I can say she wanted to speak about spiritual matters.”
“Reverend, please. This is important.”
“The good news is … she was coming back to the church. She admitted she’d been drifting away. But the baby was drawing her back to God. I saw it as a positive sign. Now if you’ll excuse me…”
“Anything else you can tell me?” Natalie asked.
“No, I’m sorry. Now if you’ll excuse me, Detective.” He disappeared into the crowd.
There was a commotion behind them. Natalie turned to face the Revolutionary Monument, beyond which Dominic Skinner and a few friends were stepping out of their four-wheelers onto the cemetery access road. She hurried toward them. Dominic and his crew weren’t dressed for a funeral—he wore camouflage pants, an Incubus T-shirt, a backward baseball cap, and a ramped attitude. The others were dressed in a similarly disrespectful fashion.
“Dominic, what are you doing here?” she said in a hushed voice.
Pent-up fury roiled behind the ex-con’s eyes. “My son’s still in a coma. They don’t know if he’ll ever come out of it. Brandon used excessive force. He acted like a thug, not a law officer. He needs to pay for what he did,” he said angrily.
“Let’s wait and see what the internal investigation says,” she told him, a contraction of muscles pushing an acrid taste into her mouth.
“Oh, right. I’m supposed to buy that? The police investigating the police?” he spat, maintaining his menacing posture, feet firmly planted on the cracked asphalt. The three other men stood mute and immobile behind him, like a primitive diorama of alpha males.
“I’m not going to argue with you,” Natalie said. “This isn’t the time or the place.”
“He should be locked up in jail,” Dominic said in a tortured voice. “Riley was trying to get away, and Brandon went after an unarmed child, and you know it.”
“Quit spreading rumors. You’re only making things worse.”
“Look at those reporters back there,” he said through gritted teeth. “Nobody wants to talk to me about my son, who’s also a victim.”
Her hands were shaking. She felt a sharp, sympathetic pinch. If Riley died, then Dominic would enter another dimension, an alien world where he’d spend the rest of his life imagining what could’ve been. Parents of murdered children spent their entire lives with their hands pressed against a thick, impenetrable membrane, trying to see through to the other side.
Above their heads a canopy of leaves quivered in the breeze, but despite the brilliance of the sky, today felt as oppressive as a dungeon.
“You need to go home, Dominic,” Natalie told him gently.
He shook his head stubbornly. “I have every right to be here.”
“Think of the Foresters,” she pleaded. “They’re also grieving. They lost their daughter—at least your son has a chance. Let them bury her in peace.”
He looked stunningly worn-out.
“Think of Daisy’s mother,” she pleaded. “This is her time. Please, Dominic.”
After a tense moment, he gave a reluctant nod, and he and his men slowly retreated, unwinding their hostility and saving it for another day.
Natalie’s limbs felt rubbery as she stood her ground, waiting for the four-wheelers to take off. She watched them drive toward the cemetery gates, past row upon row of headstones stretching off into the distance. Harriet Truitt, Ezekiel Pastor, Clementine Leacock. Every Halloween, Pioneer Memorial had to hire extra guards to patrol the park so the kids wouldn’t vandalize the graves. The cemetery gates were locked at night, but there were gaps in the ornate, wrought-iron fence where a skinny teen could sneak through.
Her phone buzzed. It was Augie Vickers.
“The court order came through for Riley’s phone service providers. I sent you the link—did you get it yet?”
She checked her emails. “Yeah, got it.”
“Subscriber billing and account information, call-detail records, cell tower locations, plus all stored voice-mail messages, photographic and video images. We’ve been combing through the data, and the only thing of significance so far are his locations for Wednesday afternoon.”
“Tell me,” she said anxiously.
“Bear in mind, this is only accurate to within about three hundred feet, but it appears Riley was en route to the cabin at three fifteen P.M. when he made a pit stop at the supermarket. Looks like he left the cabin at around four oh-six and drove to the east side, where he stop
ped in the vicinity of Berkley Auberdine’s house between four twenty-eight until five oh-two. Then he left at five thirty-five, heading north, at which time he must’ve turned off his phone, or else the battery ran out of juice.”
“What about the rest of the evening?”
“Nothing. That’s it. We’re still sorting through the data. Anyway, the lieutenant wants me to reinterview Riley’s buddies about Haymarket Field, exactly what they talked about that night, what was his frame of mind, et cetera.”
“Okay. Thanks for the update, Augie.” She hung up and sensed a shifting of the wind. Her hands were trembling from caffeine withdrawal. Above her head, the spring leaves quivered in the breeze. The burial service was over. Everyone was dispersing. She searched the crowd but couldn’t find Grace and Ellie anywhere.
Then she spotted India’s silver Lexus gliding along the access road toward the cemetery gates. She would have to hurry if she wanted to catch up.
44
The wind blew the litter off the sidewalks into the street sweeper’s bristling maw. Natalie followed the Lexus past the quaint three-story shops of downtown, where the clubs were always packed on the weekends. The ER would be busy pumping stomachs on Sunday. Upstate New York boasted enough Dunkin’ Donuts, Starbucks, and Burger Kings to satisfy anyone’s weekend hangover.
Now the Lexus turned down the road leading to the peninsula, and Natalie’s nerve endings hummed. The girls had flat-out lied to her—she had proof of it now. Riley’s phone logs showed he’d spent about thirty minutes in the vicinity of Berkley’s house that afternoon. What had transpired? What did they know?
She could see the glistening pewter surface of the lake through the tree trunks. This area teamed with lakes. During the warmer months, tourists flocked to Burning Lake to partake of the bountiful woods and waterways. For the rugged outdoorsy types, there were plenty of diversions and people were regularly getting injured or lost in the mountains. Emergency response came from a network of agencies—rangers, state police, local rescue crews, along with the county fire rescue team and the water rescue team—covering a vast geography of woodlands and wetlands, thick and rolling as a fairy-tale kingdom.
The silver car slowed as it approached the entrance to Abby’s Hex. Natalie kept her distance, while the girls got out and took the trailhead into the woods. She waited, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, before finally swinging into the lot and taking the sun-dappled path onto the peninsula.
Once she’d reached the tip of the peninsula, she hung back and observed them—India, Berkley, Sadie, and their new recruit, Angela Sandhill, a demure girl with a self-conscious theatricality about her movements. They’d formed a circle around the fire pit.
“It’s stupid to do everything in one night,” Berkley said.
“We’ve already decided,” India insisted. “We should stick to the plan.”
“Do you think it’ll work?” Angela asked.
“Of course it will work,” India shot back. “It’s worked before.”
Sadie made a disgusted sound at the back of her throat. “Will you stop already?”
“Angela, don’t be dumb,” Berkley said.
“Okay. Whatever.” Angela shrugged.
They began to chant. Softly, at first. Building slowly. Natalie didn’t recognize the divination. It had been such a long time since she’d performed any Wiccan rites herself. She noticed a burnt-rubber smell in the air before spotting a small plume of smoke in the fire pit.
She stepped out of the woods. “What are you girls up to?”
They turned at once and let out gasps of astonishment.
“Aunt Natalie?” India clasped her throat. “What are you doing here?”
“I have a few more questions,” she said, stepping into the clearing. “We’ve subpoenaed Riley’s phone service records and have him within three-hundred feet of Berkley’s house between four twenty-eight and five oh-two P.M.”
India shook her head numbly, while the others glanced cautiously at one another. Natalie knew not to let her personal relationships interfere with an investigation, but her instructors never told her how hard this would be. She wanted to embrace them and tell them that everything would be all right.
“Are you still saying you didn’t see him Wednesday after school, India?”
“No,” she responded with a shudder. “I mean, maybe he drove by the house, I suppose, but we didn’t see him. Maybe he parked on the street or something? I mean, ew. Dude. Go away.” She was intractable.
Natalie drew a patient breath. “Did Riley know that you put a curse on Ms. Buckner?”
“What?” she cried. “Who told you that?”
“Did you tell him about the B-minus you got in sociology? Did you tell him you wanted Ms. Buckner to suffer for it?”
She stared at Natalie with deep hostility.
“Did you talk him into harming her, or at least approach him about it?”
“Approach him? What’s that supposed to mean?” India shook her head, her long hair flowing across her shoulders in raven waves. “This is ridiculous.” She took out her phone. “My father told me to call him if this happened again.”
“Okay, fine. Call him.”
India hesitated.
“Go ahead,” Natalie said, calling her bluff.
India scowled. “Maybe you should go,” she suggested.
“No, you’re right, India. You don’t have to talk to me. You can all leave now.”
“But…”
“You aren’t supposed to be lighting fires in the state park.”
India’s eyes widened, while the other girls froze.
“Go. All of you.”
After a moment’s hesitation, they hurried past her and vanished into the woods.
Natalie stood studying the calm surface of the lake. Any time beachgoers or swimmers were reported missing, dozens of first responders and rescue vehicles would show up at the scene. The dive team, attached by ropes to the shore, would search the lake bottom, while the beach patrol linked hands with dozens of volunteers and waded into the reedy part of the lake. At some point, they may have to do that for Bunny.
The burnt smell lingered on the air. She walked up to the fire pit, where the girls had left several smoldering pieces of paper on the blackened stones. She stomped out the embers, smoke whispering from the charred pages.
She knelt to retrieve one of the pages and read a few lines. Her palms grew black with ash. Her cheeks flushed. She felt indignant and incredulous. What she read shocked her.
45
Natalie could feel the blood thundering in her ears as she left the lake behind and took a right onto Crenshaw Road, which led to the quiet neighborhood where her sister lived. She pulled into the driveway and parked behind Grace’s Mini Cooper.
Once Grace and Ellie were gathered in the living room, Natalie took out the semiburnt pages she’d rescued from the fire pit and unfolded them on the coffee table, pressing them flat. “I found these today.”
“What are they?” Grace leaned forward.
“Ellie,” Natalie said. “Why don’t you explain to your mother?”
Ellie shrank from them both. Her pale blue T-shirt read COLLEGE-BOUND.
“What’s going on?” The strain showed on Grace’s face. “What is this?”
“Ellie and Justin Fowler exchanged a couple of letters, Grace. These partially burnt pages are all from Justin to Ellie.”
“My God, Ellie? Is this true?” Grace picked up one of the pages and read a few lines. Then she sat back with her mouth open, utterly blown away.
Ellie studied her mother with trepidation, a light sweat coating her upper lip.
“Why on earth would you do such a thing?” Grace asked, looking more fragile than Natalie had ever seen her.
“Mom, please…”
“You wrote letters to him in prison?”
Ellie glanced at the stationery and cringed. “It was for a school report.”
“A report? Is this some kind of
joke?”
“I didn’t think he’d write me back,” she protested weakly.
Grace turned to Natalie. “Where’d you get these? Why are they burnt?”
“India, Berkley, and Sadie lit them on fire,” Natalie explained.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Some sort of ritual. They were chanting.”
“Ellie, how did your friends get these letters?” Grace demanded. “They’re addressed to you. I don’t understand. I’ve tried my whole life to keep you safe. How could you do something like this without telling me?”
“Mom, please. It’s no big deal.”
“No big deal?” she repeated angrily.
Ellie’s face grew ashen.
“Grace, can I talk to her?” Natalie asked.
“Go ahead,” Grace said, tears glistening in her eyes.
Natalie gave her niece her undivided attention. “Ellie, tell me what happened.”
The girl took a moment to catch her breath. “I was curious,” she confessed, “about how Aunt Willow died. I mean, Mom already explained it to me, but I wanted to find out for myself. So I looked him up online and read everything I could about the trial, and it’s pretty awful. But then I found a few articles about him being locked up in prison for a crime he didn’t commit, and so—”
“Oh God.” Grace dropped the letter on the coffee table.
“Mom, there’s proof on his lawyer’s blog … proof of his innocence and police corruption. You should read it sometime. At least there should be another trial, but the DA refuses to consider it. Anyway, I told India about it, and she said I should write to him. I didn’t think he’d write back, but he did. So I wrote to him again. But after the third time, I freaked out a little, and so I stopped.”
“When was this?” Natalie asked.
“Last October. But Justin kept sending me letters. I had to check the mailbox every day after school before Mom got home.” Ellie glanced at her mother and blushed. “Mom, I’m really sorry.”
“How many times did he write to you?” Natalie asked.
“Eight or nine.”
“And what did you do with his letters?”
Trace of Evil Page 28