Death Night

by Ritter, Todd

  Standing on the stoop, Kat leaned over the edge and scanned the debris. She saw charred pieces of paper, smashed plates, and still more shingles. Lying on the other side of the stoop was a portion of the fallen wall, its siding warped from the heat. It now resembled melted candle wax that had been cooled back to a solid form. But on that piece of wall, partially obscured by the half-melted siding, was a brass plaque similar to the one located at the museum.

  “Why did you run off like that?” Henry, finally catching up to her, stopped on the other side of the police tape. “I’m supposed to be helping you, remember?”

  “Sorry. I had to look for something.”

  “Did you find it?”

  “I did,” Kat said, eyes still fixed on the tiny plaque. “And I think I also figured out the reason behind the fires.”

  4 P.M.

  “He’s trying to get revenge.”

  Lieutenant Tony Vasquez, still confined to a hospital bed, lifted himself as far as his broken bones would allow. “Who is?”

  “Connor Hawthorne,” Kat said. “He’s trying to get revenge on Perry Hollow for something that happened hundreds of years ago.”

  She paced in front of Tony’s bed as she recounted everything she had learned that afternoon. The antique iron. The missing stick of dynamite. The book and letter that told the strange, sad story of Rebecca Bradford and her sisters. Then there was the pentagram, which symbolized that something far more evil than mere arson was taking place.

  “He knows that there was a massacre on the land where Perry Hollow now sits,” she said. “So he’s targeting the oldest buildings. The museum was on the state registry of historic places. So was the Sleepy Hollow Inn. This is his way of making the town pay for its sins.”

  She thought of Rebecca’s last words as recorded in that crumbling letter. “May the fires of Hell rise up to consume this place.” It had taken more than three hundred years, but now her final wish was coming true.

  “It’s a good theory,” Tony said, “but why would he kill Constance Bishop, as well?”

  “Maybe she caught him in the act of setting the museum on fire,” Kat replied, thinking aloud. “Maybe he was just using her to dig up as much information as she could. Or maybe it’s just another piece of his vendetta. There’s no better way to get revenge on a town’s history than by killing its chief historian.”

  “How many other places in town are registered historic landmarks?”

  “I don’t know,” Kat said. “But I’ve got someone checking right now.”

  That someone was Louella van Sickle, who had had the unfortunate luck to be leaving the hospital with James just as Kat and Henry were arriving. Kat ordered her to head to the library and look up all the other buildings in town that had earned landmark status. As for James, he was still at the hospital, sitting in the waiting area with Henry.

  “Once you get that list, post a trooper at every door,” Tony said. “If you can, I’d shut them down entirely. Are you sure this Hawthorne guy is the man behind all this?”

  Before that afternoon, Kat hadn’t been sure. But now, in her mind, Connor was the only suspect. Constance’s letter had certainly made it sound like Connor was the only other person who knew about Rebecca Bradford. There was a certain logic to the thought that one witch would try to avenge another. The pentagram they found only sealed the deal. Once he had spray-painted the museum wall, Connor might as well have stamped his forehead with the word guilty.

  Yet she couldn’t be content to end the investigation there and go on a manhunt for someone who might not still be in town. She needed to consider other possibilities, like the fact that someone else might have known Rebecca’s story.

  “Rebecca had a son,” Kat said. “He was sent to live with relatives after she was killed.”

  “You think the arsonist could be a descendant somehow?”

  “Weirder things have happened.” Kat resumed pacing. It felt good to be thinking and moving at the same time. It kept her alert, making her temporarily forget she hadn’t had a wink of sleep in sixteen hours. “Maybe one of Rebecca’s distant relatives moved back to Perry Hollow after learning what had happened to her.”

  “Is there anyone in town named Bradford?”

  Kat shook her head quickly. Perry Hollow was a small, close-knit community. If there was a Bradford in their midst, she’d know of him. That left someone whose name had been changed, most likely through marriage.

  “Is there an easy way to check statewide birth records?”

  “There’s a way,” Tony said, “but it’s far from easy. The state’s Department of Health has a database of all birth certificates.”

  “I think we should search for Bradfords. If anyone currently in Perry Hollow had a parent or grandparent with that last name, I want to know about it.”

  “Just so you know, that could take hours.”

  “I understand,” Kat said.

  She also knew they didn’t have the luxury of time. There could be another fire—or worse, an explosion—within the hour. But she couldn’t leave any investigative avenue unexplored, so she told Tony to make a few calls. It’s what Nick would have done.

  Tony stretched for the bedside phone but fell short, thanks to the sling enveloping his injured right arm. Kat brought it to the bed and dropped it in his lap.

  “Give them my cell phone number and tell them to call me if they get any hits,” she said.

  “Will do.” The lieutenant gave her a salute before dialing. “Oh, and Kat, I know this is the last thing you want to hear, but you’re pretty damn good at this.”

  Although Kat appreciated the compliment, Tony was right. On a day when her best friend was in a coma, half her town had the potential to go up in flames, and she was so tired she could fall asleep in the middle of a hospital hallway, it was indeed the last thing she wanted to hear.

  Kat’s son sat next to Henry, flipping through an ancient copy of Highlights for Children. The magazine didn’t seem to interest him. James turned the pages with impatience, hoping for something more interesting just around the corner. Eventually, he gave up, dropping the magazine onto the coffee table in front of him.

  “I don’t like it here,” he declared.

  Henry didn’t, either. Hospital waiting rooms always made him feel uncomfortable, and he had spent too much time in this one already. Like James, he just wanted to leave.

  “Where would you like to be?”

  “Home,” James said.

  “We can’t go home without your mother.”

  James let out a sigh that was both annoyed and annoying. “But it’s boring here.”

  “True,” Henry said. “So let’s get out of here and go for a walk.”

  James, who had been slouched in his chair, perked up at the idea of leaving the building. “Where?”

  “Outside. Just until your mom comes back.”

  “Can I get some candy, too?”

  “Sure,” Henry said. “Whatever you want.”

  They left the waiting room and proceeded to a vending machine down the hall, where James used the spare change from Henry’s pocket to purchase a pack of licorice. Then it was through the automatic doors and into the clear, autumn air.

  “I remember you, you know,” James said as they followed the sidewalk to a tree-dotted area next to the hospital. There were a few picnic tables there, occupied by weary-looking nurses on their dinner breaks and hospital visitors trying to chain-smoke their worries away.

  “You do?”

  The boy gave him a single, certain nod. “You saved my life.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “That’s what my mom says. She says you’re a hero.”

  “Well,” Henry said, “she did the same for me. So I think we’re even.”

  James held out a piece of licorice. “Do you want some?”

  “Sure.”

  Henry took the candy, gnawing on it as he and James wound their way through the mostly bare trees. Their leaves, victims of the
changing seasons, covered the ground, and James cut through them in long, sliding strides. There was no sign of the troubled boy that Kat had alluded to during their catch-up session early that morning, which relieved Henry. James had witnessed a lot, and it worried Henry that the trauma would make the boy hardened before his time. But that afternoon, he was as carefree as a child his age should be. Giggling. Kicking up leaves. A joyful glint in his eyes as they fluttered back down to the ground.

  The boy’s exuberance made Henry think of his own son, gone before he had ever arrived. He wondered what it would be like to be the father of a young boy. It probably felt a lot like that afternoon of shared candy and aimless walking.

  For a time, he actually thought fatherhood would happen. During those heady, final days of his wife’s pregnancy, Henry had mistakenly believed his life was blessed. He was handsome and successful. His wife was gorgeous, fiercely intelligent, and ferociously funny. Their unborn son would arrive happy and healthy.

  But it wasn’t meant to be.

  Something—be it God, or fate, or some other higher power he couldn’t begin to grasp—had a different plan for him. So the crash happened, killing his wife instantly. Their child, mere minutes from entering the world, was taken with her. And Henry was left broken, physically and emotionally.

  Then came the second stage of his life. Perry Hollow, Pennsylvania. The place he had retreated to in order to escape his past. But then Kat and James Campbell entered his life. So did Deana Swan. He learned to open up. To live again. To love again. Then it was all snatched away once more.

  It had taken years for Henry to make peace with what had happened to his wife and son. He suspected it would take an equal amount of time to come to terms with what had happened to him in Perry Hollow. Yet time healed. Henry knew that from experience. A year ago, it hurt too much to even be near a boy like James. But now, he could go for a walk with him and not feel overwhelmed with pain. Now, when James stretched out his small hand, Henry could reach out and hold it.

  “I think we should head back,” he said. “Your mom might be waiting for us.”

  “Do we have to?”

  “I’m afraid so, sport.”

  “Are you going to go away after that?”

  The question, so innocently invasive, stopped Henry cold. James halted, too, standing in an ankle-high pile of leaves.

  “I have to,” Henry said. “I don’t live here anymore.”

  “Can we come visit you?”

  “Maybe. But it’s pretty far away.”

  “How far?”

  “Really far,” Henry said. “On the other side of the world.”

  “I’ll miss you.” James dropped Henry’s hand and moved in for an impulsive hug. He tried to wrap his short, little-boy arms around Henry’s waist, only making it halfway. Just like his mother’s awkward embrace that morning.

  “What’s that for?” Henry asked.

  “To thank you.”

  “For the candy?”

  James shook his head. “For being my hero.”

  Before leaving the hospital, Kat swung by the ICU to check on Nick. Creeping into his room, she saw that Lucy Meade had returned from Harrisburg. She sat by Nick’s bed, balancing a portable CD player on her lap. A Beatles song lightly trickled out of it. “Blackbird.” An oldie but a goodie.

  “How’s he doing?”

  “Still unresponsive,” Lucy said. “I was hoping the music might cause a reaction.”

  Although only a few hours had passed since Kat last saw her, Lucy looked like a completely different person. The vivacious young woman who had impressed her with her wit and knowledge was gone. In her place was a person burdened by worry.

  “I don’t understand why he was even here,” she said. “He wanted to come along, but I told him he couldn’t. It’s stupid, but I thought you and I would actually be able to bond without him around.”

  “He came because he wanted to help,” Kat replied. “He hides it well, but it kills him that he’s no longer a cop. So he tries to live vicariously through those of us who still are.”

  “That’s what drew me to him.” Lucy reached for one of his hands, caressing it lightly. “He was so intense, it was almost scary. Yet there was a gentleness there, too, just below the surface. Like there was a reason he needed to seek justice so badly.”

  Kat knew what that reason was. She supposed Lucy did, too. Nick Donnelly’s entire life was defined by his sister’s murder when he was ten. And although her killer had gone unpunished, Nick was hell-bent on making sure no other criminals would get a free pass. It’s what led him to dig up cases that were four decades old or show up uninvited to current crime scenes. He wanted justice. For everyone.

  Both of them gazed down at Nick’s ghostly pale face, trying to collectively will him back to consciousness. Although his body twitched slightly, Kat knew it was just a muscle spasm. His eyes remained closed. His arms stayed limp. The menagerie of machines he was hooked up to continued their dull and steady beats.

  “I’m not sure what to do here.” Lucy had started to cry, the tears streaking her cheeks. “Part of me wants to just cut and run, you know? To tell him good-bye and not ever come back. But another part of me needs to stay. Because I’m pretty sure I love him, Kat. And now I don’t know what to do about it.”

  The CD player changed songs. “Yesterday.” Another goodie, but sad, too. As it played, Lucy’s quiet sobs drifted in and out of the music.

  “He’ll pull through this,” Kat said. “And when he does, you’ll be able to tell him how you feel. I suspect he’ll be pleased to hear it.”

  Lucy wiped her eyes, ashamed to be so emotional in front of someone who was practically a stranger. “What if he doesn’t? I don’t know what I’ll do without him.”

  Kat had said the exact same thing three hours earlier, when she needed comforting. Now the situation had changed. Now she was forced to be the comforter. Putting an arm around Lucy’s shoulders, she said, “We can’t think like that. We need to focus on Nick and helping him get better any way we know how. The music, for example. It helps. I know it does.”

  A bit of hope peeked through Lucy’s voice. “You think so? At first, I wasn’t going to do it. I thought it might be too stupid.”

  “It’s not stupid at all,” Kat said. “And it’s the Beatles. They’re Nick’s favorite.”

  “I know.”

  The song on the CD player changed again. This time it was “In My Life,” Kat’s personal favorite, although it made her cry every time she heard it. This time, for Lucy’s sake, she held back the tears.

  “I need to get back to work,” she said.

  “Is there any progress in the investigation?”

  “We have a motive,” Kat said. “And a suspect. Now all we need to do is find him.”

  Lucy’s face, once so soft with grief and fear, suddenly hardened.

  “You will.” She looked again at Nick, tears filling her eyes once more. “And when you do, don’t go easy on him.”

  Kat was quiet on the drive back from the hospital. Checking in on Nick had left her too sad to talk much; plus, she was absolutely spent from the day’s events. Henry, too, stayed silent, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. The only sound in the car came from the backseat, where James had emptied his pack of licorice and was now crumpling the wrapper.

  “Where are we going?” he asked.

  “To the police station. Lou has to watch you some more.”

  “More? Can’t we go home?”

  James’s voice, Kat noticed, was this close to becoming a whine. He didn’t like spending so much time in the care of a babysitter, even one as familiar as Lou van Sickle. It made him irritable and restless, as evidenced by the way he slid around in the backseat.

  Kat tried to tamp down the guilt that always flared when James felt neglected. She was under a lot of pressure at the moment. Until tomorrow, she was in charge of not just Carl and Lou but of a whole score of state troopers. James, of course, couldn’t grasp that.


  “I told you,” she said. “I have to work extra hard today.”

  James, staring anxiously out the window, repeated what she had told him earlier. “Because there’s a bad man out there.”

  “That’s right. A very bad man.”

  “But what about trick-or-treating?”

  That was a very good question, and one Kat hadn’t thought of. It was Halloween, after all. There’d be hundreds of kids roaming the sidewalks in an hour or so, not to mention packing a gymnasium by eight that night. And with an arsonist still at large, that was too much of a public safety risk for Kat to take.

  “I think that’ll have to wait a day,” she told James as she reached for the patrol car’s radio.

  “What do you mean?”

  Kat dodged the question as she spoke into the radio. “Lou? You there?”

  Lou van Sickle’s voice crackled back. “Affirmative.”

  “I need a big favor.”

  “In addition to the one I just finished?”

  “Yes. And this one’s even bigger.”

  The radio’s static couldn’t hide the disgruntled sigh that followed. “You know, Al still wants to hit the blackjack tables later.”

  “This will only take a minute,” Kat said. “I just need to get the word out that trick-or-treating has been canceled.”

  She eyed the rearview mirror, noticing the pale look of dread spreading over James’s face. Again, she felt like the worst mother in the world. She had just called off trick-or-treating, which to a kid was tantamount to shooting Santa Claus.

  “Are you serious?” Lou asked.

  “Deadly.”

  “What about the Halloween party?”

  “I don’t know,” Kat said. “Maybe it will be okay if we get enough adults to chaperone and put some state troopers on patrol outside the rec center.”