It smelled of a setup because it was a setup.
Katie turned and looked at Lee. “What did you burn that was yellow? It's important. Tell me the truth.”
He sighed. “It was my pencil case,” he said.
“That was pretty stupid.” She leaned forward and said to the driver, “Steady Eddie, would you do a U-turn please? There's something important we forgot to get from the ranch.”
Eddie made an affirmative clicking sound with his mouth and slowed the vehicle, pulling over to the right to make the U-turn.
Katie looked over at Lee, who was shaking his head in disbelief. “Why? I thought we wanted to get away from there.”
“We need to get a confession. Lee, if we don't go back there, it's going to blow back on both of us.”
“The cops aren't going to think you killed Clive,” he said. “You're just a girl.”
“But you suspected me,” Katie said.
He frowned. “That was different.”
“How?”
He didn't have an answer.
“I'm going back,” she said with finality. “If you're too scared, you don't have to come inside with me.”
Lee turned to the dark window, jaw clenched.
Eddie turned the vehicle around, and now they were headed back to Spirit Ranch.
After a minute, Lee looked at Katie and asked, “Why aren't you scared?”
“Because I know what happened on the mountain.”
Chapter 29
Katie walked up to the house by herself, yet she wasn't alone.
The medication she'd been taking the last few weeks blocked her visions of Darlene's spirit, but she'd missed a pill or two due to the recent chaos, and now Darlene was starting to leak through from the other side. Katie couldn't see the girl, but she felt her presence, the way she could wake up and know, without even looking across the room, whether her roommate was there or not.
Darlene was here. Right beside her.
Katie glanced back over her shoulder at the taxi, where Lee sat waiting in the back seat. He faced straight ahead, stubbornly refusing to even look at her.
The driver, Eddie, gave her a cheery wave. As far as he knew, Katie was running back inside to get a cell phone charger. She held up her hand, indicating that she'd be only five minutes.
“Five minutes should be good,” she muttered to herself as she approached the wooden door. “I'll just get a killer's confession and then be on my way.”
She entered the house.
The social room was empty.
The house was quiet, except for the sound of water running somewhere. It sounded like the kitchen.
Without announcing her presence, Katie moved silently down the hall and into the kitchen.
Holly stood at the kitchen sink, her back to the entrance. Her dark-blond hair was still up in its neat, tidy bun. Her clothes were crisp and clean. The housekeeper had transformed in the past few days, from shabby to almost chic.
Katie entered the kitchen silently and announced her presence with a soft “hello.”
Holly made a startled gasp as she whipped around. “Ghost!” She clutched the cross on her neck and started praying.
“That's right,” Katie said. “The ghost is here.”
Holly continued praying frantically, her chest heaving.
“Darlene Silva is here with us,” Katie said. “Her spirit is with me. I brought her to Spirit Ranch for a reason.”
Holly slowly lowered her hand. “You're trying to trick me.”
They were alone in the kitchen. Katie wished for a moment that Lee had been brave enough to come with her. She could use better backup than a ghost.
Holly whispered, “What do you want?”
“Answers.”
“Who are you? Really?” Holly's eyes kept flitting to a space to the side of Katie. Her crooked forehead was pale as snow, the scar practically glowing pink.
Katie felt a coolness, a presence, but she couldn't see the ghost. She had to trust that it was there, trust that Holly could see Darlene.
“Holly, when we arrived here, you told Tilda there was only one student coming to the retreat. Who told you that?”
“I-I-I don't know,” Holly stammered.
“You said it was a he. Was it Clive, or Marco?”
“Marco?” The housekeeper's hands fluttered like trapped birds. “No. No. It was Clive.”
“And who went for that moonlight walk with Clive on Monday night? Was it you, Holly?”
The housekeeper's hands suddenly stopped fluttering, and she became very still. “I don't know,” she replied smoothly.
“You're protecting someone,” Katie said.
“No!”
“You saw something.”
“No. I don't know. I don't remember.”
“You put Clive's yellow jacket in my suitcase.”
“That wasn't me,” she said, her gaze darting between Katie and the specter at her side. “It must have been the ghost.”
Katie nearly smiled. “You don't seem surprised to hear about the jacket in my suitcase, Holly.” She reached behind herself and grabbed the tightly folded package she'd tucked into her waistband. She pulled out the yellow coat.
“No,” Holly gasped.
“You should have burned it, if you'd wanted to get rid of it. You thought you were clever, putting it inside the lining of my case, but it's bulky. I had my bag packed to full capacity on my way here, so when I tried to leave and couldn't get everything back in, I knew.”
“Okay. It was me,” Holly said. “I followed Clive when he went on his walk. I was worried about him. Then he took off the jacket and hung it on a tree before he jumped. I was cold, so I put it on and came back.” She held up both of her hands. “That's what happened. I swear.”
“What was Clive doing up there? Why did he take off his jacket?”
“I don't know.”
“Was he exercising?” Katie clenched her fists. She was close. So close. But something was missing. Something wasn't right.
Someone touched Katie on the shoulder. She jumped and turned. It was Tilda. The red-haired dynamo was swaying on her feet as though drunk, her eyes half-lidded.
“Shhhhtop it,” Tilda slurred. “Don't go after Holly. She didn't do anything.”
Katie shook the yellow jacket. “But she put Clive's jacket in my bag. She's guilty of something.”
Tilda lurched into the kitchen, weaving drunkenly, went to Holly's side, and wrapped her arm around the woman's shoulders. “Holly, don't shhhhhhay anything. Hush. Nobody needs to know.” She seemed to be having trouble keeping her eyes open. “Keep your lipsssssssh shhhhut.” Her head lolled back, and she laughed hollowly. “Katie, damn it, you gave me your lissssssshp. It's contagioussss.”
Holly grunted to hold her friend and boss upright. She said to the space next to Katie, “You two girls need to leave.”
Tilda let out a girlish giggle. “Two girls? Holly, who are you talking to?”
“Don't you see the ghost that Darlene brought?” Holly was breathing heavily, struggling to hold Tilda upright. “Don't you see her right now? Open your eyes.”
Tilda waved one rubbery hand. “I don't shhhhheee anything,” she slurred. She straightened up, eyes widening. “My boy! Marco!”
Katie turned to see Marco at the door. His red hair was wet, and he'd changed clothes. He came into the kitchen and rushed to his mother's side.
Marco glared at Holly and demanded, “What did you do? What have you done to my mother?”
“She's drunk,” Holly said.
“On what?” Marco guided his mother over to a wooden stool and guided her into a sitting position. “What is she drunk on? We finished the whiskey, and when I got some beer last night, I locked up the wine cellar along with every drop of booze in the place.”
It was a good question. If Tilda hadn't been drinking, it meant she'd smoked or ingested something. And since the detective confiscated Marco's stash and Lee was proudly unmedicated, that left one source.
Katie fell to her knees and opened her suitcase fully. She spread her personal effects across the floor, searching for her medication.
She found her bottle of prescription anti-psychotic medication. It was light. It was completely empty.
She held up the empty container. “Someone poisoned Tilda,” she said. “Who?”
Tilda began to laugh maniacally.
“I know who,” she said. “It was the same person who killed Clive Kingfisher.”
Chapter 30
THREE MONTHS AGO
SEPTEMBER 28TH
Clive Kingfisher was only now realizing the terrible situation he'd been trapped in.
And it had all happened because he'd been lonely. Why was a man of his remarkable ability and wit ever lonely? It wasn't right.
His wife didn't care. Her life revolved around her charities and her foundations and anything but their marriage. Perhaps things would have been different if they'd managed to have children. But it wasn't in the cards for them. She wanted to adopt—one of those orphans from some third-world country—but he wouldn't have it. He already had Marco, the stepson he never wanted.
He kept his eyes on the road ahead and drove away from town. There was a truck stop diner he would take her to. The girl wanted to eat at one of the quaint restaurants in town, but he couldn't risk being seen.
The irony of the situation nearly made him laugh. His wife refused to love him just because he hadn't given her a baby, and now there was someone else, pregnant with his child, asking him to love her.
And perhaps he could have loved her, could have left his wife for her, if things had been different, if the timing had been better.
Darlene Silva could have been more understanding. Why did she have to show up unannounced the way she did, thrusting the filthy stick in his face? It still stunk of urine. She was pregnant, she said. With his offspring.
The accident hadn't happened during her stay at Spirit Ranch the previous year. She'd be holding an actual baby in her arms now rather than talking about this future baby that was currently the size of a gerbil.
No, his mistake had happened this summer, when he'd “bumped into” Darlene at an arts festival in Dallas. It hadn't been much of a coincidence, though. Darlene was one of those exhibitionist types who posted all her daily thoughts and plans online. Clive had seen that she would be at the festival in July, and he'd arranged to “just happen to be” there as well.
Things went better than he'd dreamed. She'd been upset over the immature fumblings of some boy her age, and he'd been there as her mature adviser. He rescued her from the kids she was traveling with and let her stay in his five-star hotel room. She'd shown him gratitude for his wisdom and advice. He'd gotten careless. He'd let down his guard and believed her when she said she “knew her cycle.” After all those years of failure, pregnancy seemed like some mythical thing that only happened to other people.
But it had happened to him. And now it would be his undoing.
Darlene wanted money. She wouldn't come out and admit it, but he could tell when a person wanted money.
She'd showed up at Spirit Ranch unannounced, knocking on the door to the guest cottage. He rushed her inside the house and demanded to know who had seen her, who knew she was there.
Nobody, she swore. She knew he was married, so she'd been discreet. He could trust her. She looked up at him with big, doe eyes.
“Don't cry,” he said. “What do you want from me?”
She looked around the room and mumbled something about having been on the bus all night and not having eaten.
“Lunch,” he said. “We'll have lunch and we'll talk this whole thing through from start to finish.”
She started to walk toward the kitchen. He grabbed her arm. “Not here,” he said.
She jerked her arm away and rubbed her bicep, her eyes accusatory, even though he'd barely touched her.
“I don't have much for food,” he said in a more soothing tone. “Let's pop out for a bite. Somewhere cheerful.”
She agreed.
Now they were in a restaurant outside of town. He'd always assumed it was a dump from the exterior, but it was bigger and more appealing inside than he expected. After they found a seat in a corner booth, he looked around uneasily. It was a small place. He couldn't see anyone he knew well, but it was only a matter of time before a friend of his wife's saw him there, sharing a meal with a pretty young woman.
He wasn't hungry, so he drank a milkshake and watched her eat. She put away a cheeseburger and a full order of fries. She even ate the vegetable garnish at the edge of the plate. Eating for two, he thought darkly.
They didn't discuss money over the meal. After he'd paid the bill, he suggested they go for a walk.
“Not a hike,” Darlene said. “These shoes aren't made for hiking.”
He looked under the table at her shoes. They were sneakers. They were fine, just fine for hiking. She was one of those difficult girls who had to make a fuss about everything.
They left the diner and got back into his vehicle.
“I brought you something,” she said.
You sure did, he thought. You brought me my own self-destruction.
After all those years of chasing the pretty young girls who came to the ranch, he'd finally caught one. He felt like a domesticated dog who finally caught a rabbit and didn't know what to do with it. Now she had him. His wife was going to divorce him for sure. This would be the final straw. And, thanks to the prenuptial agreement, she would take everything. And just to be the bitter shrew she was, she would reveal to Tilda that Clive had been embezzling from the artist for years. Fraud. He might even see the inside of a jail cell. They did imprison people for embezzlement, didn't they? He didn't know. He hadn't thought to consult a lawyer a decade earlier, when he'd begun to siphon cash his way.
“Don't you want to see your present?” The girl was reaching into her backpack, pulling out the wrapped gift.
“I'm driving,” he said gruffly.
She made a pouting sound, about to have a tantrum. She was such a child. She didn't want a partner. She wanted a father. Or cash.
“I do want to see it,” he said. “But I'm driving. Open it for me?”
She sighed, but she opened the gift for him. It was a novelty, a gag gift. A stuffed hare with deer horns.
“It's your jackalope,” she said. “Remember the first day I was at the ranch last November? You told me jackalopes were native to New Mexico, and I actually believed you.” She laughed at herself. “I can't believe how gullible I was.”
“What a perfect gift,” he said bitterly. A symbol of stupidity.
“We can name the baby Jack,” she said, stroking the soft fur of the taxidermied hare. “Or Jacqueline, if it's a girl.”
They passed a sign for Spirit Ranch.
Darlene noticed they were driving toward the ranch. She was confused. “Clive, if you don't want anyone to know I'm here, why are we going to Spirit Ranch?”
He turned off the road. “We're going for that walk,” he said.
She let out an uncomfortable laugh. “You're not going to take me out to the wilderness and leave me there, are you?”
He chuckled. “Of course not. You're going to have a baby. Our baby. You can't raise him up there on the red rocks.”
She sucked in air. “Right.” She forced a laugh, and he knew the truth. She didn't want him. She would pretend she wanted him, but only to get her hands on his money. Boy, was she in for a surprise.
He parked at the end of the road, and they started walking. They passed a grouping of tents. Darlene wanted to stop and ask the people what all the filming equipment was for, but Clive rushed her along.
“What's the hurry?” Now she was pouting. “I'm getting a blister on my foot.”
“If you can't handle a blister, what's childbirth going to be like?”
She shot him a dirty look and skipped to catch up with him.
After another ten minutes, she whined, “Is
it much further?”
“Don't worry,” he said. “Soon it will all be over.”
And soon it was all over.
The next part felt like a dream. Clive was there, but he was also off in the distance, watching.
His hands moved on their own, closing around her throat. She struggled and fought him, but her arms weren't quite as long as his. Her fingertips grazed his neck but couldn't latch on. And then she was still. She was quiet.
“Don't worry about childbirth,” he said to her lifeless body. “You won't have to go through with it. You can remain a child forever.” He used his fingers to close her eyelids.
He hauled her away from the trail and used his hands to dig a shallow grave, which he covered with stones. If he left her for long, the local scavengers would pick her bones and the sun would bleach them white.
He got in his vehicle and drove away, feeling like he was filled with helium. He came back later that night, with a shovel, and he buried her by moonlight.
Then he went home to his wife, who was suspicious as always, and he went to bed.
The next morning, the sun rose as usual. He carried on.
He waited for someone to come, for someone to ask about Darlene, but nobody did.
Two months passed.
THREE DAYS AGO
Clive Kingfisher had almost forgotten about his act of desperation, almost been able to move on. He'd even started trying to fix the finances for the art business.
Then that girl Katie, the one who looked so much like Darlene, had arrived.
On Sunday night, he'd started seeing things. There was a ghost who appeared after the sun set, standing in corners, watching him.
And there was the look in Tilda's eyes. She knew. How could she know? The ghost must have been visiting her, telling her everything. He took her to bed, but he couldn't get a confession. As they slept together in his bed, he dreamed of Darlene walking up the trail, leading a group of people to her shallow grave. She'd come here for justice, as she saw it. She'd come for retribution, using the roommate, Katie.
On Monday, Clive realized he had to check on the body again, just to be careful. The burial site was so close to the trail, so easy to find. Had he dug the hole deep enough to discourage the local coyotes?
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