“Gabriel met Martha first, when they were in their early teens, maybe even younger, at some gathering or other. I don’t recall. Anyway, they sort of saw eye-to-eye right off the bat. After that, they’d get together every time she was in these parts. That went on for several years. He’d give her some of his poems and she’d turn them into songs. She sang them all the time, even told me how taken she was with this boy poet.”
“She sang them?”
“Martha had a beautiful voice. That’s probably how Robert fell in love with her.”
Karla frowned, confused. “Robert?”
“Don’t get your panties in a wad. It’s simple really. Robert heard Martha singing in some church choir when she was around seventeen or eighteen. Anyway, he jumped the gun and asked for her hand in marriage.”
“You mean he asked before Gabriel did?”
“Jenny was expected to marry first on account she was the eldest.”
“You mean to tell me that they forced him to marry the older sister?”
“Not forced, no. By the time any marrying talk was going on, Robert had his mind set on Martha, and Gabriel was off for months in San Francisco working on this poem business. Never wrote or nothing. Martha took that as a sign he wasn’t interested in her, and Robert, him being the first-born and heir to the business, jumped to the head of the line. So, when Gabriel finally came back, he married Jenny. It all worked out, mind you.”
“But they were twins. They were born at the same time.”
“Sure, twins all right, but Robert came first and Gabriel right after. So Robert took priority in everyone’s eyes.”
“Gabriel lost out because he was born second?”
“Lost out?” Mary Ellen frowned. “Oh, you mean the money.”
Karla nodded.
“No, he didn’t lose out at all. He got his share. Both boys inherited huge chunks of money. Anyhow, little Robert—Bobby Junior they called him—liked the business and Gabriel didn’t. He didn’t care for it at all. He had his writing thing.”
“They all lived here?”
“No, silly, they couldn’t all fit in here.” Mary Ellen sipped loudly and spit as she chuckled. “It’s gone cold.” She wiped her mouth with the napkin, took her bowl to the kitchen, and washed it. She dried her hands, filled a kettle with water, and set it on the stove to boil. “I’m about to have a tea. Would you like some?”
Karla joined her by the stove. “Yes, that would be lovely.”
“C’mon, let’s sit over here while this old kettle warms up. I’m too old to stand.” She wobbled over to her rocking chair and plopped down.
Karla sat in the armchair across from her. “Tell me more about this house. And Jenny’s death.”
“You had to bring that up, didn’t you?” She winced and then shrugged. “All right, no real reason not to tell you, I suppose. Like I said, my sister was real sick and I had no choice but to go take care of her. So, Martha asked Jenny to watch the boys while she traveled to New York with Robert. Jenny hated the big house, so she went and asked them to bring them boys here.”
“Why not her house? Where did she live? Where did they all live?”
“Robert senior had moved to Napa, so Robert junior got the lake house when he married Martha. Gabriel was city driven, but eventually changed his mind and bought a big house near his brother’s. Jenny didn’t go for the life in San Francisco. They both favored being near their siblings, anyhow.”
“So why not have the boys stay at her place?”
“Gabriel was away on one of his trips to San Francisco, and their house was too big for her to keep track of two rambunctious boys. With no nanny, she needed to care for the boys on her own and this house was more manageable.” She closed her eyes.
Unwilling to intrude on her memories, Karla waited in silence.
The old woman finally opened her eyes and wiped away some tears. “Look at me getting all sentimental. Where was I?”
“You mentioned her house and her need to care for the twins here.”
“Yeah, the help at her big place weren’t trained to deal with the twins. They were little, and Jenny thought they’d be more at ease in the small cabin they were familiar with and…” She stopped and stared into the fireplace.
The flickering light of the flames danced across the old woman’s pained face.
“Jenny died here,” she whispered at last, “while her sister was gone.” Tears glistened in her eyes.
Karla remained silent.
“The little boys, they were only four, spent days up here, alone with Jenny’s corpse.” Mary Ellen pointed to the bathroom. “Little Daryl, he was in there when they found him.”
Karla shifted her gaze in the direction of the bathroom, and shivered in spite of the warm fire. She rubbed her arms to warm them up. Mary Ellen rose slowly and made her way toward the fireplace. She tossed on another log and stood motionless, staring into the flames.
Karla joined her and placed her arm around the woman’s shoulders. Mary Ellen patted her hand. “Thank you, dearie. It’s a sad, sad story. Horrible, really. Daryl was locked in here with Jenny’s body and his brother Andrew was locked outside, two, maybe three days. No one was certain. Daryl couldn’t open the door.” She pointed to the door. “The bolt was too hard and too high, bless his little heart.”
“How did Andrew get out?”
She shrugged. “That remains a mystery. He probably snuck out somehow when Jenny went to take her bath. He loved being outdoors. Daryl didn’t. A papa’s boy through and through.” She sighed. “Daryl always preferred to be indoors and play at pretending he was his dad. No wonder he became so successful.”
“So Jenny was here all alone with the boys?”
“Yep.”
“Why didn’t Jenny go to San Francisco with Gabriel?”
Mary Ellen shook her head. “They’d decided to take some time apart.”
“Oh,” she paused. “Did their aunt…kill herself?”
Mary Ellen spun angrily toward Karla and, with remarkable speed, reached the bathroom and flung the door open. “She most certainly did not! She’d been taking a bath and was getting out when she slipped and slammed her head against the side of the tub. They found her naked body holding the towel she’d reached for. Sweet Daryl had nestled himself into her cold arms.”
She turned and walked toward the back of the cabin. “And little Andrew was sitting out there, shivering and staring through the window, pleading for his brother to open the door, watching him happy and safe in his aunt’s arms.” She turned to Karla with a piercing stare and a stern tone. “Jennifer was the liveliest woman I ever knew. No, young lady, Jenny loved everything, and most of all she loved living.” She paused when her voice cracked. “Like her sister Martha, she was full of life.” Mary Ellen tried in vain to hold back the tears welling up in her eyes.
The kettle whistled and Karla headed to the stove to turn off the burner.
14
The Team
“Sarah.” James shook her shoulder. “We’re here.”
Sarah blinked and glanced around. “I did it again, didn’t I?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“How long did I detach?”
“Not too long. Make any meaningful progress?”
“Yes. But I need to figure out how to relate it to you.”
“Conrad called back. Said he’s on his way. Said he can’t have you gallivanting—his word—around the countryside with a handsome old man—my words.” He chuckled, amused at his own joke, but Sarah remained serious.
“What do you mean, he’s on his way?”
“He’s taking a flight to Eureka and driving here. He’ll be here tomorrow mid day.”
“When did he call?”
“He returned my call when you were otherwise engaged.”
“Boy, I didn’t even
hear the phone.”
“Nope.”
“A flight to Eureka—”
“Well, technically it lands in Arcata, a few miles north of Eureka.”
“But those flights are so expensive.”
“What can I tell you? That’s what he said. He didn’t sound open to suggestions to the contrary.”
“I can imagine.”
“He mentioned you had seen me in a dream. That I bumped into the woman you’re supposed to help.”
“Yes, I did. On a street called Mc—”
Martha screamed.
“Oh, boy! I heard that one,” James said. No mention of names, not even street names.”
“I doubt that’s the real name of the street, anyway.”
“But if I appeared in the narrative, it may indicate she wants us together.”
“That’s my thinking.”
He smiled and squeezed her arm. “Ready to chat with the team?”
Sarah shrugged. “Let’s give it a go.”
They left the car and walked into the sheriff’s station. Sarah followed James through the main office and into a meeting room.
A group of men and women, some in uniform, some in shirts and jeans, and some in suits, sat around a large, oval table. James wasted no time. “Folks, it’s my pleasure to introduce you to Sarah Thompson. As I mentioned she is ten times more gifted than I am and she has some interesting facts to share with you.”
“Good afternoon,” Sarah said as she sat on the chair that James had pulled out for her.
Each of them introduced themselves in turn. The team included local officers—some on duty and some off—from the county’s sheriff’s department, an FBI agent and a profiler, an attorney, and James.
“I’ll brief you on what I’ve learned in a minute,” said James. “But first I must warn you that the being, or ghost, as you like to call them, that’s communicating with Sarah, is not sharing freely. This particular being is extremely private, and protests very loudly when information is provided that he or she doesn’t permit.”
“How does the protest manifest itself?” asked the attorney.
“My brief experience with it was by a loud shriek. Sarah can hear it. On two occasions, I heard it as well. Whether you will or not, I’m not sure.”
“So,” Sarah interjected, “if I stop myself as I’m informing you of what I’ve learned, please appreciate that I’m attempting to respect the wishes of the person who is communicating with me. Should I fail to do that, the person will provide no more information.”
“How does it communicate with you?” queried the Chief.
“It’s narrating a story in the form of a novel.”
“A story?” he questioned.
“Like a book?” the profiler wondered.
“In bits and pieces, disjointed chapters, if you will. All with fake names and locations. And even though these locations and names are fabricated, I’m not allowed to share those with you. So no names or places at all.”
“In addition,” James interrupted, “this spirit is urging Sarah to help a woman. This woman could be the next victim.”
Every man in the room stirred and glanced at each other with obvious discomfort.
“The woman I’m expected to help is not a… working—” she hesitated.
“You mean a prostitute,” an officer said.
“She’s a…” Sarah paused to sense if Martha would allow her to describe Karla. Feeling no resistance she went on, “…a reporter for an art magazine. According to the story I’m getting, she comes from a family with significant wealth, is well-educated, beautiful, and successful.” Sarah inhaled deeply, relieved that she’d been able to describe that much.
“Now,” James said, “I’ll tell you what I’ve learned so far that coincides with our findings.”
As James spoke, Sarah took out the book and opened it, hoping it would continue the story and give her more information. Instead, it simply offered a poem.
She read the poem in case it offered a clue.
SHE SAID
She said, “You’re clever.”
I said, “Oh?”
“You know things
You don’t know you know.”
Slowly
I put down
My empty glass of wine,
Slowly
I did raise my gaze,
Until her eyes met mine.
“Can’t you see?” said she.
“No, I can’t,” said me.
“Things are not just things for you,
For you they’re special things.”
I tried to look intelligent,
Pretend I understood,
I tried to look like I could find
In all things
Something good.
I wanted to believe the words
This maiden spoke to me.
But deep inside
I think I knew
It really couldn’t be.
“You’re really very…”
The waiter came
To bring the check
So I never knew the rest.
But she almost persuaded me
I really was the best.
“Sarah?” James gently placed his hand on hers.
She looked up from the book. “I’m sorry—I opened the book in the hope that it would offer more information.”
“You have the actual book with you?” the chief asked.
“Yes.”
“Why don’t you simply look at the last chapter and read the ending?” asked the FBI man with a hint of sarcasm.
“The story isn’t in the book,” she answered patiently. “This is a book of poems.”
Skepticism permeated the room as the group sniggered, grunted, or sighed.
“The entity or ghost is attached to the book,” explained James. “It uses it to communicate with Sarah.”
They shook their heads.
“Sounds odd, I realize,” James added, “but in the worlds we psychics travel in, it’s not uncommon. Sarah, did you find out anything new?”
Sarah shook her head with obvious disappointment. “No.”
“May I look at the book?” The FBI agent reached out to take it.
“No!” James held his hand. “Please Steven, don’t touch it.”
Steven withdrew his hand. “Why the hell not?”
“The book,” James shrugged, “doesn’t wish to be shared.”
Sarah, leave. Leave now!
Sarah stood up. “I’m sorry gentlemen, but I must go.”
James looked into Sarah’s eyes. She nodded.
James stood up. “It appears that our ghost is not comfortable with Sarah being here.”
The FBI agent said, “I’m sorry if I—”
“Steven,” James interjected, “trust me, it’s not your doing. These types of interactions have a flavor of their own, and in this case the spirit prefers to deal only with Sarah.”
The chief rose to protest, “But—”
“Sheriff, you have to trust me,” James interrupted. “I’ll act as liaison between Sarah and the team and keep you posted on any new developments. The group has enough to do in following up on the details Sarah has already provided, which I’ve shared with you.”
Without waiting for a response, James took Sarah’s elbow and escorted her out of the room, across the office, and out to the parking lot. When they reached his car, he opened the passenger side door for Sarah, helped her in, and shut her door. He got into the driver’s seat, and locked the car.
“Good thing we’re locked in. No entities allowed!” Sarah chuckled.
“Why in the world did I do that?” He laughed, as he placed his hands on the steering wheel. “I have this irrepressible urge to protect you.”
&n
bsp; “Well, I thank you for that, and the quick exit. Did you hear the voice?”
“No, not a thing. I knew by the look in your eyes that I needed to whisk you away. What did it say?”
“To get out of there. I assume it didn’t approve of me being near the team. Too much risk of exposure.”
James started the car and exited the parking lot. “What if we take a walk down by the lake and hopefully you can tell me more. You’ve detached a couple of times and I’m sure there’s more to share.”
“I’d like that. I could use some fresh air.”
“Have you figured out how to give me more details?”
“No, there’s no way for me to be sure what’s allowed and what’s not. I’ll have to go for it. Shall we give it a try?
“Sure.”
“The person I’m supposed to protect is involved with a set of…” she paused expecting a screech, but when nothing happened she finished, “…twins.”
“Males?”
“Yes. Identical.”
“Connected to the murders?”
“Maybe.”
“That’s quite vague.”
“I’m unsure. Let’s say probably.”
“At least there’s been no opposition to this bit of information.”
“As for the rest, I’m afraid that the locations will be hard to describe. Plus I can’t use the names, fake or not. I can try to describe the look of things, but—”
“It won’t help anyway if you’re being steered falsely.”
“But you might recognize them if there are similar locations around here that you’re familiar with.”
“It could be, but,” he shrugged, unconvinced, “it’s a bit far-fetched.”
“Yeah, you’re right. But it’s all I’ve got.”
They drove on in silence.
Pursuit
Karla left her motel room, shut the door, and climbed into her car. She exited the parking area and headed toward Highway 20 to follow the road that circled the lake. The fog had lifted, allowing the sun to shine through the trees and reflect off the tranquil waters of the lake.
Karla turned onto a small side road that appeared to snake down to the water. She arrived at a driveway that resembled the entrance to a southern plantation-style home. Two brick posts anchored ornate iron gates with an escutcheon in the center that bore the letters RM.
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