Deadly Harvest (15 page)

“No man ever should,” Jeremy told him.

Joe studied him, then nodded. “Harold won't wear a mask. Says he can smell cyanide and other stuff. He doesn't mind what he does—he just minds when he can't get an answer. We're all going to die, he says. We just deserve to die as human beings. Well, most of us do, anyway.” He paused and scratched his chin, then asked, “So, you have any ideas?”

“You know this place better than I do.”

“And you know your friend Brad better than I do,” Joe countered.

“You can't really believe that Brad did anything to Mary,” Jeremy said.

Joe smiled grimly. “That's the difference between us. I
can
believe it. I'm not the guy's friend.”

Jeremy shook his head. “He's convinced that the fortune-teller they went to that afternoon, that Damien guy nobody can find, is guilty. It's as good a theory as any other at this point. Brad says he saw cornfields in the guy's crystal ball. He says he felt threatened, like the guy was trying to tell him that he was all-powerful, that he could kill people, and that it all had something to do with the cornfields.”

Joe studied him again. “What do you think?”

“I think the guy could be guilty. I think he needs to be found, at the very least.”

“Do you think he really showed Brad the cornfields in a crystal ball?”

Jeremy studied Brentwood, wondering if the man was trying to trick him in some way.

“I'm sure there are all kinds of tricks someone could play to make someone else think they're seeing something specific in a crystal ball, sure.”

Brentwood looked away and shook his head. “Johnstone must be scared to death we're going to find his wife in the same…position.”

“Rowenna told him she's convinced that Mary is all right. He seems to believe her.”

“And you don't?” Joe asked.

Jeremy lifted his hands. “How can she know?” he asked.

Joe shrugged. “I don't know. But the thing about Rowenna is, somehow or other she generally
does
know. Anyway, tell your buddy to stick around. Not to leave town, anything like that. Not that he probably needs to be told. He's certainly determined not to go anywhere until he finds his wife.”

“He loves her.”

Brentwood looked skeptical. “That's not what the parents think.” He shook his head. “I'm going to have to call them when I get back to the office before they show up on my doorstep again. Having the parents around seldom helps.”

“I can call if you want. I know them,” Jeremy offered.

Joe looked up at the sky. It was pewter, the rays of the sun streaking through the occasional breaks in the clouds. “Thanks, but I'd better handle it. They seem to think your friend is a no-good cheating bastard.”

“They'd had some problems.”

“So I've heard.”

“They'd solved them. That's why they were here, taking a vacation to put things back together.”

“There's one sure way to fix a problem marriage—kill your partner,” Joe said.

Jeremy felt himself springing to Brad's defense, but he forced himself to speak calmly and rationally. “A husband out to rid himself of his wife doesn't usually go out and find another woman to butcher first.”

“Why not? Make it look like a serial killing,” Joe suggested.

“The M.E. said she's been dead about a week,” Jeremy pointed out.

“I figure she died a couple of days before Mary Johnstone disappeared,” Joe said.

“And Brad wasn't even in the area before that day,” Jeremy argued.

“I can see where the timing gives him the better side of doubt,” Joe agreed.

“You're looking for someone local, someone who knows the roads and the fields, even the people, around here. You have no idea who your Jane Doe might be, but I'm willing to bet she wasn't local, and Mary would have been a stranger, too. You have an incredibly clever, organized killer on your hands.”

“A psycho,” Joe muttered.

“A sociopath,” Jeremy corrected him. “A smart one. Granted, the cornfield was contaminated as a crime scene because of the way the body was discovered, but this guy knew what he was doing. He took that body out there at a time when the cornstalks were high and he knew it was unlikely anyone was going to find her until she had begun to decompose and would be a lot harder to identify.”

“You think I'm looking for psychopathic farmer?” Joe asked, clearly only half-serious.

“Maybe.”

As they talked, Jeremy glanced across the street at the village green, across the busy street from where they stood.

An older couple, hand in hand, came walking along, smiling at one another in a way that tugged at his heart. Hell, they might have just met in a bar last night, for all he knew. But the way they looked at one another, he would have bet his soul that they'd been together for years, through good times and bad. They'd probably raised children together, and now had grandkids who turned their lives upside down whenever they came for a visit, but they were clearly happy on their own, as well, taking the time during their golden years to enjoy the waning sun of autumn and the colors of the turning leaves.

He envied them. The peace with which they moved. The smiles they gave one another. The pleasure they took in enjoying the day, and in the fact that their lives had no doubt been good and well spent.

Cars rushed by as the light at the corner changed, and when he looked again, the couple was gone.

Someone else was standing there.

A boy.

A boy of about ten, with flyaway dark hair and grave eyes.

Billy.

He stared at Jeremy solemnly and lifted a hand, as if in friendship, even comfort.

A car rushed by.

Jeremy blinked.

The boy was gone.

A
s a local, Rowenna knew plenty of places to go for breakfast, even if the main tourist attractions didn't open until nine or ten.

She opted to go to Red's for breakfast, and while she was there, Adam and Eve came in. She smiled when she saw them. Lots of people expected wiccans to go out every day wearing long black cloaks—which, admittedly, they sometimes did—but it wasn't as if there was a dress code. Today Eve was wearing a lot of silver—silver bangles on her wrists, silver cornucopias on her ears, her good pentagram and several delicate strands of silver around her neck. She wore a long wool skirt in a rich green, and a soft sweater to match.

Adam was clad in ordinary jeans and a flannel shirt.

Rowenna started to call out to them, then hesitated.

The two of them seemed to be embroiled in an argument.

She watched as Adam managed to clamp his lips tightly shut when the hostess seated them, and then, when he picked up his menu, she thought it might be safe to go over to say hi. But just then Eve leaned toward her husband and said something in a low, but—judging from her expression—clearly heated voice. He responded with quiet vehemence, his body language betraying his anger.

Rowenna sat back and picked up the magazine she had grabbed on the way in, a local publication about events in the greater Salem area. Not that it mattered; she was only pretending to read, pretending she couldn't see two of her good friends engaged in a heated argument. They were trying to appear civil—since Salem was actually a pretty small town in a lot of ways, and no one liked being the topic of gossip—but she knew them well enough to know they were upset with each other about something.

When her waitress arrived she ordered coffee, juice and an omelet. As she drank her coffee she found herself caught up in an article on Hammond Castle, in nearby Gloucester, and the man who had built it, John Hays Hammond, Jr. Local legend said the castle was haunted by the spirits of the corpses Hammond—just like the fictional Dr. Frankenstein—had supposedly experimented on. He'd been an inventor, second only to Thomas Edison in the number of patents he held, and was known as “the father of remote control.” Whether or not he had actually experimented on corpses was an unanswered question, at least according to the author of the article.

“Good morning.”

Rowenna had grown so interested in the article that she was startled to look up and see Eve standing by her table, smiling pleasantly, as if nothing in the world was wrong.

“Good morning, yourself.”

“When did you get here?” Eve asked her.

“Ten minutes ago, maybe. I'm not really sure. I was reading.”

“Didn't you see us come in?”

Rowenna didn't lie…exactly. She just said, “I was really into this article.”

“Well, how about joining us? Grab your coffee, alert your waitress and come on over.”

“Sure, I'd love to join you,” Rowenna said, not that she really had any choice.

She tried to hide her discomfort at having witnessed their argument as she followed her friend over to the other table.

“Hi, Ro,” Adam said, rising.

“Adam,” she said, accepting his kiss on her cheek as the waitress came over with their food.

“What are you reading?” he asked, noticing the magazine tucked under her arm.

“An article on Hammond Castle. Did you know it was haunted?” she asked.

“Of course it's haunted,” Eve said.

“He experimented with human corpses, you know,” Adam added.

“Forget that,” Eve said grimly. “We have our own local corpse to worry about now.”

“She's not
our
corpse,” Adam said irritably.

Eve stared at Rowenna. “I can't believe you found her,” she said in a horrified tone.

Great. News had traveled. Rowenna wondered if that was all anyone would think about when they looked at her now: there goes that woman who found the body in the cornfield.

“How did you know I found her?” she asked.

“Don't you watch television?” Eve responded.

“Or read the papers?” Adam queried.

“Or a little thing called the Internet?” Eve told her.

“Oh,” Rowenna said simply.

“It must have been horrible,” Eve said.

“It was,” Rowenna agreed.

Adam leaned closer to her and asked softly, “Did he really stick her up on a stake in a cornfield and leave her there?”

Rowenna looked at her omelet and pushed the plate away, her appetite gone.

“Yes,” she said flatly.

“Do you think it was some kind of ritual killing?” Adam asked.

Rowenna shook her head. “It looked like some sick psycho viciously killed a woman,” she said. “Listen, guys, it wasn't a great experience, so if you don't mind…”

“Sorry,” Adam said quickly.

“I just hope that maniac doesn't have Mary Johnstone,” Eve said darkly, staring straight at Rowenna.

Had there been an edge to her friend's voice? Rowenna wondered. Or was she just imagining things because she was still upset from yesterday?

Adam's hands were on the table, knotted and tense. “Let's hope,” he agreed quietly. But he was upset. There was a pulse beating hard at his throat.

“Is anything wrong?” Rowenna asked.

“Wrong?” Adam repeated blankly then asked, “Where's your friend?”

“Jeremy?” Rowenna returned.

“Did you bring another friend home?” Eve asked lightly.

“He's…out. He's here trying to help Brad. They used to be partners,” Rowenna said.

“Brad is still a diver with the Jax police,” Adam said. “We talked a bit,” he told Rowenna. “I liked him.”

“And his wife,” Eve said, her tone slightly acidic.

“I hope they find her. She was beautiful, and really sweet. You could tell she was a dancer with every step she took,” Adam said, ignoring what seemed to be a surprising jealousy that his wife was barely concealing.

“
Is
a dancer,” Rowenna said.

“Is,” Adam said, correcting himself. “Of course.”

“Do you really think there's any hope she's alive?” Eve asked, and her concern sounded genuine.

Eve might be jealous of the woman, Rowenna thought, but she would never wish her harm.

“I believe with my whole heart that she is,” Rowenna said.

“Intuition?” Adam asked.

Rowenna shrugged.

“Your intuitions are good,” Eve said.

“So what are you up to in town today? You certainly came in early, whatever it is you're doing.”

Rowenna didn't give them a reason for being so early. She didn't care if people knew that she was sleeping with Jeremy Flynn—she just didn't feel the need to broadcast the news. “I want to do some reading. Anyway, I think I'll go wander around a bit till the library opens,” she said, standing. “I'll see you all later. I want to stop by the shop and pick up something to wear.”

“You didn't eat your breakfast,” Adam pointed out.

No, she hadn't, but she didn't feel any need to make them feel bad by explaining why.

“I just wasn't hungry, I guess. Not to worry—one thing you can always find around here is a place to eat,” she said, then waved and left them, stopping by the counter on her way out to pay her breakfast check and her friends' check, as well.

Out on the street, the sun was rising higher, and the air was cool and clean. It was a beautiful day.

She headed to the Peabody Essex Museum, which she knew would be open, and spent some time there going through history. The reading room offered insights into the past, but she grew restless when she didn't find what she was looking for—even though she wasn't certain just what that was. When she left, she stopped for a cup of coffee from a local beanery, then meandered along. Her mind wandered back to the article she'd read about Hammond Castle, and from there she started thinking about the haunted history of the area.

Like the legend of the Harvest Man.

Was there any truth behind it?

She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

She decided to make her next stop the Eastern Massachusetts Museum of History, a small private museum known locally simply as the History Museum.

She hurried along the pedestrian mall and turned onto the side street where the museum was located. As soon as she rounded the corner, she saw the big sign that read History! Just History, and Nothing More!

Strangely enough, the museum was actually owned by out-of-state businessmen, but her friend Daniel was the manager, and he had put together a staff of full-and part-timers who all knew and loved the area, and its history and legends.

She was disappointed to find that Daniel wasn't in, but June Eagle, a junior at Salem College, was there, sitting behind the desk and reading a magazine.

“Hey, Rowenna, I heard you were home,” June said, dropping her celebrity tell-all and getting to her feet. She walked around the counter to give Rowenna a quick hug. Her eyes were sparkling. “I heard you're going to be harvest queen this year.”

“The rewards of being born in the area,” Rowenna said, hugging her back.

“I think it's more than that. I think you really are our local queen,” June teased. “So what brings you here?” she asked, and then her smile faded. “Oh. It's the body in the cornfield, isn't it? I'm so sorry—they say you found it. I can't believe something like that could happen around here. I mean, closer to Boston, maybe, but here…?”

“There aren't any cornfields closer to Boston,” Rowenna pointed out.

“I have to admit, I'm frightened.” June shuddered visibly. “So…what can I help you with?”

“I want to look up some of the old legends—specifically the Harvest Man,” Rowenna told her.

“Okay. Hang on and I'll get you the key for the library,” June said.

Rowenna felt special. Only a privileged few were given the key to the library.

June reached into the desk drawer and found the key, then handed it to Rowenna. “Call me if you need anything,” June said. “Mornings are pretty quiet this time of year. People seem to like coming later in the afternoon. Anyway, I should be studying for my ancient-literature class, but I'm not in the mood. I'll just be out here delving into the latest exploits of Britney and Bran-gelina.”

“Go for it,” Rowenna told her, and headed back toward the library.

Like so many of the small local museums, the different sections were separated by half walls and heavy drapes. The library was in the back, so Rowenna took her time, enjoying the exhibits as she passed.

The first room was dedicated to the Puritans and showed them gaining a tiny foothold in their new land. One tableau showed them building a town, with the local natives hiding in them. The area was known as Naumkeag to the natives. And although the first Thanksgiving might have been a time of friendship for the settlers in Plymouth, by the time the settlements around Salem were founded, the Puritans were beginning to realize that there were many different tribes, and some of them were warlike. Many of the settlers saw the natives as pagans, the devil's own brethren. And more than anything, they feared the devil's work.

She moved on to the display about the witchcraft trials, which covered the situation not just in the New World but in Europe and the rest of the Christian world at the time. Practicing witchcraft was illegal, but the problem was that a person didn't need to do anything in order to be accused. Fear, delusion, even jealousy, was all the motive necessary. It was difficult to understand how entire societies could fall prey to the resulting hysteria and think that it was salvation, but Salem's sad history was proof enough that it could happen.

Past the witchcraft exhibit, before she even reached the library, she found what she'd unknowingly been seeking. The aftermath.

First there were tableaus and accompanying explanations regarding the way the scandal had ended. Nothing like accusing the governor's wife to cause an uproar. And maybe the people were getting sick of the deaths of so many good people, as well. But then, as the witchcraft craze began to end, new fears arose.

And the Harvest Man was born.

She had been through the museum a dozen times before, but now she stopped at the Harvest Man display and really studied it. He was depicted as tall, wearing a flowing dark cape and a headdress of fall leaves. He was also taller and broader than the usual man, though he was human. A painting by a local artist of the early 1700s hung behind the mannequin in the display case. In the painting, the Harvest Man's cape was decorated with fall leaves to match those on his headdress. His arms were lifted to the sky as he stood in the middle of a field.

A cornfield.

The rows of cornstalks were green and lush, rich with the promise of food for the coming winter.