Polly… where had Sarah heard or read that name? "What kind of trouble?"
"You know, the whole talking behind Alicia's back, saying she was a snob and crap like that. Polly's kinda got a reputation for running her mouth, so nobody pays much attention to what she says. Sometimes her mouth gets her in trouble, though. But she's okay."
Polly…
Polly
.
Damn. Polly Conner.
Kale's little sister.
Holy cow.
"Polly Conner is a senior this year, too, right?" Sarah asked, confirming her conclusion that the Conner girl was the Polly he meant.
He nodded. "She feels real bad about Alicia and the stuff she said in the past. I told her Alicia didn't take it seriously, but I'm not sure it helped Polly feel any better."
"Brady, I need you out back."
Sarah's attention swung to the corridor on the left of the registration desk just as the owner of the very unhappy female voice appeared.
"Coming, Mom." Brady glanced at Sarah. "Gotta go."
"Fill the wood box and see that the cord Mr. Jacobs just delivered is stacked neatly in the barn," his mother ordered as he swaggered past her. "I'll take care of things in here."
That last part hadn't been intended for Brady. She'd stared straight at Sarah as she made the statement, disapproval and distaste radiating from every square inch of her petite frame. Sarah didn't let that stop her from pushing a greeting smile into place. If Brenda Harvey expected her to run for cover she could forget about it. Tougher broads than her had tried that tactic.
"Is there something you need, Ms. Newton?" Brenda took her son's place behind the counter. "I can help you if you're ready to check out."
News traveled fast. "Thanks, but I'll be staying a while longer." The tightening of lips told Sarah that Mrs. Brenda Harvey wasn't too happy to hear that.
"You stopped at the counter," she maintained, "you must've wanted something."
Touché. "Just checking to see if I had any messages." Good one. Sarah gave herself a pat on the back.
The silent stare dragged on. Gave Sarah time to analyze the lady. Well-fitting green dress that brought out the emerald flecks in her eyes. Brenda Harvey was slender, maybe five one, with blond, graying hair arranged in a neat braid that coiled around the back of her head. She wore small, wire-framed reading glasses that hovered on the end of her thin nose.
"You don't have any messages," she finally said with a distinct snap.
"Thanks." Sarah threw in another smile, just to be a good sport before turning away. She'd gotten two steps away from the desk when the innkeeper's wife spoke again.
"I don't want you talking to my children."
Sarah hesitated, considered ignoring the comment, but then she wouldn't learn anything that way.
She faced the indignant lady. "Rest assured, Mrs. Harvey, you have nothing to fear from me. All I'm looking for is the truth. Unless, of course, you're hiding relevant information that would help this investigation in some way."
Brenda's eyes flared wide and the indignation shifted the tiniest bit, to something more like uncertainty or maybe… fear. The transition roused Sarah's curiosity. She'd been fishing, casting lines wherever and whenever. It was her tried-and-true strategy. Seemed she'd gotten a nibble.
"The Gerards and Appletons are friends of ours," Brenda said firmly but without the fire and brimstone of before. "If we knew anything at all, don't you think we would have told the police?"
"I'm certain you would." And yet, there was something the lady worried about… something she wasn't about to tell a soul. Especially not Sarah.
"It's just that Brady"—Brenda glanced in the direction her son had gone—"is taking all of this very hard." She blinked several times but the shine of emotion in her eyes wouldn't be exiled. Nor would the palpable sense that she felt somehow cornered by Sarah's very presence. "It's difficult for us all…"
Don't say a word
. As much as Sarah wanted to ask what she meant, she knew better than to break the spell. Let the woman talk. Don't even breathe.
"My husband and I are worried sick. We don't want our children exposed any more than they've already been. God only knows what might happen next. We don't—"
"Brenda, have you seen—"
The innkeeper strode into the room, drew up short when his gaze bumped into Sarah. He looked from her to his wife. Suspicion immediately narrowed his gaze.
"Is there something you need, Ms. Newton?"
Here she went again. "No, thanks."
He glared at his wife before cutting his attention back to Sarah.
That would be her cue to exit. Except that… she stared at his face, specifically his left cheek. A little puffy and the pale skin there was a deep reddish color as if he'd been punched or…
kicked
.
The tingle of adrenaline rushed over her nerve endings as the images from last night's encounter zoomed into high-def clarity in her mind's eye. Right height… right build…
"Barton slipped on the ice last night when he was carrying in firewood," his wife said. She sent a look of concern at her husband's face. "Poor dear, almost gave himself a Hack eye."
The innkeeper waved off her worries. "I should have been more careful." He stared straight at Sarah then. "You can never be too careful in the dark… especially this time of year." His meaning was crystal clear.
He'd been the one and, on some level, he wanted her to know it.
"I'm always careful, Mr. Harvey," Sarah returned, her own meaning unmistakable. "There's no telling what or who you'll run into."
Their gazes held a moment longer before Sarah turned her back and headed for her room.
If the innkeeper thought he could scare her off, he should give it his best shot. Sure, he'd shaken her up last night, but she wasn't running.
No way.
"I understand you're leaving us," he called after Sarah.
Was there an echo in this village?
Sarah paused near the newel post at the bottom of the staircase. She met the man's haughty expression. "Not yet, Mr. Harvey. When the time comes you'll be the first to know."
If looks could kill Sarah would have dropped dead right there on the polished hardwood. Instead, she mounted the stairs to the second floor.
The harsh murmur of voices told her that Mr. Harvey was letting Mrs. Harvey know that she was not to be fraternizing with the inn's one guest.
Nothing like being the most popular girl in town.
Happened every time.
The difference between her and Alicia Appleton was Sarah never got a crown.
After going through her research material and comparing what she'd learned before arriving in Youngstown to what she'd discovered firsthand, Sarah hit the streets. She needed to think without any distractions… particularly Kale Conner.
Without doubt she appreciated his rescuing her the night before, but that was the exception to the norm not the rule. Sarah wasn't in the habit of needing a rescue. She had been taking care of herself for a very long time.
As if the thought had triggered the wrong file retrieval, memories flooded her brain, swelled in her throat. Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel as she attempted to push them away. Blood-soaked earth. Bones… so many bones. Rotted dresses… disintegrating purses. Shoes with broken heels.
Her mind conjured the image of a little blond-haired girl—needy and vulnerable—hugging her pillow beneath the stairs… the sound of heavy footsteps on the wood floor…
That was a long time ago, she reminded herself. Sarah Newton would never be vulnerable again. And she damned sure didn't need anyone.
"No way in hell," she muttered.
Not even a guy who seriously stirred the desire for sex.
That was why she never let anyone close.
It was far too easy to become dependent.
She didn't like being dependent.
Dependency fostered weakness.
More clips from her childhood flashed in her head. Praying that her mother would find her before the voices got her. Burrowing her way to the very back of the closet…
"Stupid."
The voices she later learned were those of her mother's victims.
The chill seeped deeper into Sarah's bones.
That was the thing about a really shitty childhood; you learned that prayer was a waste of time.
Sarah braked for a pedestrian crossing the street. She surveyed the village shops that lined the street. The people here were deep in denial. Certain that no one they knew would commit such a heinous deed and that earnest prayer would somehow turn this tragedy around. Didn't they understand that Alicia Appleton would die soon if she wasn't found?
According to the police reports she'd reviewed, every registered cave and abandoned or unused structure in the Youngstown area as well as the surrounding woods had been searched repeatedly. Neighboring villages had cooperated by conducting their own searches in similar areas.
With no results.
If it weren't for the roses, Sarah would take a hard look at the possibility that the kid had hitched a ride to New York. Less than eight hours' driving distance, it wouldn't be that difficult. Just risky when one took into account the freaks, kooks, and perverts on the road.
The bus lines, airlines, and trains that served the region had all received the bulletin with her photo as soon as she was reported missing. No one had seen her. If she'd left Youngstown, it hadn't been via public transportation.
Yet she was nowhere to be found. Alicia Appleton had simply vanished.
There were no suspects. No nothing. Not in Alicia's case or Valerie's.
Who hated Valerie Gerard enough to want her dead? Who hadn't forgotten that she'd won a spelling bee in fourth grade? Who considered her a liar? Chief Willard insisted friends and family had been interviewed repeatedly and that Valerie had no enemies. But that wasn't true.
The truth is what it is.
And someone killed Valerie with considerably more hacking than was necessary. Labeled her a liar in her own blood. After viewing all the crime scene photos, Sarah's confidence in the investigation had boosted a little. Photos of the victim before her arms and legs had been scraped loose from the stone had been taken. Maybe they'd done a better job than she'd first thought. The newly revealed detail about the missing organs from the victims in the twenty-year-old case confirmed her conclusions that they were unrelated to Valerie's murder.
Brady Harvey's sister, Melody, was nineteen. She would have known Valerie. But her mother hadn't mentioned Valerie's murder. Only Alicia's disappearance.
Strange.
Passing Bay View Cemetery, Sarah braked.
The big iron gates yawned open but that wasn't what attracted her attention.
That dumb crow on the headstone.
"Freezing your ass off, huh?"
She shook her head, told herself to drive on.
But she didn't.
She turned onto the narrow strip of pavement that cut through the middle of the cemetery. Snow encroached on either side of the asphalt, narrowing it even more. She shut off the engine and got out. Snow immediately poked up her pants legs and slithered into her Converses.
Massive oak trees stood like sentinels, their gnarled roots reaching out to the sleeping residents. A few newer headstones were interspersed here and there; near ancestors, she supposed. Woods bordered the back of the cemetery, while streets flanked the other three sides.
Sarah walked along the rows of headstones until she reached the last one. Beyond that final row, at the very back of the property, sitting next to two stone cross markers, was the witch's headstone. The crow perched there eyed Sarah before flapping its wings indignantly and taking off. It lit on a naked branch high above her head.
"So where's your friends?" Sarah scanned the nearby trees. Maybe he was a loner. Like her.
"Don't worry," she said aloud. "I won't be here long."
Sarah started forward again.
Then froze.
A girl stood on the other side of the headstone. Long black hair. Hooded sweatshirt and jeans, all black; goth style. She lifted her gaze to Sarah's.
For two stuttering heartbeats they looked at each other without moving or speaking.
Where had she come from? Sarah started to say hello but the girl spoke.
"You're Sarah Newton, aren't you?" Didn't take a crystal ball to guess her identity. There weren't that many strangers around outside the two or three lingering reporters who appeared to prefer their lodging accommodations to trudging through the snow.
"Yes." Sarah took another step in the girl's direction. "And you are?"
Teenager, Sarah decided. Seventeen or eighteen. She watched as Sarah lessened the distance between them one step at a time, but she didn't answer the question.
Sarah stopped a few feet away, on the same side of the marker. Worn by time and the elements, the name on the headstone was barely visible. Matilda Calder. Mattie.
Oddly, all three headstones on this final short row faced the back of the cemetery whereas all the rest faced the street. A way of indicating they were outcasts, maybe?
"Do you visit her often?" Sarah asked. No need to wait for her name to ask questions.
"I'm the only one who comes," the girl said. If she was around eighteen, she'd be the same age as the missing girl.
"Some people don't like visiting their deceased loved ones. Too sad." Sarah hadn't been to her mother's grave since the pallbearers lowered her coffin into the ground. She'd never been to her father's. In her case, it didn't have a whole lot to do with sadness. That sickening emptiness she knew far too well sucked at her insides. She forced it away. "You should visit."
Sarah's attention snapped back to the girl. "What's your name?" She still hadn't answered that question. And definitely shouldn't know
that
about Sarah. What was she? Psychic? The day someone proved ESP to her, Sarah would maybe consider the possibility. Then again, the kid could have meant
you
should visit as in people in general should visit their deceased loved ones.
"Matilda."
Okay, so this was officially weird. "Matilda?"