Find Me (17 page)

The girl nodded to the headstone. "She was my great-great-grandmother. I'm named after her."

Maybe not so weird.

Matilda pointed to the two cross markers. "Those were her friends."

"Is that your pet?" Sarah jerked her head toward the tree where the crow waited patiently, probably for them to leave.

Matilda stared at the crow, then shook her head.

Inept stab at making conversation.

"She was a witch, you know," the girl said matter-of-factly.

Sarah nodded. "I heard."

"But she helped people." Matilda's attention returned to the headstone. "She wouldn't have let this happen."

"You mean what happened to Valerie and Alicia?"

Matilda nodded once.

"I guess you go to school with Alicia?"

"Did." She glanced up at the crow again. "But I quit this year."

What kind of parents would let their daughter quit school? Particularly if she'd made it all the way to her senior year.

"You don't like school?" Another lame question.

She shrugged.

"Did you know Valerie?"

"She tutored me in math year before last."

The kid needed a coat. She had to be freezing. The sweatshirt couldn't be that warm even if she had layers on underneath.

"Would you like to sit in my car?"

Matilda shook her head. "I gotta get home."

Now or never. "Do you know of anyone who would have wanted to hurt Valerie or Alicia?"

"Lots of people are jealous." She searched Sarah's face with curious eyes that were the most bizarre shade of gold. Sarah hadn't noticed that before. "But none of the kids around here would hurt them. Not for real."

"What about the kids Valerie beat in that spelling bee way back in fourth grade?" Okay, that was a stretch.

Another indifferent shrug.

Who remembered what happened in third or fourth grade? If one of Valerie's classmates had held a grudge over a spelling bee that long, then he or she needed to get a fucking life.

That theory suddenly seemed about as farfetched as the curse theory. Unless mental illness was involved. In light of the mutilation that was a definite possibility.

"I sure hope the police find some answers soon." The statement wasn't really directed at the girl. Just thinking out loud. Keeping the silence from dragging on too long.

Thankfully Sarah hadn't said the rest of what she thought.

Before it's too late for Alicia.

The tree branches groaned and scratched as the wind picked up. Standing out here much longer was about as appealing as being mugged. But Sarah wanted to talk to the girl as long as possible. She mentally scrambled for a way to meet both goals.

"Can I give you a lift home?" Good idea.

Matilda shook her head. "It's not that far. I like walking."

"It'll be dark soon." Sarah surveyed the sky. Another clear night. Which meant it would be even colder.

"I'm not afraid of the dark."

One girl was dead, another missing. A young girl shouldn't be out walking alone. Especially at dark.

"Until the police catch the person responsible for what's happened, it's probably not a good idea to be walking alone in the dark."

"They won't catch him."

Anticipation prickled Sarah's chilled flesh. "They're trying very hard. I'm sure they will."

Those eerie gold eyes held Sarah's. "They can't catch him."

That feeling, the one that made your skin prickle and the hair on your neck stand on end, sent Sarah's instincts to the next level. "Why do you say that?"

"Because he's the devil. Cops can't catch the devil."

A passing car drew Sarah's attention to the street. She turned back to Matilda. "What makes you think—" The girl was gone.

Taken aback, Sarah scanned the cemetery. The only way she could have disappeared so quickly was to have headed into the woods behind her great-great-grandmother's grave. Strange girl.

Cops can't catch the devil
. "Yeah, right, kid." Sarah's cell vibrated.

Three guesses who'd show up on her caller ID, and the first two didn't count.

He'd called repeatedly today. Each time Sarah had ignored him. But twelve was the number. If she didn't answer this time her editor would send a search party. Her editor and shrink used the same strategy to keep her in line.

Sarah dragged out the phone and flipped it open. "Newton."

"You almost missed me," Tae Green warned. "I had my finger on my cell's speed dial for Frank."

Frank. Sarah curled her lip in disgust. Frank Sampson had been Tae's heavy for twenty years. Whenever Tae needed one of his reporters located, extricated, or reined in, Frank was the man he called.

"Your intimidation tactics don't work on me, Tae." Sarah wasn't afraid of Frank; she just didn't like him.

"Call me when you arrive means the second you cross into the city limits, not the next day. Oh, wait, you didn't call me period. I called you."

Yeah, yeah, her editor was a comedian. Appeared to be lots of those around.

"Don't give up your day job, Tae. I'm here. I'm alive so far and I've only pissed off a couple of people." She almost lost her balance on a patch of ice. "Happy?"

"What's going on up there? The news channels are buzzing with word that the Youngstown chief of police is about to hold a press conference. What's up with that?"

Sarah halted a couple steps shy of reaching her car. "When?" Willard hadn't said anything about any news conference. If one was happening any minute, he had to have known when she was in his office. So much for cooperation. He and his buddy the mayor had been placating her. Giving her just enough slack to distract her from what they were really up to.

Unfortunately it had worked.

"Apparently the chief is one of the people you've pissed off—so far."

"He was pissed off before I got here." She opened the driver's side door and plopped into the seat. "I should go and find out where that press conference is going down." Damn Kale Conner for not calling her. He probably knew this morning when he was so happy to play the hero host. Why the hell had she trusted him, even a little bit?

"Answer one question before you go."

She knew the drill. Twenty-four hours on location, assess the situation, determine if there is a story. If there's no story, pack up and hit the road for the next assignment.

"There's a story here, Tae." She started the car and dragged her seat belt across her lap. "No matter what the chief says in his press conference, trust me, there's something else going on." She hesitated before shifting into reverse, her attention tugged back to Mattie Calder's headstone.

The black crow had resumed his vigil.

Wasn't necessarily the same bird. Probably not. There could be something close by the Calder headstone that attracted the damned creatures. Maybe a shiny frame around a photograph on one of the headstones. Maybe some kind of prey that wasn't readily obvious. Didn't have to be the headstone or the person buried in that precise spot.

What the hell was she thinking? Of course it wasn't. Spooks, goblins, and ghouls—including witches and devils—didn't commit murder. People did.

As Sarah watched, another crow landed on a tree branch not a dozen feet away. That creepy sensation she got when she was onto something big made her skin crawl.

Or maybe it was the need to find the press conference. And quite possibly the overwhelming urge to kick Conner's cute ass.

Still… her attention lingered on the headstone and its ominous visitor.

"I'm waiting, Newton."

"What?" She shook her head to clear it. "Oh… yeah. The whole curse thing was really hyped in the beginning. Other than a few who'd rather believe an unseen force is responsible for what's happened, at this point I think most folks understand they're dealing with a mere human here. But…"

How did she explain this part? Her job involved debunking myths, cutting through the lore and getting to the heart of the matter when no one else appeared so inclined. Hanging around a stereotypical murder investigation wasn't in her job description. "But?" he prodded.

"It feels like…" She bit her lip as she waited for the right words. "There's something more than a cut-and-dried murder case going on here. I can feel it. It's maybe not about curses or legends or woo-woo stuff, but it goes deep and involves… more." Damn it. She couldn't pinpoint what she sensed. "Trust me, Tae. I have to stay." If for no other reason than to see how this turned out, she didn't add.

Sarah held her breath through the requisite dead air. He never agreed too readily. Made him seem soft. Not that he ever said as much but she knew his MO.

"Forty-eight hours, Newton. If you don't have something concrete by then, you should move on. There's a situation down in Louisiana with some missing bodies and a shitload of voodoo buzz. It's got your name written all over it."

"Forty-eight hours." She could deal with that. "Gotcha."

"But I want a call from you in twenty-four, understood?"

She turned her car around, guided it onto the street. "Understood. Thanks, Tae. You have my word, this story will be worth your patience."

He let her off the hook with that promise.

Tracking down the location of the press conference was even simpler. She followed the news vans. The media hounds were back in force.

"Willard, you asshole." She shook her head at her own lapse into the unsuspecting zone. No one understood human nature better than her and she'd been completely blindsided by this.

Just went to show she'd let herself get too comfortable with the handsome fisherman.

A crowd had already gathered around the steps of the public library. Must have been the mayor's idea. The library was the most prestigious, architecturally speaking, building in the village. Set against the backdrop of the harbor, the picturesque scene made for the perfect news clips. Clapboard-cloaked homes clung to the cliffside across the bay. Schooners drifted in the water. Seagulls floated in the air. Even the snow worked to set the scene.

Several reporters were already filming lead-in shots with their mobile crews.

Just great.

Sarah drove all the way down the block to a small parking area around the corner from Cappy's Chowder House. She dug around under the front seats until she found her ski cap. Pulling it low over her hair she wished for her sunglasses. Something else she'd forgotten to bring along.

Being a recognizable figure in cases like this had its downside. The prospect of some face reporter recognizing her and starting a line of questions Sarah couldn't answer ranked right up there with getting her wisdom teeth pulled out.

Frustrated at her ill-preparedness, she grabbed her bag and slammed the door. She climbed the hill to the sidewalk and scanned the shops. Rite Aid. The chain pharmacy would have sunglasses. Maybe even gloves. She'd frozen her ass, toes, and fingers off today.

Sarah crossed the street and entered the pharmacy. She glanced around, didn't spot any loitering reporters, and headed for the turnstile rack of sunglasses at the end of the snack aisle. Looking over her options, she checked for the best fit. Too big; too eighties; too… she made a face… bizarre. Then she found just the right ones. Slid them into place. Perfect. Black, wrapped around the face. Lots of camouflage. Exactly what she needed.

Now for gloves. She wandered the aisles, found some black woolly mittens with a waterproof outer shell, and headed for the check-out counter. "Is that all today, ma'am?"

"Yes." Sarah scrounged for her wallet, then looked to the cashier for a total.

"You're that reporter woman from that magazine, aren't you?" The woman eyed her speculatively from behind big pink-framed eyeglasses. She could be someone's grandmother, silky gray hair, outfitted in a paisley print blouse. But the look she was giving Sarah right now was anything but grandmotherly.

Sarah did a quick sleazeball check around the store, then pasted on a smile for the cashier who looked not at all like a fan. "Yes."

"I hear you think one of us is responsible for that poor girl's murder."

Sarah wasn't about to go there. "The chief of police is preparing for a press conference right outside." She gestured to the street. "I'm sure he'll have the latest news on the case and any possible suspects."

The cashier's pale blue eyes narrowed behind the glasses.

"But you're not working with the police. You're running around talking to people on your own."

"I'm looking into the case, yes." Was it too much to ask to get a total here?

"Well"—the cashier leaned across the counter—"if you're smart you'll talk to the minister over at Living Word Church."

Anticipation of a new lead spiked. Another check to ensure no one was close by. "What makes you think I should talk to him?"

"Valerie Gerard attended that church her whole life." The cashier looked around as if she'd decided that what she had to say next shouldn't be overheard. "Then, last year she up and stopped going. When her folks tried to persuade her to go with 'em at Christmas, she flat-out refused."

Lots of teenagers ticked church services off their must-do lists as soon as they were old enough to make their own choices. "It's not unusual for teenagers to decide church isn't worth their time," Sarah reminded her. She'd made that decision by the time she was sixteen but her aunt hadn't let her off the hook until college.

The lady shook her head. "Valerie wasn't like that. She was a good girl. Refusing to go to church was not like her at all. Her mama worried about it for a while but then she figured it was probably the college influence." The cashier hit the total button. "I don't believe it, though. Uh-uh. There's more to it than that. Nineteen forty-eight."

Sarah handed her a twenty. "What's this minister's name?"

"Christopher Mahaney." She took Sarah's money. "It was probably his doing—that her folks believed she'd gone off to college and left God behind and all."

Something else the chief hadn't mentioned. A new name to add to Sarah's talk-to list. "Thanks." She dropped the change into her wallet. As an afterthought she pulled a card from her bag and offered it to the cashier. "You call me if you think of anything else that might be helpful."

The lady nodded. "I'll be glad to." She pointed a disgusted look toward the street. "There's something rotten in this town and I think it's that so-called man of God." She leaned toward Sarah again. "The old devil goes after ministers, too. Sometimes he's successful."

Sarah thanked her again and headed for the door. She ripped the tags from her purchases and slid the sunglasses into place, then tugged on the gloves and stepped onto the sidewalk.

More locals awaiting news had gathered at the library. Sarah slipped into the fringes and tried to make herself as inconspicuous as possible.