Authors: Jeanette Battista
Devon flopped back on the bed. She thought she’d gotten answers, but more questions kept popping up. It wasn’t just about the scholarship or the ghost anymore. It was about her finding out who her family really was and where she came from. So much had been obfuscation or downright lies that she wasn’t sure who she could trust besides herself. And Brock.
They’d agreed to meet up at the library again later. Now that they knew Jackson Duvall—her father—had been innocent, they were focusing their efforts on determining who the key witnesses were and what they’d really seen. Even though it was twenty years in the past, it was still easier than hunting down the mystery man who’d killed the man in Jessamy’s time.
She didn’t believe there was a curse, not anymore. But there were things that were similar in both instances, and eerily so. Maybe her family was doomed to repeat history until they solved the puzzle. Or until they learned their lesson. It didn’t matter; Devon intended to put this mystery to rest once and for all.
“I’ll be back before dinner,” Gammy was saying, and she leaned over to stroke Devon’s hair.
“Okay. I’ll try and be back from the library by then.” Devon conveniently left out that she was meeting Brock. Gammy still believed in the curse and Devon had no intention of telling her that she’d been talking or time-walking or whatever it was she was doing with Jessamy.
“You work too hard,” her grandmother said, getting up from the bed slowly. She straightened and Devon heard the dull cracks of old bones.
“So do you,” Devon sassed, a smile on her face.
Gammy smiled back, then ambled to the door. At the door, she stopped, a strange, disquieting look on her face. “You be careful, my girl. Some secrets were meant to stay that way.”
Before Devon could ask her what she meant, Gammy had closed the door behind her.
*****
Devon was showered and dressed for the weather. Dark clouds were boiling over the mountains, driven by a steady wind. They promised snow, not necessarily in great amounts, but at least enough to coat the trees. She’d dressed in layers and had her warmest coat on for the long walk into town.
But before she headed down the mountain, she wanted to stop at the church. She hadn’t seen Jessamy since she and Brock had gotten back from seeing her mother. In a way, that was a good thing; she didn’t think she could take another peeping Jess scene like the last one. But it concerned her that she hadn’t seen the ghost—she wondered what it could mean.
She pulled her hat down low over her ears as she came close to the abandoned church. She circled around the back side of the stone building in order to pass Daniel’s marker. He’d been innocent, just like her father had been, but he’d refused to use the only alibi he had that would clear him. Again, just like her father. She couldn’t think of Jackson Duvall as her dad—that name belonged to Deacon Mackson, the only father she’d ever known.
She knelt down in front of the weathered stone grave marker. She pulled the glove from her right hand and ran her fingers over the cold face of the stone. They were chilled almost immediately, but she traced the letters carved there, ignoring the biting wind. She closed her eyes, calling up the image of Jessamy in Daniel’s arms. They had been so in love.
She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand at sudden attention beneath her hat. Her eyes popped open and she slewed around on her knees to find Jessamy’s ghost standing behind her. Devon felt her heart jump in her chest, despite knowing that the ghost didn’t actually mean any real harm. The ghost was veiled once more, but Devon could feel the power of her stare through it.
Devon stood, trying to figure out what Jessamy wanted. The ghost reached for her, and Devon held out her hand. Jessamy clasped it and once again Devon felt herself falling through the white air of her breath.
*****
She was in the town jail, in a cell. There was a little light that filtered in from the high window. Devon could see that the small space was rustic and barren, nothing like the modern building in town today. A man was in the cell with her. He had his head down, resting it on his knees, but Devon recognized him. It was Daniel Holfsteder. Jessamy had sent her back in time again.
The door to the cells opened, admitting some kind of official, although Devon wasn’t exactly sure of his job. Behind him came a woman; Devon recognized Jessamy. She looked pale and drawn, making Devon wonder how long Daniel had been in jail. Daniel raised his head, following her progress with his eyes.
“You have five minutes,” the jailer said.
Jessamy waited until he had closed the door behind him before rushing to the cell holding Daniel. She dropped down to her knees next to the cell bars, wrapping her hands around the metal bars. Daniel put his hands over hers and rested his forehead against them for a brief moment.
“I told you not to come,” he whispered.
Jessamy grimaced. “As though I’ve ever listened to a thing you’ve said.” Devon could tell she was trying to keep her voice light, but there was a tremor to it.
Daniel raised his head, his eyes drinking in her face. “You’ll listen to me this time. Please, Jess.”
“But I can tell them where you were. We both know you didn’t kill that man!” She grasped at his hands.
“No!” He pulled his hands free. “You know why you can’t do that.”
Jessamy tossed her head. “Do you think I care what people think? They’ll be nothing left for me if you’re not here.”
“There’s Keaton.” Daniel’s eyes were hard. “You’re his wife. I’m his closest friend.” His voice did not waver. “I will NOT do this to him.” He stood up and walked to the back of the cell. He was so close Devon could reach out and touch him.
Jessamy stood when he did. She clasped her hands in front of her skirt, her knuckles going white. “Daniel,” she began, her voice as close to a plead as Devon had heard yet. But she didn’t continue because the door to the cells swung open again.
Daniel and Jessamy both turned to see the newcomer. The man who entered behind the jailer was tall and handsome, and he moved with the easy grace of someone used to wealth and power. He had lines around his mouth, as though he frowned more than he smiled.
Devon flinched away, feeling like she’d been punched in the chest. She recognized the man. Put a rifle on his back and he was the man she saw the night the drifter was killed in front of the town hall; he was the shooter. She took a few steps closer to the bars so she could be sure.
“Keaton!” Daniel walked back to the front of his cell. “It’s good of you to come. You can take your wife home. She’s been kind enough to keep me company, but this is no place for a lady, as I keep telling her.”
Devon felt like she was in freefall. Keaton? Her mind connected the dots furiously. He must have known about the relationship between Daniel and Jessamy! She bit her lip, trying to make sense of things.
“I had just come by to see if the witness had seen anything else.” He shook his head. “Duncan is certain he saw someone running away that looked like you.”
“Daniel would never kill anyone!” Jessamy sounded offended.
He held out his hands, trying to placate her. “You and I both know that, but people will find it hard to dismiss an eye witness. What are you doing here, my dear?”
Jessamy squared her shoulders. “I was relaying a greeting from his mother. I saw her this afternoon and she wanted me to give him a message.”
Keaton put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close. “And did you?”
Jessamy swallowed nervously. “Yes.”
“Daniel, I should be getting her home.” Keaton turned to his friend behind bars.
“I agree.” He tried to give Jessamy a significant look, but she lowered her eyes demurely. “Take care, the both of you, and don’t worry a thing about me. This will all be dismissed and I’ll be back home within the month.”
Keaton pulled Jessamy with him. Before he knocked on the outer door to get the jailer’s attention, he turned back to face Daniel. “We both know you are innocent. The truth will out.” He hustled Jessamy out the door, pulling it closed behind him.
Daniel sat in the dark and waited.
Devon fell through the white mist once more.
*****
She came back to herself to find she was lying on the frozen ground in front of Daniel’s grave marker. Jessamy was nowhere to be seen. Devon pushed herself to a sitting position and waited for her equilibrium to return. It wasn’t as jarring coming back this time, although she had only been gone what felt like mere moments. But the shock of seeing Keaton more than made up for the short time. She was glad she didn’t have to see Jessamy immediately after.
Keaton had been the shooter. He’d set Daniel up, probably knowing he would do anything to protect Jessamy from scandal. This was vastly different than the description of Keaton she’d heard earlier. Devon wasn’t sure what to do with what she’d found out. She still wasn’t even sure what Jessamy wanted from her.
When her head felt more normal, she climbed to her feet. She needed another opinion on this, maybe even two. She was going to meet up with Brock, but she wondered if they were spinning their wheels. As she walked down the mountain path and turned onto the main road into town, she knew who she was going to bring in. But first she had to okay it with Brock. They were a team, and he had a say in the decision.
Brock was waiting for her at the library. He took her coat from her as soon as she arrived at the table. “What happened?”
Devon jumped, not expecting that question to be the first out of his mouth. “How did you know?”
Brock smiled, the edges of his eyes crinkling. “You looked like you’ve seen a ghost.” Devon grinned at him. “You looked a little shaky and unfocused when you came in. You saw her again, didn’t you?”
Devon nodded. “And this time I saw Keaton Winchester.” She looked around to make sure no one was listening. “I recognized him.”
Brock’s face clouded. “How?”
“I’d seen him the first time Jessamy sent me back.” She leaned in closer. “He was the man I saw after the shooting. He had a rifle.”
Brock flopped back in his chair. “That doesn’t make sense. Not according to everything you heard anyway.”
“I know.” She shook her head. “Did you find anything?”
He nodded. “Sure did.” He pulled a sheaf of papers haphazardly stuck in a folder out of his backpack. “I found a bunch of stuff on the internet on Abernathy and the trial of Jackson Duvall. There’s a whole bunch of conspiracy websites that I checked and found some good stuff.”
“I don’t know if that’s exactly reliable material,” Devon said doubtfully. “I mean, we’re not talking the West Memphis Three here.”
Brock pushed the folder toward her. “I know, but have a look. Some of it is pretty interesting.”
Devon took the folder from him, flipping to the first sheet of printed pages. She quickly scanned them, her eyebrows rising slightly with each page turn. When she was finished, she closed the file slowly. Her eyes were round when she looked up at Brock. “Wow.”
“I know, right?”
“If even half of that is remotely true, that is seriously messed up.” She felt a burning sense of rage deep in her chest. “I can’t believe that.”
“Which part?” Brock’s slight smile was sardonic.
Devon shook her head slowly. “All of it?” She scooted closer to him. “Abernathy being employed by Grandmother Charlotte is probably the most surprising part.”
“How did that not come out as a huge deal during the trial?”Brock asked.
“Nobody knew about the affair, not really,” Devon answered. “But I think this gives us a motive for him lying.”
“Do you think your grandmother knew about your mom and Jackson?”
Devon shrugged. “I haven’t exactly talked to her about it.” She paused. “Actually, I haven’t spoken to her in years. I’m pretty sure she hates me. I guess I know why now. So maybe she did know—or suspected that Deacon wasn’t my dad.”
“Maybe you should go talk to her.” Brock took her hand, rubbing the back of it.
“That sounds like as much fun as having my stomach pumped.” She grimaced. “But there is something I want to talk to you about. How do you feel about bringing someone else into our little investigation?”
“Who?”
“Gil.”
Brock grinned. “Sure. But why him?”
Devon raised an eyebrow. “We need to dig dirt on people. Who do you know that’s better at finding out stuff other people don’t want found?”
“Think he’ll believe us? About Jessamy?”
“I’ll drag his butt up to that mountain and camp out with him until she appears if he doesn’t.” She thought for a minute. “I don’t know if we have to even tell him about our ghost anyway. We’ve got a legitimate mystery going on here. We can leave the Jessamy stuff out of it and just focus on the Jackson Duvall case.”
Brock nodded. “I think it could work. Are you going to sic him on your grandma?”
“It would serve her right,” she said sharply, her anger spiking. “But I’ll deal with her myself. Gil doesn’t deserve that if he’s helping us out. Could you give him a call?”
“Sure thing.” He left the library to make the call.
*****
Gil showed up at the library, looking like he’d just rolled out of bed after Brock had called him. Devon checked her watch. It was 10:30. Gil’s brown hair was stuck up in all different directions and his clothes looked like they just happened to be the ones closest on the floor when he needed to get dressed. Devon couldn’t remember the last time he’d left his house looking so completely…natural. It made him look much younger.