Raquel Byrnes (31 page)

“And the ghost line?” I asked. “Did Lucien leave you a message about that, too?”

She nodded. “A picture on my coloring paper. But I threw it away.”

“Can you remember anything else? Any other messages you haven’t told me about?”

“No, but…” She looked at me, afraid. “I think I hear him in the forest sometimes.”

“What?” The depths that whoever was doing this would go sent my blood boiling. “I’m sure there’s an explanation to that, sweetie. We’ll figure it out, OK?”

“OK.” She bit her lip. “Are you mad?”

I set down the book, climbed on the bed, and hugged her. She wrapped her arms around me, and her little body trembled. My heart ached for her. For the fear and confusion she must feel.

“I’m not angry, Lala,” I whispered. “You did a good thing telling me.”

“Did I help Daddy?”

“Yes, sweets, I think you did.”

I sneaked out of her room a few hours later, having fallen asleep in the chair next to her bed. She was terrified of being alone, and I stayed until she fell asleep and drifted off myself. I took the book and padded down the hall to my room. I heard Phillip and Davenport talking in the foyer and peeked over the bannister. They stood with Dr. Fliven by the door. When they looked up, I hid the book behind my back, not sure why I needed to keep it from them.

“Rosetta,” Phillip called. “Dr. Fliven says Simon will be fine. They patched him up, and he needs to stay overnight, but he should come home tomorrow.”

“That’s wonderful.” I leaned down. “Stitches?”

“Quite a few, yes,” Dr. Fliven said. “But a few bags of saline in him and some pain medication, and we had to fight to make him stay.”

“That sounds right,” I said. Relief washed over me. “Thank you so much, Dr. Fliven. Is he in Seattle? Did you airlift him?”

“No, he wouldn’t hear of it,” Fliven said. “He’s at the clinic on the south side of Noble.”

“I’m so glad you were still here,” I said.

“Well, you did your part,” Davenport said. “Fliven, here, says that pressure on his wound made a huge difference in the outcome, Ms. Ryan.”

“How is Lavender?” Phillip asked. “I went up to check on you two a while ago, but the door was closed.”

“She’s sleeping, actually,” I said.

“Good, good,” Davenport said. “You would do well to do the same.”

“I am,” I said, backing up. “I’m going to bed right now.”

I turned into my room, shutting the door behind me. I stared at the book in my hand as I walked to the bench at the foot of my bed. The diagrams in this book. They were more than Lavender would understand. She only really got that she should collect our things. My worry was that this book was here at all. A gypsy wouldn’t be reading it here. If they knew the old practices, they wouldn’t need a book at all.

So many motives. I put the book in the desk drawer and sat down. Nalla was convinced that Simon killed Amanna, but I’d heard of at least two other people who would want her gone. Tuttle, O’Shay…Amanna’s presence in this house had upset a lot of people. And now, on the anniversary of her death, Simon starts blacking out again? I needed to talk to him. To pin down timelines and clear up rumors.

Lord, so much darkness is haunting this family. Please give me wisdom. Please help me to know what to do.

I looked at the letter on the desk—the returned pleas to my mother—and my heart sank. Who was I to think that I would fare any better this time around? What did I know about stopping a family from crumbling apart?

You know about digging for the truth. You know about lies.

“Yes.” I sighed and rubbed my eyes. “I know about lies.”

38

I woke late. Not able to fall completely asleep because of the storm and my own inner turmoil, I tossed and turned until the shards of dawn slipped through the blinds. I’d finally fallen asleep around nine. I rubbed my eyes, amazed I’d slept so deeply. Freshly showered, I put on a long skirt and a sweater and checked on Lavender. She was sleeping still, and I debated waking her to take her with me. She’d been through so much. Maybe sleep was the best thing for her right now. Passing Davenport’s room, I stuck my head in. He was not in bed. Voices floated up to me, and I went downstairs to find them. Clinking in the kitchen drew me there, and I walked in only to have my jaw drop.

“Mrs. Tuttle!” I said with surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“Missing a lot, I gather,” she said. Her hands in rubber kitchen gloves, she shook a broken dish at me. “What is going on, Ms. Ryan? I’m gone for a short time and look at the mess I come home to.”

“Simon did that,” I said and bent to pick up some fallen crackers. “I’ll help you.”

“No, you’ll tell me what is going on. And what happened to your neck? Did everyone lose their minds?”

“I’m not sure, really.” I looked outside. The wind whipped the chimes back and forth sending a cacophonous jangle through the closed door. Rain slicked the windows. It was coming down in sheets. “Did you get in last night?”

“No, I stayed at the inn down in the village. The rain was much more last night. Torrential. I was worried the road was washed out.”

“No it was blocked because of the crime…” The words died on my lips. O’Shay’s crime scene.

“I know about O’Shay, Ms. Ryan,” Tuttle said, her voice cracking. “No need to walk on eggshells around me. These things happen when you wander at night.”

Her face told me different. I wondered how long they had been friends. How long they’d worked together day in and day out. They were close enough for O’Shay to risk his job to help her with her son.

“How is Tobias?”

“He’s made remarkable improvement.” She cleared her throat. “The medication he is on has all but eliminated his seizures.”

“And the robberies?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged, a helpless look on her face. “We’ll just have to wait and see. No charges yet. There aren’t any fingerprints apparently.”

“He wore gloves?” I lifted a brow. “That doesn’t make sense, does it?”

“No, it does not. I can’t imagine Tobias sneaking around and breaking into homes. He was filthy when I found him. You’d think there would be evidence of that in the homes they say he robbed.”

“But Sheriff Levine said that nothing valuable was taken, only food.”

“In the first two instances,” Mrs. Tuttle said. “But the other three robberies. Cash and some old heirloom items were gone after all. I read the report. The homes were ransacked.”

“I’ll keep him in prayer,” I said.

She looked at me, her face filled with worry. “I would like that.”

“Lavender is still asleep.”

“Let her.” Tuttle shook her head. “Simon told Mr. Davenport that she is to leave the island today. No exceptions.”

My heart fell, but I understood. This place was no longer safe for her.

“I’ll miss her dearly.”

“We all will, but she’ll be back for Christmas. That’s not too long from now.” Her smile was forced.

It wouldn’t be the same without her giggles on the wind.

We cleaned the kitchen, and I threw away the food, wondering if I should tell her why Simon had wrecked the kitchen. I decided to speak to him first. Besides, she slipped into her own thoughts, leaving me an out. My old worry about inadvertently giving the sheriff reason to arrest him nagged at me, and I kept my thoughts to myself.

“What are you doing today?” she asked as we finished. “Davenport feeling well?”

“Yes, Dr. Fliven says he’s fine.”

“Well, I have to go and get my things from the inn,” she said. “With O’ Shay gone…” Her face crinkled, and she buried her face in the towel she held. “I’m sorry about this. I shouldn’t be blubbering in the kitchen.”

“You cry wherever you want to, Mrs. Tuttle.” I stood, hugged her, and rubbed her back. Not knowing how to comfort her, I tried to get her talking about something else. “You should have called. I’m sure Davenport would have come to get you, or Phillip.”

“No, the ferry ticket gives you a one night discount for the room,” she said, wiping her nose. She threw the towel on the counter.

“I can go and get your things.”

“Why would you do that?” She looked at me, surprised.

“Because it’s nice?” I smiled at her. “Where is this inn?”

“It’s on the far side of the village near the ferry dock.”

“So it’s repaired, then?”

“Yes, they just finished, but this storm might make all the overtime Bernard paid for a loss.” She hesitated. “I really do appreciate you doing this, Ms. Ryan. If anything, I want to avoid the village and all the accusatory stares. Everyone and their cousin knows my Tobias is accused of being a thief and a murderer.”

“I thought the woman who died fell down her stairs?”

“Well, there’s no way of knowing if she fell or was pushed, is there?” Tuttle sniffed. “Even if they can’t prove he did it, they also can’t prove he didn’t.”

I nodded. Seemed to be Simon’s problem as well.

“Have you seen Mr. Davenport around?”

“He rose early. Something about talking to the sheriff about Simon’s injuries. He took Phillip with him.”

I groaned inwardly. If Davenport accused the gypsies of stabbing his son, then it might come out why Simon was there in the first place. Davenport would not take kindly to me not telling him the whole story. Or worse, they might not tell him anything, and Davenport would demand that Levine arrest someone, anyone. Either way, things would come out for sure today. I had to get going. I stood and grabbed a muffin. It was still warm, and I eyed it carefully. Paranoia swept doubt through me. Mrs. Tuttle had been here all along when Simon’s blackouts started. She hated Amanna, too.

“Is there a problem, Ms. Ryan?”

“Uh…no,” I said and took a bite.

She nodded and I left, heading out the side door. Once out of her sight, I spit the muffin back out into my hand and threw it in the grass. I had to figure out what was going on before I starved to death. I thought about Lavender, hesitated, then realized she’d probably only eat strawberries anyway. Either way, I’d keep her with me during meals.

I took the golf cart and puttered to the village along the main road. Rain beat against the canvas covering and I wiped at the water on my face that flew in through the seams. The crime scene tape from last night was down and the road was clear. I guess I expected more, but nothing looked out of place. Something needled its way into my consciousness. Who had stabbed O’Shay? I didn’t believe it was a mugging as Sheriff Levine did. And what was O’Shay doing out in the woods? He hadn’t been looking for me. Simon said he was found by the searchers, already dead for hours. What, then, was he doing?

A gust blew open the canvas door, and I struggled with it, getting drenched in the process. I hated the rain. This weather was getting on my nerves, and these dumb little carts with their plastic windshields and one wiper were terrible. The cobblestone street jarred me from my thoughts. Despite the weather, the stores had customers. People skittered here and there, ducking the rain as they popped into the shops.

At the end of the road, I spied the inn’s carved wood sign. It read,
The Adder
, in sinewy black lines. I pulled into a space just outside the door.

“May I help you?” A young woman asked when I walked in. Her long black hair and European features gave me pause. A gypsy.

I hesitated at the door, not sure what to say.

“You’re Rosetta, right?”

“Yes,” I shook out the umbrella and set it in the brass holder near the door.
The Adder’s
décor echoed that of the restaurant. Ornately carved wood frames held paintings of beach scenes. A fire burned in the pot belly stove. Two love seats, crushed red velvet, flanked the wood reception counter. She smiled at me, a good sign, I hoped. “I’m here for Mrs. Tuttle’s things. She said she left them.”

“Oh, yes.” She extended her hand. “I’m Sonja.”

“Hello, Sonja,” I shook it and smiled.

She nodded for me to follow her through the door on the right. It opened to a narrow hall that stretched out to encompass six doors on each wall. A final door at the end of the hall had an exit sign above it.

“She stayed here,” Sonja said and unlocked the third door, pushed it in, and stepped aside.

The room was small, but cozy, done with thick brocades in dark colors. A twin bed pushed up against one wall, a desk and chair against the other. A closed suitcase sat on a foldable stand at the foot of the bed.

“Thank you.” I pulled out the drawers. Mrs. Tuttle hadn’t unpacked. I spied some books on the shelf. “Are these hers?”

“No,” Sonja said. “We have books here, for the customers. Old books from trunks.”

“Old books?” I walked over, ran my hand along the spines of the volumes stacked on the shelf. “How old?” I thought of the book left for Lavender by someone. “There is one up at the Hale house like these. It has spells or something in it. Do you think it came from here?”

“Spells?” She raised a brow. “No, not from here, I think. They are just books that would otherwise be thrown away so we bring them here.”

“Do you keep track of them?”

“No.” She raised a brow. “Do you want to take one?”

“No, I just…” Old books. Like the one Lavender gave me last night. “Has Mrs. Tuttle stayed here before? In the last couple of months?”

“Last night was the first time, I think,” Sonja said. “She does not have a love for my people.”

“Yeah.” For Amanna in particular, I thought, remembering her daughter’s failed relationship with Simon.

“May I tell you something?”

“Sure.” I turned to face her.

“You were very brave last night.” Her gaze rested on my throat. “Not everyone on the sands last night thinks your Simon a killer.”

“Oh.” I didn’t know what to say. My hand went to the line left by Nalla’s dagger. “I think I was more reckless than brave.”

“You believe in his innocence. Defend it with your life. That is a woman in love.” She nodded as if to assure herself. Looking up at me, her gaze went to the door. She closed it. Leaning forward, she whispered, “Amanna. She was not a good wife to him.”

“What?” I shook my head. “What do you mean?”