Ashlyn's Radio (22 page)

There was victory in this moment, but not for Paulette Degagne.

The conductor chuckled softly, then began laughing harder. Soon great howls of evil laughter erupted from him to claim every part of the night. He held out his hand, not offering now but commanding. Degagne’s soul self looked down at her lifeless body, then back to Ashlyn. She mouthed the words, “What have I done?”

Then she turned back to the conductor. Compelled now by her unholy bargain, her soul self stepped onto the train.

A chorus of cries sounded as the new passenger boarded. Ashlyn watched through the windows as the souls on board turned toward the young woman who darted among them. The newcomer tried to veer away from the others, tried not to touch or be touched. But some of the passengers reached for her, clawing at her almost. Others shrunk away, pushing themselves tighter against the windows. Soon Ms. Degagne was lost in that sea of desperate souls and all that remained of her was a final screaming, forlorn cry: “Oh, dear God, what have I done?”

The conductor turned his attention back to Ashlyn. “All aboard!” he called again, producing another ticket from his pocket. “There’s room for more to get on at this stop. Come, get on board the train. Your life won’t be the same.”

Oh, God, those words! The same ones from the radio’s song! Ashlyn trembled, but it was more than fear that made her shake. White-hot fury had fused with the terror, searing her right down to the bone. “You … monster!” she cried. “You evil son of a bi—”

The train’s shrill whistle didn’t just drown out her words; it took her breath away. Gasping, she leaned back into Caden’s tightening arms. The engine throttled up again.

“I’ll be coming ’round again, little girl,” he said, and then ducked back inside the train.

He would. Oh God, she knew he would!

Slowly the train began to move along the tracks. Ashlyn watched car after car of crying souls pass by her, and she scanned the faces frantically. Finally, she spotted him. Her father! At least she thought it was him. He was struggling desperately for purchase at the very last window as the final car chugged past.

When the train disappeared, Ashlyn and Caden got to their feet. Slowly, they climbed the rest of the way up the slope, struggling toward the spot where Ms. Degagne’s lifeless,
soul-less
, body lay beside the tracks.

“We … we have to call the police.” Caden said.

“I know.”

A movement in the periphery of Ashlyn’s vision caught her attention. She turned her head toward the figure a very short ways from them, running down the tracks.

Rachel caught up to them, her chest heaving with the effort of her run. And from the sobs that wracked her body.

“That ticket was mine!” she screamed. “It was meant for me, not Ms. Degagne! You know damn well it was!”

“Y
OU WANT TO RUN
that by me one more time?”

Ashlyn didn’t. But she really did not think that the middle-aged, surprisingly big-bellied cop who’d identified himself as Detective Vern Kimble would really understand that. The guy was a bit of an asshole.

It was nearly five a.m. This was the third cop to whom Ashlyn had related her story. The first was a Maine State Trooper, who’d been the initial cop on the scene. Then there’d been another detective (Langille or Langton or something like that), and now Detective Kimble.

Maudette had been called, of course. But still Ashlyn knew her grandmother would be worried sick, and none too pleased.

Ashlyn sat in the old train station lobby, her back to the long row of windows overlooking the rear parking lot and tracks beyond. Slumped in exhaustion, she clutched the small blanket she wore around her shoulders, more for the comfort it provided than the warmth. But she’d appreciated the gesture from the trooper. She’d been shaking so hard.

The station was well lit now and home base to the half dozen Maine State Police officers. Detectives and forensic evidence people, she supposed. Caden was in another part of the station, with his own detective questioning him about how they’d come across Ms. Paulette Degagne, dead, by the tracks. What were they doing there? And what they had seen?

Fortunately, before they called the cops, they’d been able to convince a horrified and guilt-ridden Rachel to go back home. They’d extracted a promise that no matter who asked, she’d swear she’d never been anywhere near the tracks tonight. And thank God she’d cooperated! The dead last thing Rachel needed was to be grilled about tonight’s events. She was convinced that the ticket Degagne had taken was meant for her. Therefore, it was her fault that the librarian was dead. She’d gone away crying, mumbling about promises and everything else in her world being broken, broken, broken.

Always broken, in one way or another.

After Rachel had left, Ashlyn and Caden had looked at each other. They’d both known the truth of what they’d seen. Yet they also knew they couldn’t tell the police that particular truth. While everyone in the village would believe and hold their silence, the authorities wouldn’t. Couldn’t. And that would cast real suspicions, real trouble, on the two of them.

There on the tracks, they’d made up a plausible story. Kept it stupidly simple. Bare bones. And now Ashlyn had to repeat it one more time to Dt. Kimble.

She began all over again, “We—”

“We being, you and Caden Williams. Your boyfriend?”

Boyfriend. Yeah, even under these circumstances, she liked the sound of that.

“Yes, my boyfriend. Caden and I had gone to the school dance earlier tonight. Or rather, yesterday.” She looked at her watch.

“Just the two of you?”

What, was he slow? Ashlyn bit back a sarcastic reply, but man, she was getting tired of this. Not to mention just plain tired. “No. There were three of us. We’d picked up our friend, Rachel Riley.”

“And that’s Arch Riley’s daughter. Correct?”

“Yes,” she answered the irritatingly blank-faced officer tightly. “Just like I told your colleague and the trooper before him. She’s Arch Riley’s daughter. And she’s my best friend. A great person.”

Kimble looked up from his notepad. “Just making sure we have this right, young lady. In case there are any questions … problems down the line. We want to make sure your statement is accurate….”

Yeah, yeah. And that it meshes with Caden’s in every tiny detail. She knew the drill, knew why they asked these questions again and again. He was trying to unnerve her. Rattle her. But she wasn’t having any of it. Nor did she fall for those long silences, which he no doubt hoped she would fill by embroidering on her statement. She stuck with the plan, kept it simple. Of course, it helped that she knew Caden wouldn’t deviate an inch from their story. Come to that, she knew she could count on Rachel too, once she’d calmed down, if the cops should happen to seek her out. Not that they had any reason to.

Detective Kimble tried another one of those protracted silences. Ashlyn started counting backwards from 100 in her head.

Eventually, he was obliged to ask another question.

“So, you all went to the dance, but you left early. Is that right?”

“That’s right.”

“About what time?”

Ashlyn supplied the same approximate time she had furnished the other cops. Then fell silent, waiting for the next question.

“And then what?”

Give the man points. He was learning to be more open-ended.

“Caden and I drove Rachel home and then decided to go parking before he dropped me off.” Her cheeks weren’t even flushing now, she’d told this so many times. “So we parked the SUV behind the station, right where you see it now.” She swiveled around in the seat and pointed out the window to the back parking lot. Though the sun wasn’t up yet, the grey of early morning was filtering into Prescott Junction. And in it, Ashlyn saw Caden’s father outside by the parked car, talking to another cop. But far from getting grilled by the young officer, he appeared to be doing the grilling.

As she watched, Professor Fairfax Williams caught Ashlyn watching as he emphatically gestured toward the station. Instantly, his look hardened. Ashlyn looked away hastily.

“But you didn’t stay in the car?” Kimble prompted.

Ashlyn shook her head. “No. We wanted to be more alone. In a more … secluded area where no one could possibly see us.”

“See you … what?”

Kimble solidified his asshole status in her mind.

“Making out. Didn’t I mention that before?”
Quite sure I did, you pervert.

But it would be all over the Junction by noon, Ashlyn had every confidence. Ashlyn Caverhill and Caden Williams, making out at the train station. Yeah, it would be all over, and embellished to the high heavens.

Kimble ignored her dig. “Were either you or Mr. Williams drinking?”

“No.”

“What about Rachel Riley?”

“She never touches the stuff.”

“Drugs?”

“Not a chance.”

Kimble lazily scratched across his wide middle. “Okay, then what happened?”

“Caden and I went to sit under the train bridge. We’d left the school dance early, so we figured it was a pretty safe bet we’d be alone there. We were there maybe an hour or so and then had to leave. Caden promised my grandmother he’d have me home before it was got really dark.” Just over an hour — that was the time discrepancy of course from when they left the dance to when they arrived at the river. But there was no way to explain that they’d stopped to park elsewhere and then raced to the river when they heard the whistle blow. Not without opening up the can of worms they’d already sworn they wouldn’t open. Yet she always held her breath tight at this part —
despite the closed-tight curtains, what if someone had seen them?

“And that’s when you found the body?” Kimble asked.

“Yes. I guess Ms. Degagne must have been going for a walk after the dance — that’s all I can figure. We heard nothing. Heard no one. Didn’t see a thing … but we were pretty occupied with each other. Caden and I just found the body there as we were leaving. Then we ran back to the car, Caden grabbed his cell and phoned 911.”

“And you waited in the station here?”

“No,” she corrected. “We waited in the car. Just like I told you before.” God, when was he going to get tired of this cat and mouse game? She was simply not going to give him a loose thread for him to pluck at. Not. Gonna. Happen.

As though she’d said the words aloud, Kimble sighed and snapped his notebook shut. “Okay, that’s all for the moment,” he said, standing.

 Just then, Caden emerged from a nearby office. He looked tired as hell, but steady and happy to see her as they locked eyes. Excellent! He hadn’t changed his story either.

A car drove by the train station. Slowly. The driver turned a little ways up the road and drove past slowly again. Great, just great. The Junction was starting to wake up now. Starting to crawl out of their beds and face the day, hear the news, the scandal. Pretend they didn’t hear the whistle blowing in the night. Even as Ashlyn thought these things, two more Looky Lous cruised slowly by.

Caden sat down beside Ashlyn. “You okay, babe?”

His gentle tone made her feel more than okay. “Much better now that you’re here.” She leaned her head over toward him. God, how she wanted to connect. Rest her weary self just a moment on that strength of his. Her head touched down on his shoulder, and Ashlyn waited for him to slide an arm around her and tighten his grip. But one second he was moving to comfort her, and the next, his arm flew away as if he’d been shocked.

Caden sat up straight in his chair. Ashlyn turned to see that Professor Williams stood several yards to their right.

“We’re going. Now, son.”

Caden stood. “I have to give Ashlyn a ride home.”

“I’m sure a police officer would be more than willing to drive Miss Caverhill home.” It wasn’t a question, and the young officer who’d accompanied Professor Williams inside nodded quickly.

Ashlyn stood, waiting expectantly for Caden to object. The last thing she needed was to be delivered home to her grandmother in the back seat of a trooper’s marked cruiser. Surely Caden would know this. Surely, he’d insist on taking her home.

“I’ll see you later then, Ash,” he mumbled.

He followed his father out the door and through the parking lot. As she watched, Caden turned and gave a wave with an apologetic hunch of the shoulders. Arms crossed, Ashlyn didn’t wave back.

“Looks like somebody’s pissed." Kimble’s voice held amusement as he sidled up to Ashlyn. “Come on, I’ll give you a lift home.”

“I can walk,” she muttered.

Kimble chuckled. “Not a chance.”

Well, if Kimble was going to drive her rather than the uniform, maybe it wouldn’t be quite so bad. Detectives drove unmarked cars, didn’t they?

They did, she discovered as Kimble guided her to a plain black Impala. Unfortunately, at least a dozen people had already stopped to gawk. And they all saw her get in the detective’s car. At least it was the front seat.

“Yep,” Kimble said, as he drove out of the parking lot. “I bet you and the boyfriend won’t be parking anywhere for a good long time. Not if Professor Williams has anything to do with it.”