Caterpillar, a Paranormal Romance With a Touch of Horror (15 page)

“Interesting,” was all I could think of to say.  After a few seconds, I remembered my purpose for seeking Rainn out in the first place.  “Hey, did you get all those faxes sent that I asked you to?”

“I sure did, Kitty Cat,” Rainn said as she turned back to her computer. 

Simultaneously, the nickname she’d chosen registered with both of us.  Rainn’s chair screeched as she slowly swiveled back toward me.  I knew the look of horror on Rainn’s face mirrored my own.  “I
did not
just use a Mervism,” she said in disbelief.

“I’m
sure
I didn’t hear a thing, but if I did, we’d never speak of it again.”

“What happens at the front desk stays at the front desk,” Rainn said solemnly.  We both nodded in agreement then grinned at one another before I turned to walk back to my office.  Work was more fun some days than others. 

Back at my desk, armed with my list of errands and last minute details to tend to, I packed my attaché and headed for my SUV. 

A couple of hours later, I was turning into the driveway of the estate where my open house was to be held.  I drove slowly past the empty guard shack, empty because the owners had discontinued that particular security feature when they’d vacated the premises.   I thought there was enough security in and around the property itself to make a guard seem superfluous even when the owners
were
in residence, but it wasn’t my house, so...

When I reached the gate, it was already in the open position which I found odd.  The hairs on the back of my neck prickled.   I silently reassured myself it had probably been arranged by the owners because of the open house. 

I stopped and attached a large, elegant open house sign to the bars of the gate using special metal hangers.  I drove on up the long driveway and pulled to a stop at the top of the circle in front of the impressive main entry.  I breathed a little sigh of relief when I saw a white Channel 9 News van parked discreetly alongside the garage, realizing that was probably why the gate was ajar.

I cut the engine and got out.  I climbed the eleven stone steps to the two heavy wooden doors that graced the entrance.  They were both outfitted with intricately-designed wrought iron grilles that always made me think of a medieval prison.  Once I removed the key from the lockbox and unlocked the door, I stood in the three story foyer and looked into the great room, imagining how it would all look set up for the open house. 

I pictured two linen-draped buffet tables framing the two-story stone fireplace, each topped with silver trays and silver candlesticks; the setting sun streaming in through the Palladian windows, sparkling in the crystal chandelier; the warm glow of the fire on the Brazilian cherry hardwoods.  Satisfied with what I saw in my mind’s eye, I retrieved my things and headed for the kitchen.

I was arranging my packets on the island when I heard a masculine voice call, “Hello?”

I walked to the front door to address the interloper.  A young man wearing a navy blue shirt with Channel 9 News embroidered over the left breast was standing in the foyer.  He was cute in a boyish way, what with his bowl-cut blond hair and smooth complexion.  His expression was one of awe, clearly indicating he’d never been in such a home before.  The house was quite the spectacle and I sympathized with his wonder. 

“Can I help you?”

“Are you Catherine Deen?”

“I am.”

“I’m Wade.  I work for Channel Nine.  Would it be alright if we start setting up?  Megan wants to do the interview in the living room in front of the fireplace if that’s alright with you.”

In the living room?  In front of the fireplace?  That’s where
I
was going to set up.  Even though I wanted to stomp my foot in frustration and throw a temper tantrum, I knew that resistance was futile.  Instead, I said, “That would be fine.”  Thank God my gate was fully operational.

“Don’t mind us, then.  We’ll just be setting up the lighting and all.”  With a smile, he turned and walked back out the front door. 

I heard low voices and some banging and clanging, but otherwise they were pretty unobtrusive.  I peeked into the living room to see what was making all the noise.  They had set up several lights and what looked like big white umbrellas around two brown leather wingback chairs. 

I wanted to scream.  My vision!  It was disappearing with each piece of equipment they brought in.  I turned back into the kitchen and began pacing. 

After several minutes of brainstorming, I thought of the home’s magnificent view from the dining room.  I walked in that direction.  I could create better if I was actually in the space. 

The dining room was a spectacular room, too.  With its deep tray ceiling, dark cherry chair rail and heavy chandelier, it was impressive, but the view from the wall of windows and French doors made it exceptional.  The house sat on a knoll, so from the back of the house the yard sloped gently down toward a huge pond and gazebo surrounded by several acres of woods.  All that could be seen from the dining room and the huge stone paver patio that extended the living space into the outdoors. 

I was inside my own head, visualizing the linen tables again when the sun glinting off something shiny inside the gazebo caught my eye.  I couldn’t quite make out what it was at that distance. 

A shiver of foreboding rippled down my spine.  I was instantly alert and suspicious.  Considering the recent discoveries at my listings, I felt like my concern and trepidation were warranted.  In fact, I think
any
freaking out I did would’ve been deemed understandable if not normal, all things considered.

“I see something in the gazebo across the pond.  I’m going to walk down there for just a minute.  I’ll be right back.”  I directed this toward Wade, the baby-faced adult and the only one with whom I was even vaguely familiar.  He looked at me like I was speaking Farsi, but other than that didn’t even acknowledge that he’d heard me.   

I trudged down the few patio steps and stomped across the perfectly sod yard, too irritated to enjoy the pretty scenery.  I was in a snit, muttering the whole way, so I was winded by the time I reached the pond. 

While I paused to catch my breath, I assessed the best way to get back to the gazebo.  They had maintained a very natural setting for the pond.  It was attractively wooded and overgrown in certain places, but I could see bits and pieces of the gazebo.  It was more clearly visible from the elevated position of the house as opposed to my current location, down in the trenches.

I could see the remnants of a path that I assumed led around to the gazebo and decided to give that a try.  I tread very carefully, picking my way along gingerly, not wanting to undo all the work I’d put into my appearance.

I ducked and dove around branches that stuck out here and there, many apparently having missed the last trimming of the summer.  Moving a low-hanging pine branch out of my way, my eyes were on the path when I stepped into the opening that surrounded the gazebo.  I walked around to the front where the access steps were located.  

I stopped when I saw the girl. 

No scream clogged my throat, no panic froze my muscles, I just stood staring at the body, one thought playing on a loop through my head: 
Why me?  Why me?  Why me?  Why me?

Chapter Fourteen

As far as murder scenes went, I’d seen worse.  There seemed to be something vaguely familiar about this particular one, something that niggled in the back of my mind, but I just couldn’t quite put my finger on it.  I moved a little closer to the steps to get a better look at the girl’s face.  That’s when the niggle became a stab of recognition.  I knew her.  It was Jessica.

Carter!
 I thought.  And then I lost my Funyuns and coffee.  I heaved and I heaved and then I heaved some more, falling to my knees in the soft grass.

When the spasms in my stomach finally stopped, I sat back on my haunches and, for the first time,
really looked
at the setting.

There were three white-painted steps that led up to the gazebo.  On the third riser, the word PERGAMOS was written in red, possibly blood. 

The interior of the little structure had been made to look like an altar.  There was a small dais in the center of the floor with black candles all around the perimeter.  AMON was written, again in red, on the riser of the platform.  There were several earthen bowls among the candles, but from my kneeling position, I couldn’t see what was in them.  Judging by the rest of the set up, I had a pretty good idea that they contained blood.

I made my way to my feet and walked to the base of the steps. 

I should probably stop so I don’t contaminate any evidence,
I thought, but my feet kept moving.  Keeping my hands clasped firmly in front of me, I put one foot on the first step then the second until I could see the entire interior of the gazebo.

Centered on the platform was the lifeless, colorless body of Jessica Nolan, my brother’s ex-girlfriend.  The Jessica who’d recently broke up with Carter.  The Jessica he had been rebounding from when he made plans to meet Mistee.  The Jessica he swore he’d one day marry.  The Jessica he’d said he loved.

The reason I hadn’t instantly identified Jessica was the sword that was sticking out of her mouth.  Her jaw was open to an unnaturally wide angle and so much of the sword’s length was inserted, I assumed it went through the platform, pinning her head to the floor below.  By the looks of it, Jessica had been drained of blood, too, although whether before or after death I didn’t know.  The inside surface of her arms had been cut lengthwise from wrist to elbow and all the bowls I’d seen, plus many I hadn’t, were filled with blood.  And there was a hole in her chest—a gaping, empty hole—where her heart had once been.

A new wave of nausea sloshed in my stomach and fear gripped me—fear for my brother and what it would do to him when he found out; fear that he would be arrested for something he didn’t do; fear that he had already run and I’d never see him again; and fear that, somehow, in some way, Carter might be involved. 
That
was the worst by far.

Although I didn’t believe my brother was capable of such atrocities as the ones I’d seen, on some level there was a tiny seed of doubt that I just couldn’t get rid of.  It was the mental equivalent of the princess and the pea and the thought was breaking my back—and my heart. 

Carter had been so lost for so long, how could I be sure what was in his heart anymore?  Did anyone ever know another person well enough to say with absolute certainty that they could never, ever do something violent and horrible to another human being?  Probably not.  I thought of Ted Bundy, the looks-can-be-deceiving poster child. 

Someone would have to be truly evil to carry out the vicious attacks I’d seen, though.  And why they were happening around me, I still didn’t know.  Unless it had something to do with my family’s curse, though I didn’t see how or why it would.

I racked my brain for anything different in my life.  I ticked them off as I thought of them.  Apart from discovering numerous dead bodies, there were only three things I could identify:  my new gift (but that shouldn’t matter), the sudden and puzzling reappearance of my Aunt Jillian, and Tegan.  Of the three, only two were capable of murder and of the two, one was an older woman I hadn’t seen in fifteen years and the other was…well, a mystery.  Tegan.

Don’t be ridiculous, Cat,
my inner devil’s advocate said, with whom I debated back and forth.

He
does
seem too good to be true.  And I draw a blank when I touch him.  What kinds of things normally fill that blank space?

No, it’s not Tegan.  You’d
know
if he was a serial killer.  That’s not a subtle thing, being that evil.  You’d
know,
Cat.  You’d
know.

But what if he’s
my
Ted Bundy?

A light panic welled up in my chest, making my heart beat even faster and my breath come in quick little bursts.  I was trembling from head to toe, but that didn’t stop me from shucking my designer shoes and running back to the mansion.