Long Black Veil (20 page)

“Hang on, hang on. Slow down.” Brock held up his hands. “Say that again, at about half speed so I can follow it.”

Devon took a deep breath to try and reel herself back in. She felt jittery, keyed up, with a need to do something RIGHT NOW. Even though her body was suddenly bone tired, her mind was alive with the possibilities of what she’d seen. She went over what she saw again in detail, getting Brock up to speed.

When she was finally finished, he ran a hand over his face, rubbing his eye. “It’s kind of hard to believe,” he said, his voice unsure.

Devon answered him, her words emphatic. “I saw it.”

“I believe you,” he assured her. “But what are we supposed to do with all of this? How does this help us lift the curse?” He paused, thinking. “And what does this have to do with your mom and dad?”

She sagged, the weight of trying to find the right answers crashing back down on her. She rubbed her temples. “I know it’s all connected. I can feel it.”

“Look, we’re not going to do much more today.” Brock climbed to his feet, then held out his hand to help Devon up. “You need to go home and get some rest. I can still do the research on Abernathy tonight. We’ll meet back up in the morning, okay?”

“But, I—” she began, but Brock cut her off.

“It will keep, Dev. Holfsteder’s been dead for a hundred years. What’s one more night to him?” He wrapped his arm around her and led her to the door.

Brock’s words were imminently reasonable, and Devon could see the logic in them. Still, there was a part of her that wanted to push through her exhaustion and keep working at the problem until it was solved. She hated leaving things half done.

“Devon.” Brock’s voice was warning, as if he already knew what she was up to.

“For someone who just noticed me, you sure seem to know a lot about me.” She bumped into him playfully.

Brock gave her a small, secret smile. “I’ve been noticing you for years,” he said, before he brushed his lips lightly against hers. Then he pulled away. “And I know that look. You’re trying to think of way to keep at this.” He stopped walking and pulled her around to face him. “So promise me. No haring off on your own. We’re doing this together, okay?”

“I promise,” she whispered, startled by his seriousness. She hadn’t expected him to be this involved in solving the mystery of her family’s haunting. It made her stomach do flips.

“Good,” he said, mollified. He dropped a kiss on the top of her head, then led her back out to the car.

Chapter Twenty-One

Devon looked over at Brock, amazed for the millionth time that he would do this for her. It was the day after Thanksgiving and they were on the road well before sunup. But while most people were up so early to brave the sales and shopping, Devon and Brock were headed to prison.

Devon was going to see her mother.

She hadn’t seen her mother in a decade; the last time was when her mother was led away in handcuffs from the dingy motel room they’d been staying in. After Gammy had come to get her and she’d gotten settled, she tried to write a few letters to her mother, but that was always so hard. She’d had no contact with her mother since. And now she was on her way to see her. The lump of lead that was currently sitting in her stomach made her question the intelligence of this enterprise. There was no guarantee her mother would agree to see her; this whole trip could be a waste of time.

Brock took his eyes off of the road for a second to send her an encouraging smile. Devon smiled back, grateful for his help and support. She wasn’t sure she could do this if she had to go by herself. She would have preferred not to go at all, but they’d reached the limit of what they could do with archive articles and old photographs. There was remarkably little about the more recent shooting, and none of the major players involved were left alive. Only Abernathy, the witness, but he no longer lived in town.

The only person left to ask was Lorelei. Devon could only hope her mother would tell them what they needed to know. Gammy hadn’t been happy when Devon mentioned her plan for a road trip. Gil had covered for her, saying that he’d be driving her so that Gammy would let her go. In the end, Gammy had sent Devon with a box of her mother’s favorite homemade cookies.

They stopped for gas and breakfast once the sun started lighting the pavement. For the most part, they drove in silence with only the radio for noise. Devon caught cat naps, her head leaning against the cold window. At least asleep she didn’t have to think about what would happen when she saw her mother again.

The prison parking lot was nowhere near full. It wasn’t at all like what Devon had been expecting: there were no guard towers, no patrols with guards sporting rifles. There wasn’t razor wire or anything terribly prison-like that she could see. It looked a lot like a building you’d find on a college campus, truth be told. The main structure was red brick, the walls set with windows. The land leading up to the main building was nicely landscaped, even in late autumn. The American flag and the state flag flew from two flagpoles that flanked the walk leading up to the doors.

Devon got out of the car slowly, taking it all in while she stretched muscles cramped from sitting so long. The wind cut through her jacket and she pulled it tight around her. She took the box with the cookies from the dashboard. She doubted she’d be allowed in with it, but it gave her something to do with her hands.

Brock came around the front of the car to stand beside her. “You ready for this?”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then nodded once. “Let’s go.”

They walked side by side up the front walk and into the brick building. She checked in with the admin behind the main desk and was directed to the visiting waiting area. After the ID check and the review of the rules, Devon was escorted into the visiting room. Brock waited outside, holding the box of cookies and her bag.

She sat at an empty table to wait for her mother. There weren’t many people there yet, even though it was a state holiday and visitation was allowed. Her leg bounced constantly as the minutes stretched. Devon was just debating about getting up to get a soda from the machine when she heard a shuffling step nearby. She looked up.

Pale green eyes that matched her own stared back at her. “Devon?” Her mother sounded breathless, as if she’d just run the 100 yard dash.

“Hi Mom.” She didn’t get up to give her mother a hug. That would have been weird.

“Wha…what are you doing here?” Her mother took the seat across from her, folding her hands demurely on the tabletop.

Devon took a moment to look at her mother, to assess the changes to the woman. The last time she’d seen her, Lorelei had been skinny, underfed, with a junkie look to her. Her auburn hair had been lank and lifeless, her clothes had hung from an almost skeletal frame. Her skin had been a strange ashy color, as if she hadn’t been getting enough sun. This woman bore little resemblance to that woman. This woman’s skin was clear, and while not what anyone would call a robust color, was at least a more normal shade and not so dead looking. Her hair was cut short, but had some life to it. Her eyes were clear, not clouded with the haze of addiction. And she’d filled out, the sharp angles of her face and body a little more rounded now and softer.

Devon blinked. Prison actually looked better on her mother than regular life had.

“I need to talk to you and I need you to be honest with me. Something’s happened.”

Lorelei grew pale. “Mom?”

Devon shook her head. “No, Gammy’s fine.” She looked up, her eyes boring into her mother’s. “I’ve seen the ghost.”

She hadn’t thought her mother could get any paler, but she’d been wrong. Lorelei moved as though to push her chair back and leave, but Devon grabbed her hand. She spoke quickly. “I’ve never asked anything of you before now and I’ll never ask anything of you again. But I need you to tell me what happened to you so it doesn’t happen to me.”

Lorelei swallowed nervously, eyes darting around. Devon thought it looked like she wanted to ask for help from the guards. “Please, Mom.”

The hand clutched in hers relaxed a bit. Devon kept hold of it, but lightened her grip some. She was afraid Lorelei might evaporate if she let her go, and Devon wasn’t willing to risk that until all of her questions were answered. She kept her eyes on her mother’s face, watching the subtle play of emotions there. Surprise and fear scudded across it like clouds before the moon, followed quickly by anger and sadness. Then all her face showed was resignation.

“When did you first see the ghost?” Lorelei asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Devon leaned closer so she could hear her better. “A few months ago. Right before I started hanging out with Brock.”

“Brock is from town, I expect.” When Devon nodded, Lorelei sighed. “Stop seeing him and the ghost will go away.”

Devon’s eyes narrowed in irritation. She had not come all this way for the pat, simple answer. She wanted to shake her mother, but knew that would get her nowhere. “That’s not going to happen.” She thought for a moment, then said, “And I don’t think it would help anyway. I think the ghost is waiting for someone to figure out why she’s still here.”

“I can’t help you.”

Devon wanted to scream. “No, you won’t help me. There’s a difference.”

Lorelei tried to pull her hand away, but Devon latched on, tightening her grip. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I’m asking not to turn out like you.” The words were said quietly, but Devon could see they hit her mother like a punch to the stomach. She watched as her mother’s eyes filled with tears, though none fell.

The minutes passed as they sat in silence, staring at one another. Finally Devon had enough of waiting. “Okay, fine, you don’t want to talk about the ghost? Then how’s about we talk about my father.” Devon glared at her mother. “Like, say, who is he?”

Her mother’s head snapped back. “You know who your father is. Deacon Mackson.”

Devon slashed her free arm down, palm flat, like she was slapping the air. “No. I’ve done some checking and the blood types don’t match. There’s no biological way my dad is actually my dad.” She squeezed her mother’s hand. “So I want to know who is.”

Lorelei let out a defeated sounding laugh. “I can’t win either way.” She spread her hands out, as if laying all of her cards out on the table. “The story of your father is the story of the ghost. At least in part.”

Devon quirked an eyebrow at her. She waited while Lorelei seemed to gather herself and her thoughts. When her mother spoke it was in a voice soft and full of the joy of things past. Her face was transformed into something almost beautiful as she told the story of her life before Devon.

“I was sixteen when I first saw the ghost. I didn’t think anything of it, not at first. She just looked like some woman wandering the mountain. I thought maybe there was a commune nearby, or something else that required members to dress in old-fashioned clothes. I was busy with school—and boys—and Gammy made sure I didn’t get into too much trouble with either.

“I’d always been a little bit in love with Jackson Duvall since elementary school. He was from the mountains, but his family had moved to town ages ago because they’d done well with some timberland they’d sold.” Her eyes were unfocused, describing things that only she could see. “His best friend was Deacon Mackson. They were inseparable since the fifth grade.”

“By the time we all were in high school we’d formed our own little group. Not sure how it happened, but because I was friends with Jackson and Deacon, I was accepted by everyone. Those two were on the football team, and they ran track, so they were popular with all of the jocks. Deacon was going for a scholarship—he wanted to be a doctor—but Jackson just planned to kick back and enjoy life after high school. He had no plans for college or leaving. He just wanted to inherit his dad’s business and live every day the same as the one before.”

She paused for a moment. Her mouth turned down, as if tasting something unpleasant. Then she shook her head, and continued. “During all of those years, I had only seen the ghost a few times. Here and there, off and on, and she never seemed to single me out. I had no idea who she was or what she meant.

“It wasn’t until I turned eighteen that my mother told me what the ghost meant to us. She’d seen Jackson and me carrying on at church about something, and she wanted to warn me. Of course, I didn’t listen—she was just some superstitious old mountain lady—because there wasn’t any such thing as ghosts.”

Her hands twisted around each other where they rested in her lap. “Then Jackson got himself a girlfriend. Deacon and I were sort of left on our own.” She smiled a private smile, and Devon relaxed, at least knowing that her mother had loved the man she knew as her father at some point. “He was so kind and patient and sweet to me. He didn’t mind me missing Jackson; he missed his friend too. It was only a matter of time before we started dating.”

Lorelei’s eyes darkened, the fear in them palpable. “Then I started seeing the woman in the black veil everywhere. I could swear she followed me to school, standing outside the window of my class and staring in at me. I didn’t know what she wanted, but she frightened me. I thought she must be some kind of crazy lady who’d gotten fixated on me—it still didn’t occur to me that what my mother had told me was real.”