Pall in the Family (23 page)

“Oh.”

“Yeah. She always says she hopes Sophie and I get a ‘useful' talent, if any at all.”

“‘Useful' being the one she has—predicting the stock market?”

“You have to admit it's better than talking to cats or telling people they'll find love during far-off travels.”

I couldn't really argue with him. I had felt the same way growing up. The kids eventually realized I knew things about them they'd rather keep to themselves. No one feels comfortable around a person who knows when there will be a pop quiz, or who pulled the fire alarm in a deserted hallway.

“Have you had any more . . . messages? From Baxter?”

“No. Not as clear as that one. He's sad that Tish is gone, but he likes being here with Tuffy.”

“Okay. Let me think about this. There must be a way to stop the messages. Do you want to stop communicating with them?”

Seth shrugged and watched the dogs. “No, I kind of like it. But, it's just so . . . freaky. What would you do?”

I sighed and put my hand on his back. “I'm still trying to figure that out.”

* * *

I took the
diary up to my room after sneaking past the dining room, where my parents and Vi were still rehashing the funeral and the will.

I wasn't sure what I expected, but there were no secret codes, no notes hidden under the liner papers, no invisible ink. After the shock of that letter from Mac, I had a new vision of Tish as a superspy. I was embarrassed to find myself holding pages up to the heat of a lightbulb to see if anything developed.

I flipped quickly through the entries, hoping for some highlighting or maybe another secret letter she had decided not to deliver. The diary covered the year Tish had turned twelve. It was painful reading. There had been crushes and bullies and mean girls and nice teachers. She wrote about my mother and how much she admired her. Was this why she hid it and told me where to find it? I already knew that Tish had idolized my mother when she was growing up. There were references to our house and how much she loved it. She wanted one “exactly like it” when she grew up. She got her wish on that one.

Tish and her mom had had their troubles. Most of it was due to her mother's drinking. I had grown up knowing that Tish didn't get along with her mother and that she had moved in with my parents for the last part of high school. I skimmed over the sections where a twelve-year-old Tish was trying to cover for her mother, trying to do the right thing to avoid her mother's anger.

In November, the entries changed. Tish wrote a long section about a babysitting night at our house. She'd been watching Grace, who was a baby at the time. Tish wrote that she could tell Grace had some psychic ability but that it wasn't what my mom had hoped for. Tish had just begun to feel that she might have some ability, a common enough fantasy at that age. She was living with a mother who was either not home or drunk. It would be wonderful to have a special “superpower.” For Tish, the fantasy had come true. After years of work and training, she had developed a name for herself as a medium and psychic. But the girl writing this diary wasn't there yet. She'd apparently been in my parents' room that night, looking for my mom's tarot deck. Tish had the idea that the cards themselves were magical, and she wanted to try them out. There was a long section of justification for the snooping she had done. Then this:

I don't know why I looked out the window. I wish I hadn't seen them at all. I wish I had stayed downstairs where I was supposed to be. It was so gross! They were kissing and they're so old. And she's married! No one will believe me. Now I wonder what happened to the gun. If I tell, she will for sure find out and then what will happen? But I have to tell don't I?

There was no special marking for this section, but when I started to read it, I knew this was why she had left me the book. But I didn't understand it. She'd obviously seen something that wasn't right, but who was she talking about?

According to the entries in December, she had gone to the police eventually and indeed they had not believed her. She was just the spooky girl with the drunk for a mother. They even brought in a social worker to determine whether it was likely Tish had been drinking that night. It wasn't surprising. The word of an imaginative twelve-year-old meant nothing.

I wasn't sure what had triggered the recent murders after all this time, but I was starting to think that Sara's séance had been much more disturbing for one of the guests than the others.

I decided to use my new set of keys.

* * *

I hesitated outside
Tish's house. How long would I think of it that way? Glancing at the tree where Mac used to leave notes, I felt sadness settle over me. Tish had certainly caused some trouble with her penchant for “helping.”

I went up the steps and ignored the police tape stretched across the door.
What's one more reason for Mac to be mad?
I stepped into the front hall and took a steadying breath. I imagined I could still smell blood, which was unlikely after five days and the thorough cleaning Rupert Worthington claimed to have arranged. Ignoring the flashes of memory and avoiding even a glance toward the kitchen, I went directly to the stairs. I took them two at a time and found myself on the landing outside what used to be my parents' bedroom.

Tish had put her own spin on things since she moved in, and her taste in comfortable, casual furnishings continued into the bedroom. It was decorated in neutral tones of brown and cream. She had a king-size bed between the two front-facing windows and a comfy-looking chair by the side-facing window. I suspected that this was the window she had been looking out of when she'd seen a married someone kissing a man who wasn't her husband.

What I couldn't quite get my head around was that Harriet Munson lived next door. I could not, even using all of my imaginative powers, see her having an affair. She was simply too rule-oriented. Ignoring the fact that she and her husband seemed to be one of the happiest couples in town—another shocker—I just couldn't imagine her doing anything so out of character.

I peeked through the window and tried to imagine what Tish had seen. But there was nothing to see. There was one small window on that side of Harriet's house, and I was at the wrong angle to see anything. Unless Harriet and her mystery man had been standing at the side of the house near our driveway, which would have made them perfectly visible from the street, Tish hadn't been looking this way.

I went to the other window and glanced out. This window faced the front, and I imagined would give a good view of the Stark's privacy fence. I was wrong again. I could see right into their backyard. I could also see into their kitchen. The driveway ran along the side of the house to the detached garage at the back.

My understanding of what Tish had seen shifted again. I pulled out my phone to call Tom.

The woods grew quiet as the sun disappeared. The
sunlight that had been weakly filtering through the trees gave up and the moon took over. It was Thursday evening, eleven days after finding Sara. I reflected on how much had changed and hoped that soon we could all return to our version of normal. We had launched one more mission to follow Milo. The gang was certain he was up to “no good,” as Vi would say. Since I now suspected someone else entirely, I had gone along with this to keep them safely watching the wrong person. Baxter's leash was taut in my hand as he strained to sniff the area around us. Seth and Tuffy crouched behind a tree about twenty feet away.

Vi and Mom had set up a vantage point along the road that led back into town; my dad was farther along Singapore Highway in case Milo headed south. He was testing out his new mobile police-band radio. Diana and Alex watched Message Circle. I had turned everything I knew over to Tom; hopefully he was closing in on the murderer. The rest of us were wasting our time, but I felt reassured that everyone I cared about was currently watching Milo while the real killer was nowhere near these woods.

I saw Milo run his metal detector over the ground in the silver moonlight. The familiar
click-click
sound no longer seemed threatening. He stopped when the clicks got closer together, turned on a portable lantern, and began to dig.

I heard Baxter's heavy breathing at my side. I was surprised Milo hadn't noticed Baxter's loud panting. Seth glanced in my direction, and then I saw a blur of light brown as Tuffy took off into the woods.

Baxter pulled at the leash, and I had no choice but to be dragged along after him or lose him to the darkness. I gave up all pretense of quietly observing Milo and shouted at Seth to run. Milo dropped the shovel and bent to pick up the lantern. He shined it at the tree Seth had been hiding behind, but Seth was already up ahead chasing Tuffy.

I had no idea where Tuffy thought he was going. Wherever he was headed, it wasn't a silent approach. We made so much noise running, I was sure Milo must be following us as well. My phone vibrated in my pocket—a text. I didn't have time for Vi's update.

The branches that were too high for Baxter struck at my face, and I put my arm up to block them. The stitches pulled in my arm as I strained against the leash. I ran with my head down, tucked under my right arm, and hoped Baxter knew where he was going as he tugged me deeper into the woods. I saw a light up ahead in a small clearing and pulled on Baxter's leash to slow him down. Seth had stopped running as well, and we walked up to the edge of the clearing, breathing hard and staying behind the trees. My phone vibrated again; I reached into my pocket and shut it off. I felt the weight of my gun in the waistband at the small of my back and was glad I had brought it. I felt that I was back in that horrible dream from the night of Diana's spells. The woods, the moonlight in the clearing, the sense of being dragged through the trees: it all combined with the sound of my heart pounding in my ears. My legs felt boneless as I realized this was the place—the place from my dream, where Mac would be hurt.

Joe Stark was in the clearing with a lantern and a shovel. He had been digging for a while by the looks of the pile of dirt at his feet. He held Tuffy by the collar and tried not to get bit by the snarling, growling demon Tuffy had become. He picked Tuffy off the ground by his collar and got his arm around the dog to stop his struggling. Tuffy yipped and then continued growling.

The dog must have sensed we were nearby, because he stopped fighting with Stark and scanned the trees looking for us. Stark stood very still, his head cocked, listening.

“Hello? Who's there?” His face was in shadow, his long hair falling over his eyes.

I gestured to Seth to stay back in the trees, and I stepped forward into the clearing.

“Hi, Joe. Thanks for catching my dog.” I willed my voice to stay calm, but I could barely hear myself over the pounding in my ears. All my alarm bells were clanging.

Joe's mouth formed a smile.

“This isn't your dog.”

I forced myself to take another step forward. I felt Baxter leaning into my leg, his chest vibrating with a growl that began deep in his throat. “I'm taking care of him for the owner.”

“The owner is dead.” Stark put Tuffy down. The dog snarled and bit into Stark's ankle. Stark's other leg came around and caught Tuffy in his back leg. He let out a yelp of pain and the little furry body flew several feet before landing still and silent just a yard or two from where Seth was hiding. Stark bent down to his shovel, and when he stood, he had a gun in his hand pointed directly at me.

Baxter growled and pulled on the leash, I held firm with both hands. The hair on the back of my neck stood up and I heard loud breathing to my left.

I felt Seth grab my gun from my waistband. I turned and saw him, his face streaked with tears, aiming my gun with a shaky hand at Stark.

Stark let out a bark of laughter. “Call off your bodyguard, Ms. Fortune.”

“Seth, put the gun down.” I took a step toward him, but Stark shook his head and motioned with his gun that I should stay put. My body felt like ice as I watched Seth grip the gun, my mind playing out every sort of horrible outcome. The safety was still on, and Seth didn't know how to shoot, as far as I knew. But Stark didn't know that, and he'd already killed two people who'd gotten in his way.

“Seth, listen to her,” said a new voice. Milo stepped out of the trees toward Seth. He didn't even glance at his stepfather. “Seth, you don't want to do this. It will follow you for the rest of your life, believe me. Put the gun down and no one will get hurt.”

“Tuffy's already hurt!” Seth said.

Milo inched closer to him. “Seth, you're not a killer. Put it down.”

Seth glanced at me. I nodded. Baxter moaned as if to join in the chorus of reason.

Seth let his arm drop, and Milo stepped forward to take the gun. He put his arm around Seth, who shrugged him off and ran to where Tuffy had fallen.

“You shouldn't come to the woods at night, Ms. Fortune. You never know what might happen,” Stark said.

This was it, I thought. In my effort to protect my family by sending them on a wild Milo chase, I had left myself open to danger. And since Seth was always with me these days, he was in danger, too. In the distance, I heard something crashing through the forest. And a siren.

“Stark, put the gun away. It's over,” Milo said. He pointed my gun at Stark.

I heard a
ka-chink
to my right. Cecile held a hunting rifle up to her shoulder, aimed at me. I wasn't shocked, based on Tish's diary entry, but was angry at myself for momentarily forgetting that she was just as dangerous as Joe.

Stark laughed and shook his head. “It's not over for—” he began.

His next words were drowned out by the sound of a car approaching through the trees, the siren flashing and wailing on top. Tom pulled the wheel hard to the right but too late to stop it from crashing into a huge oak at the edge of the clearing. We were all momentarily distracted by its arrival. The driver's side was blocked by the tree, but the passenger door flew open, and Mac climbed out. He took a step toward us, his arms outstretched just like in my dream.

I turned to warn him to stay back, and my hand loosened on the leash, which was all Baxter needed. I felt Baxter's low growl, then the leather leash ripped into my hand as it was pulled out of my grasp. He launched himself at Stark with a deep bark. Joe put his arm up to protect himself and, just as Baxter was about to land on him, the gun fired. Dog and man went down in a pile of fur and stringy hair. Stark rolled out from under Baxter and started crab-walking away, but the dog didn't move. I heard a deep howl begin off to my left. Tuffy had come around and made the most mournful sound I had ever heard.

The howl was deafening in the otherwise quiet clearing. The car engine hissed, and the headlights lit up the woods to the north of us. The bubble on top spun, and the flashing lights revealed Milo wrestling with Stark for possession of the gun. I caught a glimpse of Cecile running into the trees, but I couldn't deal with her until I knew Seth was safe and I had checked on Baxter. I signaled Seth to stay on the ground near Tuffy. I saw Stark's gun drop to the forest floor as Milo slammed his knee into Stark's gut.

I crawled toward Baxter. He still had not moved. I reached his long body and ran my hand along his chest. It was wet. I looked up to see Mac running toward us, and back at my hand, covered in blood.

Mac ran past me and pulled Stark away from Milo. Stark's gun lay glinting in the moonlight just a few feet from me. I grabbed it. Seth had moved closer to Baxter, and Tuffy continued his keening. As Mac clicked the handcuffs onto Stark's wrist, Tom finally climbed out of the police car. Alex and Diana emerged from the trees.

“I tried to text you about Cecile,” Diana said, as she ran over to where I sat with Baxter. “We saw her headed this way with a rifle.”

Stark's gun lay in my hand, and I could see Sara and then Tish falling to the ground. I shook my head to clear it, and then focused on the section of woods into which Cecile had disappeared.

Alex had already moved to check on Seth and Tuffy. They seemed to be examining Tuffy's back leg.

I stood and told Seth to stay down near the dogs. I gestured at Diana to check on Baxter, although the hopeless dread was already settling around my shoulders. The red and white lights of the cruiser reflected off the closest trees, leaving the rest of the woods in darkness. I wondered for a moment if Cecile could be out there hiding and decided she had probably run toward the road to get away. I was up and headed into the woods before I had time to reconsider.

“Tom, Baxter needs help!” I ran past him into the darkness and heard Mac's voice calling me as I slipped between the trees.

I tried to calm down and focus. Tuffy's howl was masking all other sounds in the woods and, with my back against a tree, I tried to listen past his racket to anything that might give away Cecile's location. I continued toward the road, pausing every minute or so to listen. Tuffy finally stopped his noise, which had me concerned. Was Baxter dead? Was Tuffy hurt and unable to continue?

As I got farther from the clearing, the lights from the squad car no longer penetrated, and I moved through the trees with only weak silver moonlight to guide me. It was eerily quiet. No animals were moving about, no owls hooted. Then I heard it.

Scuffling and swearing and thumping. I followed the sound, being careful to stay under the cover of the trees. I saw two people struggling on the ground. Long white hair blended with blonde spiky hair as Cecile and Vi rolled around on the mossy forest floor. I entered the melee just as Mom cocked Cecile's gun, which caused the rumpled twosome on the ground to freeze.

“Vi, what are you doing?” I said.

“I'm subduing a suspect.” She sat up and moved away from Cecile, who stayed on the ground. Both of them had dirt streaks on their faces and twigs and leaves hanging off their hair and clothing.

Mom walked closer and pointed the rifle at Cecile. I went to help Vi get up. She struggled to stand and favored her right leg. I grabbed her elbow and pulled her up out of her crouch. She leaned against me and began brushing leaves off her skirt.

“What should I do, Vi?” Mom didn't glance our way but continued to point the gun at Cecile.

Cecile lay perfectly still, mesmerized by the barrel of her rifle. She wisely chose not to speak. Her eyes flicked from Vi to me to the gun. Her hope of escape evaporated when Mac burst upon us.

“What the—?” he said as he took in the scene: Vi and me covered in dirt and leaves, Mom holding a gun on Cecile, who also looked like she'd been dragged through the forest.

I tilted my head toward Cecile, and Mac went to her and pulled her to her feet. Mom lowered the weapon.

We trudged back through the woods. Vi leaned heavily on me, and I half carried her most of the way. Mom and Mac flanked Cecile, who walked with her head down, refusing to speak.

* * *

The next hour
was a blur filled with flashing lights from the police cruiser and Tuffy's howl. The little dog had started up again and didn't stop until he and Baxter had been taken away to the emergency vet clinic. Andrews had radioed that shots had been fired, and when the ambulance arrived, Mac bullied them into transporting the dogs to the vet. I remembered Seth's face, young and scared, wet with tears, as he asked if I thought Baxter would be okay. I said I didn't know, because if I told him what I really thought, we would have stood there all night crying.

The Starks were taken into custody for the murders of Sara, Tish, and Mike Jones. I had figured out that much on my own, but I still had a long list of questions. Milo admitted he was in town to find evidence that his stepfather had killed his father in the hunting accident. He'd been digging for the rifle all this time. He filled us in on the rest: Tish had seen Cecile leave with a gun and come back without one on the night of Mike's death all those years ago. She'd been babysitting that night and had suspected they had killed him, but she was just a kid, and no one would listen to her.