ShadowsintheMist (30 page)

“I’m probably just imagining things,” I said, feeling I was
treading on thin ice. “You know what a vivid imagination I have.”

He stared at me, unsmiling. “You’d best let things be, Miss
Suzanna,” he said. “No tellin’ what can o’ worms y’ might open if you don’t
watch yer step. Y’ can’t bring none of ’em back now anyway. If yer ma or pa or
Doc Lancaster came by foul play, they’ll take care of it. The dead don’t
forget. An’ they got ways o’ gettin’ even.”

I shivered. “What about your dream?” I asked. “When Dad
said, ‘Don’t let them get away with it!’ Doesn’t that mean we should do
something?”

He looked at me and smiled but his eyes were like bright,
hard stones. “Now, missy, that was jest a dream! You don’t believe in dreams
now, do ya?”

I suddenly felt an overwhelming need to get away—away from
that room, away from the memories, away from Rudy.

“Well, thanks for the coffee,” I said as I stood up and
backed toward the door. “And thanks for the chat.”

Rudy didn’t move, just nodded, turning to gaze out the
window as I fumbled with the doorknob and escaped into the fresh freedom of
outdoors. I ran back across the field as fast as I could, certain I could feel
his eyes burning into my back all the way.

At least, something Rudy said made sense—there was no
telling what can of worms I might open. I’d opened too many already.

Chapter Thirteen

The seal is set. Now welcome, thou dread power!

Nameless, yet thus omnipotent, which here

Walk’st in the shadow of the midnight hour

With a deep awe, yet all distinct from fear;

Thy haunts are ever where the dead walls rear

Their ivy mantles and the solemn scene

Derives from thee a sense so deep and clear

That we become a part of what has been,

And grow unto the spot, all-seeing but unseen.

George Gordon Byron,
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage,
canto
4, stanza 145

When I went to visit Jenny, I was surprised to find her room
empty. I was told she was transferred to another hospital but no one could—or
would—tell me which one. Her mother was also reticent, unwilling to speak to me
at all. When I went to her home to visit her, she left the chain lock fastened
and peered out through the crack of the door. She told me Jenny was much improved
and was recuperating but couldn’t say when she’d be coming home.

“I’d like to see her,” I said.

Mrs. Hampton shook her head. “She can’t have visitors,” she
said. “At least, not for a few weeks. Doctor’s orders.” She wouldn’t discuss it
further and closed the door with barely a civil goodbye.

In the car on the way home, I puzzled over the mystery.
Perhaps Jenny was transferred for her own protection. After all, whoever shot
her was still very much on the loose. I preferred to believe this and not that
Mrs. Hampton considered me a threat. Her attitude, however, worried me. It was
one of mistrust and something else—something very much like fear.

* * * * *

Halloween arrived sooner than I’d hoped. It dawned bright
and sunny, despite a pronounced chill in the air. The weather was probably the
only aspect of the day Alicia couldn’t organize. She’d buzzed around the house
over the past weeks with a vitality that I didn’t think her capable of. She
even looked healthier and I wondered if it was because she was in control of
her addiction. I knew she now attended therapy sessions at a drug
rehabilitation clinic once a week. The hospital was very strict about this.
Surprisingly, she didn’t seem to mind. She was now immersed in her role as
hostess to what she called “the party of the year” and I had to admire her
industry.

The house took on a very real Halloween atmosphere. Sheaves
of cornstalks tied with huge orange ribbons fronted by grinning jack-o’-lanterns
graced the corners of the rooms. Crêpe bats dangled from chandeliers and
ceilings, while yards of white gauzy material draped makeshift frames to
resemble ghostly specters. Black cats with fiery red eyes, witches on
broomsticks and ghoulish monsters were painted on the windows and a full-sized
skeleton sat on the piano stool wearing an incongruous top hat and tailcoat, as
though ready to entertain.

All the guests had responded and I was surprised to learn
most of them were coming. I supposed the recent media hype regarding Dirkston
Enterprises and the family had a lot to do with it. I was glad Alicia had found
a sense of purpose but I’d be happy when the whole affair was over. I still
felt it was too soon after two tragic deaths for this sort of festivity.

Grant was gone for the past week, this time to Washington DC
on business—or so he said. Darla had gone with him—a relief in one way but
irksome in another. I didn’t like to think of her having all that time alone
with Grant.

David and Colin were preoccupied with the marina. David flew
to Chicago to consult their accountant, while Colin prepared for the onset of
winter, poring over new advertising campaigns and making endless lists of
repairs, equipment and improvements that were needed. All three men assured
Alicia they’d be back in time for the party but I had my doubts.

I didn’t mind having a few days to myself for a change. I
didn’t realize how stifling it was to have either David or Grant hovering at my
elbow. I tried to ignore Rudy’s lurking presence at the estate. Since our
conversation, I felt I hardly knew him and it made me uneasy.

The lethargy and tiredness that had plagued me ever since
the evening of my spell, as everyone now called it, was easing. For the first
time in weeks, I felt my strength returning. I cancelled an appointment I’d
made to see a doctor. I was relatively certain it was just some potent viral
attack.

When I came downstairs, Alicia was already on the phone to
the caterer. I waved as I passed and she gave a distracted smile. I followed
the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee wafting from the kitchen.

Lottie was standing in the middle of the room, hands on
hips, scowling, as she gazed at her domain. Every available surface was covered
with food—platters heaped with delicacies sporting colorful toothpicks,
crustless sandwich wedges, fruits, vegetables—all perfectly wrapped in
cellophane.

“Now you tell me, Miss Suzanna, how’m I s’posed t’ get
anything done in here?”

I smiled. “Maybe you shouldn’t bother. Why don’t you take
the day off? I think Alicia is having fun running the circus.”

“Well…” Lottie shook her head doubtfully.

“She’s having a catering firm supply most of the food and
drink. This is only the start. I understand it’ll take three trips. By the time
they’re set up, no one will be able to fit in here.”

“Well…” she repeated, her lips pursed. “If you’re sure you
won’t need me?”

I smiled and hugged her. “We’ll always need you, Lottie. But
I don’t think you’d be able to stand what they’re going to do to your kitchen.
Go home and have a rest.”

She nodded and smiled. “All right, Miss Suzanna, I might jes’
do that.” She looked around the kitchen once more and sighed. “Never thought I’d
see th’ day I couldn’t call this room my own!”

After Lottie left, I poured my coffee and took it upstairs.
It seemed to be the only part of the house that didn’t look like a scene from a
horror movie. When I reached the upper hall, I was surprised to see Martha
shutting the door to my room. Martha firmly respected our privacy and never
entered our bedrooms unless invited.

“Martha?”

She whirled, startled and put a hand to her chest.

“Suzanna, you scared the daylights out of me!”

“Is there something you’re looking for?” I asked, curious.

She blinked. “No, dear. No. I was… Well, I did knock and you
didn’t answer, so I thought… I know it’s silly but since Alicia’s…um…accident,
I’ve been worried.” She dropped her eyes and I could see she was embarrassed.

I smiled and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Don’t
worry, I’m not the overdosing type.”

“Oh, no! I didn’t mean…” She put a hand on my arm. “It’s
just…there’s been so many accidents.”

I nodded. “Yes, I see what you mean. Thanks for your
concern.” I bent down to stroke Kong, who’d appeared from nowhere and was
rubbing himself against my shins. “Is there something you wanted me for?”

“No. Nothing really,” she said. “I just thought since you
haven’t been feeling too well these past few weeks, maybe you’d like to sleep
in and have breakfast in your room.”

I smiled. “You really are trying to spoil me! Actually, I
feel pretty good today. I must’ve finally shaken whatever it was.”

“Well, that’s good news, dear. Anyway, I’d best be getting
downstairs. Alicia has a list of things a mile long for me to do.”

“Don’t you let her overwork you,” I called after her.

Kong led the way into my room. I put my coffee cup down,
went to the wardrobe and took out the altered wedding dress I was compelled to
wear that evening. Kong stood outside the closet and meowed.

“What’s the matter, Kong? Don’t you like it?” I asked,
amused.

He yowled again, then got up and went into the closet. I was
intrigued as he stood up on his hind legs and stretched his front paws up the
front of the set of drawers on one side of the hanging clothes. I followed the
direction of his stretch and suddenly felt a chill of apprehension.

Pulling over a chair, I climbed up and felt along the shelf
at the top of the closet, sighing with relief as my hand touched the box I’d
hidden there some days ago. I pulled it out and carried it over to my bed. My
mother’s journals were inside. I gazed at them, puzzled. Something wasn’t right.
I was sure I put them in order before placing them in the box.

Now the most recent journal was on top instead of on the
bottom. I took it out and thumbed through it. The blank page facing the section
where the pages had been ripped out stared up at me. There, scrawled with thick
black marker in large childish lettering, were the words, Get out while you
still can!

I sat down on the bed. I felt as though a heavy weight lay
on my chest, making it difficult to breathe. Blood pounded in my ears. Reality
hit me with the full force of a falling boulder. This was danger—no longer
ambiguous, no longer uncertain. This was a direct threat and it was meant for
me!

I put the book down with shaking hands and tried to think.
Could Martha have done this? My mind wanted to reject such a ridiculous premise
but the facts were there. She was just in my room. But anyone could have been
in my room, logic reasoned. There was nothing to show when this message was put
in the book. I hadn’t looked at the journals for at least two weeks.

Questions flooded in. Why was the message scrawled in the
journal? Why not left in a note in full view where the perpetrator could be
sure I’d see it? Perhaps for the very purpose of veiling the time. Whoever had
put it here was willing to take the chance I might never see it—or else that
person knew me well enough to know I’d bring the journals out again soon.

Who had access to my room? I had to admit anyone could’ve
done it. As far as I could remember, I spoke to only three people about the
journals—David, Martha and Grant. But they could’ve told anyone else.

I told Grant about them in the car on the way to Leland. I
also told him I’d burned them but I wasn’t certain he believed me.

Martha had always known the journals existed. She was the
one who put them in the attic in the first place. I recently spoke to her about
them. She could easily deduce I brought them down to my room.

I also discussed my suspicions regarding my mother’s entries
in the journals with David. He listened but didn’t appear to be interested.

I stood up. I had to face it—anyone or everyone might know
about the journals, so I was back where I started. I’d have to take the journal
to the police. They’d know what to do. They might even be able to employ a
handwriting analyst, though I didn’t hold out much hope there. Whoever wrote
the words wouldn’t be doing so in his or her regular hand.

There was a knock at the door. I thrust the journal into its
box and put the box back onto the top shelf, replacing the chair and shutting
the wardrobe. Then I opened the door.

“Suzanna, you’ve got to help me!” It was Alicia. “I’ve just
had a call from Madam Valenia. She’s here, Suzanna, right here in Ludington! I’ve
told her to come right out. She needs time to absorb the atmosphere of the
house, she says. I just don’t know what to do. I’ve got the caterers coming at
one o’clock and I’ll have to give them their instructions and help set up the
bar.

“I haven’t even finished my costume yet.” She paused and
looked at me curiously. “Are you all right? You look as pale as a ghost!” She
laughed. “But I suppose that’ll help you fit right in, eh?”

I ignored the quip. “I’ll take care of Madam what’s-her-name,
Alicia. You go finish what you were doing. Try to take it easy. You’ll end up
back in the hospital if you don’t slow down.”

She flashed me a broad grin. “Oh, no, darling, no more white
walls for me. This is just what I need!” She turned and disappeared down the
stairs.

The police, I thought with distraction, would have to wait.

* * * * *

Madam Valenia wasn’t what I’d term your typical clairvoyant.
I expected crimson robes, bangles, beads and dark gypsy features but the woman
I met at the door surprised me. She was younger than I expected, or perhaps she
merely gave the impression of youth. Either way, her face was smooth and
unlined with a porcelain complexion and fresh, natural beauty.

She was very petite, no taller than five feet, with long
blonde hair tied back by a gold ribbon. She wore an expensive white woolen
pantsuit with a high-collared black silk blouse. Her jewelry was impressive but
tasteful—gold earrings with moonstone, a gold chain at her throat and a gold
watch with a thin band that accentuated her delicate wrist.