A Thousand Yesteryears (18 page)

“Something happened that day to frighten Maggie,” Katie reasoned. “If she didn’t witness a murder and she didn’t see the Mothman, she saw something else. Something that terrified her so badly she wouldn’t leave her bedroom for three days.”

“And only then because Caden coaxed her out.” Eve felt the phantasm’s withdrawal, an increased thinning of the air that told her the entity was leaving. “Don’t go,” she pleaded. “We need answers.”

The presence became a bare whisper on the edge of her mind. In desperation she shouted one last question, the only thing she could think to tie three lives together. “Is Wendy’s body in Point Pleasant?”

“Yes.”

A crackle thrummed through the air, gone as swiftly as it started. The presence lingered a second longer, then wafted into a realm beyond their reach. In the natural silence that followed, Eve glanced at her friend. Within seconds, she became conscious of the trill of birdsong deep within the TNT, the creak of branches as a gentle wind agitated the trees. She felt drained, yet oddly wired with adrenalin.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” She scuffed her hands against her arms. The unnatural chill was fading.

Katie swallowed. “If Maggie didn’t see the Mothman and she didn’t witness my sister’s death, she must have seen her body.”

“But she said something was in the Witch Wood.”

“The Witch Wood?”

“Just a name we had for the thicket behind Nana’s house.” Eve shifted as the memory washed over her. “Maggie said something chased her. Something gray that had red glowing eyes.”

“Maybe she just thought that. Maybe she was so scared, she turned whatever she saw into the Mothman. Everyone was talking about the creature. It makes sense she’d latch onto that, turning whatever—or
whoever
—she saw into a monster. She was just a kid.”

Eve followed the thought to its logical conclusion. “You think she saw Wendy’s killer?”

“Maybe.”

The pieces were starting to fall into place, yet a key element remained missing. How was Aunt Rosie involved? “Then your sister’s body could still be there…in the Witch Wood. We have to go back to the place where Maggie saw the Mothman.”

“And do what?” Katie looked stunned. “Are you suggesting we dig for Wendy’s body?”

“Not
we.
” Eve gripped her by the elbow and steered her from the igloo. “I know it sounds horrible, Katie, but you want to find out what happened to her, don’t you?” She drew a deep breath. “This is starting to become more than we can handle, but I have an idea.”

* * * *

It took two days before Eve could get Caden and Ryan together for dinner with her and Katie. Ryan’s work shift was at fault, but eventually he rotated onto a daylight schedule, and she was able to set up a casual dinner for all of them at her house.

She was in the kitchen preparing a tossed green salad to go with the chicken she had baking when she heard a thump outside. Craning her neck, she glanced out the kitchen window but didn’t see anything amiss in the yard. Discounting the noise as inconsequential, she located a roll of plastic wrap in the nearest drawer, tore off a section, and fit it over the salad bowl.

Another thump.

Frowning, she opened the door to the screened porch, then exited to the yard where the lawn unfurled in sun-dappled patches of green. She’d hired a neighborhood boy to take care of mowing and edging, but he wasn’t due back for another two days. Maybe he was banging around in the gardening shed. Although, from what she could see, the door was closed and appeared to be locked.

Thump. Thump.

Keying in on the location of the noise, Eve circled the side of the porch and immediately recoiled.

Oh, God.

A horrified gasp tumbled from her lips when she spied the poor creature floundering on the ground. Whatever manner of animal had caught and mauled the crow had shredded the bird’s wings until only ragged tips remained. Trapped in a death throe, it banged against the house with every failed attempt to fly.

Eve stumbled backward, bile rising to her throat. No animal could have done that. Not to both wings, leaving the torso intact. That meant a human perpetrator. Nervously, she glanced around, fearful whoever committed the atrocity lingered nearby. But there was nothing remotely sinister in the shower of sunlight spilling through the trees or the gentle skip of wind through the grass.

The bird made one final heartrending attempt to fly, flopped to the ground, and was still. Tears burned Eve’s eyes. School pranks were one thing, but to sadistically mutilate the crow indicated a frighteningly dark nature. She couldn’t leave it there, broken and abandoned like a thing of no value. Driven by equal parts anger and horror, she jogged back to the house, intent on locating the key to the shed. She would find a shovel and bury the bird. It deserved that much.

Before she’d taken two steps into the kitchen, the phone erupted in a jarring ring.

Eve pressed a hand to her chest to compose herself, rattled by the senseless slaughter of the crow. She wasn’t certain if it had managed to flounder into her yard or someone left it there in another deliberate attempt to scare her off.

Swallowing hard, she picked up the receiver. “Hello.”

Two seconds of silence preceded an inhuman screech that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

Schreeeeeeee…eeeeee...schreeee…

Eve slammed the phone down, her legs abruptly weak. She pressed her hands to her face, muffling a cry. She’d thought she was done with the calls and was suddenly weary of looking over her shoulder for a stalker. For all she knew, the mysterious caller could be the same person who’d butchered the crow. “Eve, are you in there?”

She jumped at the sound of a woman’s voice, but a cautious glance through the back door revealed Doreen Sue Lynch on the stoop of the screened porch. She stood with her hand raised as if to knock.

Eve exhaled in relief. “Doreen Sue, what are you doing here?” She quickly crossed the porch to open the door to the yard.

The woman looked better than the last time Eve had seen her. Her make-up was fresh, expertly applied, if a little gaudy, her blond hair sprayed and teased to perfection. Dressed in denim shorts, spiked sandals, and a bright fuchsia top, she hardly looked like someone in mourning.

“My last appointment at the salon canceled, and I had some time to kill before I pick up Sam for the movies tonight. I hope you don’t mind.” Doreen Sue bit her lip as if uncertain of her welcome. “I know I didn’t make the best impression at our last meeting, so I thought I’d drop by and say hello.” She smiled awkwardly. “Hello.”

When Eve didn’t immediately respond, she tried again. “I rang the bell at the front door but no one answered. I thought maybe you were in the yard.”

Eve touched her neck as if waking from a trance. “I’m sorry. I was out back earlier. And I understand you were upset when we met before. Please, come in.” She held open the door and stepped aside for Doreen Sue to enter.

“Did I come at a bad time?”

“No, I’m just a little distracted.”

In the kitchen, she offered Doreen Sue a soda. The woman declined but slid into a seat at the table, making herself at home.

“Something smells good.”

“I’m baking chicken with a cranberry glaze.” Eve sat across from her and attempted a smile, but her mind was still on the dead crow and the strange phone call. “How have you been? I mean…since Amos?”

“Better.” Reaching into her purse, Doreen Sue removed a pack of Virginia Slim menthols. She tapped the top against her hand as if preparing to eject a cigarette, then seemed to recall she wasn’t at home and absently waved the pack in the air. “There’s been nothing new from the police, but everyone has been so kind. The girls at my salon. My customers. Even Katie.”

“Why would that surprise you?” Eve was genuinely taken aback. “She’s your daughter.”

Doreen Sue frowned, the press of her lips revealing age lines at the corners of her mouth. “We do all right, but I’ve always had the feeling she doesn’t approve of me. My lifestyle.”

Eve bit her lip, uncertain if she was qualified to comment. Katie Lynch had become a good friend in a short time, and she didn’t want to jeopardize that relationship. At the same time, her heart went out to Doreen Sue. Even as a little girl, Eve had thought the woman genuine despite her faults.

“Katie just wants what’s best for you.”

With a disdainful roll of her eyes, Doreen Sue tossed the cigarettes into her oversized purse. “Katie wants what’s best for her, and that includes a mama who’s less colorful.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. She lets me see my grandson, and right now that’s all I care about. Now tell me—what has you upset?”

Eve opened her mouth to deny anything was wrong, but before she could utter a word, Doreen Sue waggled a bubblegum-pink fingernail in her direction. “Don’t tell me there’s nothing wrong. I’ve been around women—stylists and customers—all my life and could write a book on the nuances of body language and facial expressions. Ha! Bet you didn’t think I knew that word nuances, did you? I’m a lot brighter than Katie gives me credit for.”

Eve clamped her mouth shut. She hated to hear the woman put herself down, especially belittling herself in her daughter’s eyes. “Mrs. Lynch, I never—”

“Doreen Sue,” she said, patting Eve’s hand. “Now, tell me what’s wrong.”

She thought about denying her uneasiness again, but relented after a few seconds. Maybe Doreen Sue had seen the mutilated crow when she walked around the back of the house. Or maybe she would say it was the signature prank of some horrible neighborhood boy and Eve could stop worrying that someone was threatening her with omens of harm.

“What a dreadful prank,” Doreen Sue said after she’d finished sharing the tale. With a horrified grimace, the older woman fished through her purse and emerged with a pack of spearmint gum. She offered a stick to Eve who shook her head.

“You shouldn’t worry about it. All this pranking will die down now that school’s out and the kids can burn off their energy with swimming and ballgames.” Looking thoughtful, Doreen Sue folded a bright green rectangle of gum into her mouth. “You’d think they’d have learned from that mess with Hank Jeffries how pranks can backfire.”

Eve sat straighter, not liking the sound of what she heard. She’d thought about contacting Hank several times since returning to Point Pleasant, but wasn’t sure he would remember her. “I know Hank. He was a good friend of my father’s. What about him?”

“Oh, you poor thing.” Doreen Sue patted her hand again. “You probably don’t know he died.”

“Died?” Eve drew back, the breath rushing from her lungs as if she’d been punched. “But…” Bewildered, she could only stare. “How?”

Doreen Sue settled in her chair as if preparing for a long tale. “Maybe I will take that soda after all.”

Eve nodded numbly, her mind spiraling in a million directions. Had her mother known Hank was dead? Aunt Rosie? How long ago had he died? As she poured a Tab into a glass for Doreen Sue, she flashed on the image of a square-jawed man with deep brown eyes and a scruff of beard. He’d shown her how to fly a kite and where to look for tadpoles in the creek behind Aunt Rosie’s house.

“He was afraid of the Mothman,” she said as the memory surfaced in her mind. Returning to her chair, she slid the glass in front of Doreen Sue.

“Not afraid.” Doreen Sue sipped the soda and set it aside. “Terrified. He’d seen it not long before the bridge fell. Messed him up something fierce. Lots of strange things happened near his house through the years. Or so he said.”

Eve thought of the note she’d found from her father to her mother. Part of that had been about Hank.

Hank called spooked about the Mothman again. I’m headed over to his place to try to calm him down.

According to Eve’s father, Hank had spent many sleepless nights with a loaded shotgun at his side. Maybe his obsessive fear had finally gotten the better of him.

“Heart attack?” she guessed.

Doreen Sue shook her head. “Not even close. Hank liked to drink, you know.” She raised her glass as if toasting his memory, but set it down without taking a sip. “Got worse as he got older. Not a lot to do around here, especially for a man like Hank. He lost his job when Bruce Mechanical closed up shop. After that, he drifted from odd job to odd job, always looking over his shoulder for the Mothman. Everyone knew he was paranoid about the creature. It was kind of a joke.”

Eve felt bad for Hank. In a small town, gossip was the pinnacle of entertainment. Hank’s obsession with the Mothman would have made him a running punch line, the butt of countless gags and ridicule.

“Two summers ago, the Kline boys got it in their heads to play a prank on Hank.” Doreen Sue tapped her fingers lightly against the table as she recounted the story. “I heard they swiped some of their daddy’s beer, got liquored up, and went looking for fun. I guess they chose Hank because he was an easy target. Tim sprayed himself with gray body paint—you know—the kind they sell for Halloween. He even sprayed his hair. Then he nicked two road reflectors to use as eyes. Red, like the Mothman’s.” Poking a finger into her glass, Doreen Sue swirled the ice cubes against the sides. With her eyes lowered, her mascara-blackened lashes made spiky spider webs on her cheeks. “Anyone sober would have never mistaken him for the Mothman, but Hank had been drinking. A whole bottle of Jack Daniel’s, according to what Sheriff Weston found later.”

Eve’s stomach rolled over. She had a nasty sense where the story was headed. “I remember hearing Hank shot up his house once when he was drunk. He thought the Mothman was outside his window.”

Doreen Sue nodded. “Only this time when he shot the place up, he hit Tim Kline square in the face with a shotgun blast. The boy was just eighteen years old.”

Eve gripped the edge of the table, repulsed and saddened by the story. A prank gone horribly wrong. She wasn’t certain who she was angrier at—the Kline boys for doing something so stupid and cruel, or Hank for feeding his irrational terror with booze.

“When he realized his brother was dead, Parker Kline took off running.” Doreen Sue shook her head, slowly turning the glass in her hand as if looking into a crystal ball. “Hank was a basket case, at least that’s the story. When he realized what he’d done, he called the cops, blubbering and sobbing. Polly, the dispatcher—she comes to my salon to have her hair done—told me she could barely understand him. By the time Caden Flynn arrived on the scene—”