Pall in the Family (21 page)

Scarier than the psychics were the instructional videos on how to cut a brake line, accompanied by the disclaimer that you shouldn't try this at home because you could hurt someone.

I pulled out the file of newspaper clippings that Seth had copied from Sara's desk. A quick perusal confirmed what I had thought the night of the séance. Sara had collected old news articles from Crystal Haven's twice-weekly newspaper and even some from the
Grand Rapids Press
. One thick set covered Julia Wyatt's disappearance; the other was a thin pile describing Mike Jones's fatal hunting accident.

I read through the stack, remembering the summer Julia had disappeared. Everyone had gotten involved after they found her clothes in Greer's Woods. Huge search parties formed and spread out through the woods, hoping to find her alive, but fearing they would find her dead.

July 10, 1997

JULIA WYATT STILL MISSING

Authorities suspect foul play in the disappearance of a recent high school graduate from Crystal Haven.

Forty-five-year-old James Wyatt reported his daughter missing on the morning of June 22. Mr. Wyatt reportedly awoke on the morning in question to find his daughter gone. Phone calls to her friends and place of work yielded no leads. He could not provide information on whether any of her belongings were absent. Police began a search immediately, but it was not until June 24 that some of her personal items were found in Greer's Woods.

Authorities report that there were signs of a struggle and fear for Julia's safety. No further leads have materialized.

If you have any information regarding Julia Wyatt's disappearance or her current whereabouts, please call the Ottawa County Sheriff's Department at 1-800-555-6239.

The news reports failed to capture the sense of terror that gripped the area after Julia went missing, but I remembered. The town mourned the loss of its young golden couple. A Julia memorial erupted in the woods as her friends and neighbors left flowers and stuffed animals where her clothes had been found. With fresh worries about safety, parents drove their kids everywhere. The streets were empty by evening, as the children were brought inside. I was only fourteen at the time, and my parents had essentially locked me in the house for most of the summer. The pervasive apprehension was such that I didn't even mind. Rumors of Julia sightings filtered back to Crystal Haven from as far away as Chicago, but gradually the search was abandoned and the town returned to normal. Milo left at the end of August. We knew because Tish told us she saw him packing up his rusty old Datsun. Once school started in the fall, Julia Wyatt became a faint echo for most of us. Her father insisted right up until his death that she was still alive.

The articles about Mike Jones were more interesting to me, since I had never heard that story prior to Friday night. The reports were thin and lacking the sensationalism of Julia's case, although the journalist was much more dramatic than my parents had been. She described the frantic 911 call from a panicked Joe Stark, who had run through the woods and driven to a nearby gas station. Cecile, the young and pregnant widow, was depicted as a strong, but tragic figure. The shooting had been ruled an accident. Sara had clipped a business news article to this pile as well. It described the planned sale of Mike and Joe's restaurant to a Grand Rapids investor. According to my dad, Joe Stark and Mike Jones started the restaurant together in the early '70s. Joe had changed the name to Stark's Place after he married Cecile and they became co-owners. In the margin, Sara had scrawled:
Never sold? Check Milo's birthday
.

The beginning of an idea started to form just as my phone rang from somewhere under the couch. I fumbled with my computer and sent a sharp slice of pain through my shoulder as I tried to extricate myself from the couch and feel underneath for the phone. Baxter chose that moment to be helpful, and his large head blocked out any light that might have leaked under the sofa. It was a blind grope through slobbery upholstery that finally claimed the phone, but not before it had stopped ringing.

I listened to the voice message: “Ms. Fortune—Rupert Worthington here. I hope to meet with you tomorrow after the funeral. As Ms. Twining's lawyer, I have some matters to discuss. Call me if this is not convenient, otherwise I will see you right after the services. Good day.”

I patted Baxter's head, wondering where he would be spending his days after Tish's will was read.

I was having an uncomfortable déjà vu on Wednesday
morning as the organ music began and the church settled to listen to Reverend Frew. If the last memorial service had brought memories of my grandmother's funeral, this one brought out the despair after her death.

It didn't help that Tish had loved lilies. The sickly sweet smell filled the stifling church. The congregation fanned themselves with funeral programs and spread the scent all the way to the back, where I was seated. I had sent my family up front again, claiming that my arm hurt and I might need to step out. In reality, I wanted a good vantage point to watch the attendees, certain that one of the mourners had killed my friend.

I spotted Seth between Vi and Mom. Dad was next to Mom, his arm across her shaking shoulders. A few rows back I saw the gelled, dark hair of Joe sitting next to Cecile's spiky blonde highlights. Gary sat two rows ahead of me, red-faced and sweaty. I tamped down a surge of anger at seeing him. He'd shouted at Tish and called her names just an hour before she was killed. Even if he wasn't the killer, he had made her last moments of life unpleasant. I couldn't find Milo in the crowd. And somewhere, I was sure, was the person who had threatened Sara through her website. Alex and Diana were next to me. Diana strangled my hand in her own.

Reverend Frew was fading in his conviction that Tish was in a better place. He'd been much more convincing with Sara, but maybe my own black mood colored his words.

I closed my eyes for a moment and must have drifted off. I saw my grandmother's face, smiling at me, nodding. She held something up for me to see. It was a book, but I couldn't make out the title. Holding it out, she gestured that I should take it. She clearly wanted me to do something with it, but I didn't know what. Then she vanished, and I heard Tish's voice saying, “Take Baxter.” The congregation's singing startled me out of the reverie, and I stood to join them.

I thought I knew what my grandmother was saying. She wanted me to read her journal and look for ways to
increase
the likelihood of psychic insights, not block them. I wasn't thrilled at the prospect but, for Tish, I would try.

* * *

Afterward, I waited
outside for Alex and Diana. It was a bright, warm day. There was just enough of a breeze to rustle the leaves. I caught myself smiling at the fresh scent of cut grass before the thought that Tish would never enjoy another day like this stopped me cold. My chest squeezed. I couldn't breathe for a moment as the loss washed over me.

I scanned the crowd and spotted Alex talking to Josh. They looked dazed in the bright sun. I had my hand up to shield my eyes, and when I turned to look for Diana, I almost elbowed Cecile Stark right in the face. She jumped back and looked at me accusingly.

“Cecile, I'm sorry. I didn't see you there.” I was saying that a lot to Mrs. Stark.

“It's okay, Clyde. I'm sure you're distracted.” She was stunning today in a tight black sheath dress probably meant for someone twenty years younger, and a black straw sun hat. Her eyes were clear, her makeup perfect. She looked like she was attending a stylish wedding, rather than the funeral of her neighbor.

“Have you seen Mr. Worthington?” I asked.

“No, not today. It seems I've seen everyone else, though.” She took a deep breath and blurted out, “I heard you're helping the police with their investigation—that you know who killed Tish and Sara and are helping to make a case.”

My mouth dropped open against my will.

“What? Who told you that?”

“Everyone knows, Clyde.” She put her hand on my arm and squeezed. A sharp pain in my stomach caused a wave of nausea. It must have been the heat and the lilies. “There's no reason to be shy. Jillian is telling everyone that you've come back to take over the family business, and your first big feat will be to find whoever did this.” Her smile was all teeth and didn't reach her eyes.

“That's not true.” I shook my head as I started a mental list of all the things I would say to Jillian.

“Oh, then you don't know who did it?”

“No.” I removed my arm from her grip and rubbed it where her nails had dug in.

“Hmm. Well, that's probably for the best. It seems to me someone is trying to keep people quiet. Tish and Sara were the best psychics in town. Maybe they knew something they shouldn't have. Maybe being psychic is dangerous.”

“Am I interrupting?” Diana glanced at my arm and then at Cecile.

“No, no. Just saying how much I'll miss having Tish as a neighbor,” Cecile said as she fluttered her fingers and moved off into the crowd.

“What was that all about?” Diana's eyes were red; her mascara had smeared, so she had the look of her goth days.

“Just Cecile being her usual strange self,” I said as I watched her move through the crowd to make her way back to Joe. I remembered Tish telling me that Cecile had taken classes on and off for years to improve her intuition, and they never helped. It was hard to live in Crystal Haven with no discernable psychic ability; there was a subtle line between those who could and those who couldn't. Tish used to say that Cecile just tried too hard.

“It was a nice service, don't you think?” Diana stepped into my line of sight.

“Yeah, Tish would have liked it.”

Alex had spotted us and walked over in time to hear the small talk. “Listen, when I die, I don't want a funeral. Just have a big party and get drunk. You promise?”

“I don't plan on dealing with that anytime soon, Ferguson,” I said.

“Well, we could have a practice run right now. I could use a drink after that. Josh has to go back to work, but I'm off today.” He put an arm around each of us and turned us away from the church.

“I need to meet with Rupert Worthington, Tish's lawyer,” I said.

“What, right now?” Diana stopped.

“He wanted to meet me here. Maybe Tish had plans for Baxter. I don't know what Seth will do if we have to ship that dog off somewhere.”

“Surely not. Who would take him?” Alex said. “
You
don't even want him, do you?”

I started to answer when I spotted Rupert weaving his way through the crowd that had spilled onto the front steps of the church. He was red-faced and moist when he stopped in front of us, his shirttail had escaped from his pants, his suit jacket carried that “rolled in a suitcase” aura.

“Hello, Ms. Fortune. Do you feel up to meeting for a few minutes?”

“You aren't going to take the dog away, are you?” Alex stepped between us. Who knew everyone was so attached to the big slobbering lug?

“No, I have no intention of doing anything with Baxter. He's quite a . . . handful.”

“Meet you back at the house?” Diana asked.

“Can we go to your place, Alex? I don't want to face the circus just yet.”

“Sure, see you in a little while.” He gave Rupert a glare for good measure, and he and Diana went to find his car in the lot.

* * *

Looking around Rupert's
office, I wondered how he got any work done. Files were piled everywhere in the cramped space. He had a beat-up wooden desk arranged facing away from the small window. A metal filing cabinet loomed in the corner and held a dying jade plant, its leaves wrinkled and drooping.

“Who else is coming?”

“No one. You're the only person I need to see.” He glanced up from riffling through the papers on his desk. I didn't hold out much hope he would find what he was looking for.

“Aren't you in charge of her will?” I reached out quickly to save a tottering pile from crashing to the floor.

“Ah, found it!” he said. He brandished a thick file and cleared a spot on his desk by making his other stacks taller.

“Here's the recent one. We just revised it.” His eyes scanned the document. “I wonder if she knew . . .”

“Knew what?”

“About her own demise. She was very insistent that this will and testament be in place as soon as possible.”

“Mr. Worthington, I don't know what you're talking about. I assume you're going to tell me I can keep Baxter?”

“Oh yes. You definitely can keep Baxter. You get everything, in fact.” He set the paper down and spread his hands.

“What?” I leaned forward to see the document.

“Ms. Twining changed her will about a month ago. She left everything to you.”

“What do you mean, ‘everything'?”

“Her house, her car, her dog, bank accounts . . . everything.” He smiled. “She does have one condition.” He held up a finger. “You must live in the house for one year before you sell it. After that, you may do as you wish. If you don't abide by that condition, she has a clause here that allows the previous will to take effect.”

“But why would she do that?” The guilt of the way things had been between us in the last days of her life settled around me.

“She didn't share that with me. She left you this letter.” He handed a thin envelope across the desk. I took it and slid it into my bag. Whatever she had to say, I wanted to be alone when I read it.

“You said the will had been changed. To whom had she left her things before?”

“Well, that's really privileged information, but if you're worried that she'll have outraged relatives coming to contest it, don't. She had no family. She left most everything to various charities in the past.” He flipped the file closed. “I heard you've just recently returned to Crystal Haven?”

“Yes, about a month ago.” I nodded and continued to stare at the closed file.

“Mmm, Ms. Twining was very pleased about that.” He opened a drawer and removed a set of keys.

“I don't plan to stay. What am I going to do with a house?”

“You'll have to decide whether you want to live in it or not.”

He dropped the keys into my palm.

* * *

I walked from
Worthington's office to the marina. I needed to clear my head and make a plan. Why had she left everything to me? What had she been thinking? She knew I wasn't staying in town.

The letter from Tish was folded and stuffed in my bag. I sat on a bench facing the water and pulled it out.

The envelope was light purple and had my name scribbled on it. On the back flap she had scrawled “I'm sorry.” I ripped open the top and pulled out a piece of yellowed, folded notebook paper, and as I opened it, another, smaller purple note fell out onto my lap. But I wasn't paying attention to the purple note. The notebook paper wasn't from Tish; it was from Mac.

Dear Clyde,

I have to get away from Crystal Haven. I can't keep living my life based on messages and dreams. I don't think it's what you want, either. I'm not going to pressure you and I don't want to fight anymore. I'm going to Saginaw to take the job there. If you want to try a life together without all that mumbo-jumbo, meet me there.

Mac

There was no date, but I didn't need one. It wasn't his most romantic missive, but it would have changed everything. For weeks and then months after he left, I waited to hear from him. I had eventually accepted that our final argument about Dean Roberts had been Mac's last straw. He must have thought I had chosen Crystal Haven over him. Mac was not the kind of guy to track anyone down. He assumed I had made my choice and left it at that. But why did Tish have the letter?

The purple note explained everything. Tish wrote that she had promised Mac I would get the letter. He'd hidden it in our special tree at her house. Tish had taken the letter and “saved it for another day” because her guides told her it was not the right time for Mac and me. His aura was muddy; my aura was cloudy; all the signs said it wouldn't work.

I wished she were still alive so that I could scream at her. She'd never meddled in my life, and hardly gave an opinion unless it was dragged out of her. But, when she was entrusted with the most important letter of my life, she had not only read it, she'd kept it from me. The anger and sorrow at how different life would have been blended together into a dark mess in the pit of my stomach. I crumpled her note and stuffed it in my pocket, promising myself I would burn it later, maybe even let Diana do some sort of spell on it. This was something I would have expected from Vi, or my mother. Not Tish.