The Unloved (20 page)

The other two girls in the room snickered softly. “Afraid Miss Helena’s going to get you?” Allison Carter asked, her voice mocking. Instantly, Julie’s eyes shifted to Allison.

“Why did you say that?” she asked, her voice quavering as she remembered the tale Ruby had told on the morning after her grandmother’s funeral.

Allison grinned wickedly. “Everyone knows about the Devereaux ghosts,” she said. “They always come back, and I heard that they’re worst of all during storms. And when it gets real bad, they come up out of the cemetery and creep around in the house.”

Jeff, who had been sitting quietly on the end of a sofa, stared at Allison, his eyes wide. “Wh-What do they want?” he breathed.

Allison turned to Jeff, and her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “Little boys,” she said. “Little boys like you. And you’ll never know when they’re going to come. In fact,” she added, letting her eyes dart toward the corners of the room, “they could be here right now, just waiting for you to wander away by yourself.”

“Stop it!” Tammy-Jo Aaronson demanded. Then, as her friends all began giggling at the fear apparent in her voice, she tried to put on a brave face and managed to force a laugh. “That is so stupid—” she began, but then fell silent, her face draining of color as the French doors rattled loudly.

“Wh-What’s that?” Jeff stammered, sliding off the sofa and edging closer to Julie.

Another bolt of lightning flashed. Outside the French doors, silhouetted against the thin curtains stretched over the glass, they could see a figure working at the handle.

One of the girls uttered a strangled whimper, and Jeff pressed up against his sister, his arms sliding around her waist. Then, as the thunder faded away, they heard a voice call out.

“Julie? Darling, unlock the door. I’m going to drown!”

The tension in the room broke instantly as they recognized Marguerite’s voice. Julie ran to the door, twisting at the lock, then holding the door against the wind as her aunt slipped inside, her mackintosh dripping wet.

“The front door was locked, and I forgot my key. Didn’t you hear me ringing the bell?”

Julie stared at her aunt for a second, then began to giggle. “How could we hear it?” she asked. “The electricity’s out, remember? There isn’t any bell. But where are Dad and Mary-Beth?”

“I couldn’t make Mary-Beth come back,” Marguerite said. “I tried to talk to her, but she wouldn’t listen. She—” She cut her own words off and stared at Julie. “Your father?” she asked. “Why would I have seen him? Isn’t he here?”

Julie shook her head. “He went after you,” she explained. “He was worried about you being out in the storm and—”

Before she could finish, the front door opened, then slammed shut again, and Kevin, his clothes soaked and smeared with mud, appeared in the wide double doors between the foyer and the living room. He stared at Marguerite, his chest heaving as if he’d been running. “You’re here,” he finally managed, his voice gasping. “My God, I feel like I’ve been all over this island. Where were you?”

Marguerite frowned. “On the road, of course. But Mary-Beth wouldn’t come back. She said she wanted to go home.”

“In this?” Kevin asked, gesturing toward the storm outside. “My God, nobody could get across the causeway right now. It’s completely flooded.”

The girls exchanged nervous glances. “But then where is she?” Allison finally asked. “If she’s not on the island, and she couldn’t get off …” Her voice trailed off as she slowly realized the implication of her words.

“Now, let’s not get ourselves worked up,” Marguerite said quickly as she saw the girls’ fear increase. “Kevin couldn’t have searched the whole island—he hasn’t had time. And she might have been able to get across. We—well, we’ll just have to wait here, won’t we? We’ll wait here, and the storm will pass, and then we’ll find out what’s happened.”

“I bet I know what happened,” Jeff said, his eyes staring up at his father. “I bet the ghosts got her. I bet the ghosts came and found her and took her away.”

Kevin stared quizzically at his son. “Whatever made you think of that?” he asked.

Jeff turned to stare at Allison Carter. “She told us,” he said. “She said all the Devereaux ghosts come when there’s storms.”

Allison laughed out loud. “But I was only kidding,” she told Jeff, and turned to Kevin. “Really, Mr. Devereaux, it was just a joke.”

“But what if it wasn’t?” Jeff asked. “What if it’s true? What if Grandmother came back and took Mary-Beth? What if she killed her?”

A shocked silence fell over the room. “That’s a terrible thing to say, Jeff,” Marguerite said, her voice taking on a hard edge that made Jeff shrink back. “You should be ashamed of yourself, even thinking such a thing!”

Jeff stared at his aunt for a moment, blinking, then burst into tears and fled up the stairs.

The storm was over, and a strange calm had settled over Devereaux Island. Everywhere, the land was littered with fallen branches and wind-scattered debris. The sea, still heaving in the aftermath of the storm, was covered with white-caps, and a heavy surf pounded steadily at the wide expanse of the beach. But the sky was clear, a deep blue tinged gray only to the north, where the storm was receding over the horizon. The wind had dropped to a stiff breeze, but even that was waning, and already the familiar heat was beginning to build. Steam rose from the land in a misty fog as the rainfall evaporated beneath the power of the sun.

Alicia Mayhew had come and gone, and the mansion was empty now of the girls who had waited out the storm for four long hours. Thirty minutes earlier, just as Alicia had arrived, the electricity had come back on and the phone began to work again.

Kevin had stopped Alicia on the veranda, just as she was ready to leave, and asked her if she’d seen Anne anywhere in the village, or perhaps their car.

Alicia had shaken her head. “But if I’d been her,” she told Kevin, “I’d have headed inland.” She shook her head in wonder as she remembered the power of the storm that had kept everyone in Devereaux shut up in their homes for most of the day. “I’ve seen squalls before, but that one was something else.” Her eyes took on a look of worry. “I hope Mary-Beth is all right.”

Kevin managed a grin. “From what Marguerite said, she must have been okay. She was mad about something, and she wasn’t about to come back here.”

Alicia’s brows arched knowingly. “That girl’s always mad about something. This time I suspect it had to do with your daughter. Mary-Beth’s had a crush on Kerry Sanders for months now, but since he met Julie, he hasn’t had eyes for anyone else. Well,” she finished, glancing at her carful of teenage girls, “I’d better get home. Let me know when you hear from Anne, will you?” she added as she started down the steps. “I’d love to hear what she thinks of our little squalls.”

Kevin shrugged ruefully, “I’m afraid it’ll just add fuel to her fire. She’s determined not to stay down here, and after this, I can’t say I can blame her too much.”

Alicia Mayhew turned back, surprised. “Stay here? You mean you’re thinking of moving back?”

Kevin nodded. “It’s all up in the air right now, but there seem to be a lot of good reasons to stay. It all depends on Anne.…” His voice trailed off, but Alicia nodded with instant understanding.

“She thinks we’re living in the back woods, and that we’re culturally deprived, right?”

Kevin reddened slightly, but nodded.

“Well, I can’t blame her,” Alicia sighed. “I guess we were, for a hundred years there. But things have changed.” She smiled encouragingly. “Why don’t I talk to her?” she suggested. “Maybe I can convince her at least to give us a try.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Kevin replied, as the phone in the entry hall rang shrilly. “I’d better get that. It might be Anne now.” He waved to Alicia, and as she hurried down the steps, he went into the house and picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Kevin? It’s Muriel Fletcher. Is Mary-Beth still there?”

Kevin felt a tightening in his stomach. Mary-Beth should have been home hours ago. Then, speaking from one of the extensions upstairs, he heard Marguerite’s voice.

“Muriel? You mean Mary-Beth isn’t home yet?”

“No. She’s there, isn’t she?”

“N-No,” Marguerite replied, and Kevin could hear the sudden worry in her voice. “She—well, I’m afraid she refused
to stay. She was upset about something, and decided to walk home.”

“Walk?” Muriel sounded shocked. “In that storm? My God, Marguerite, how could you have let her do something like that?”

Marguerite’s voice was trembling. “I tried to stop her, but I couldn’t, Muriel. She just put on her coat and walked out. I followed her and tried to talk her into coming back, but I couldn’t. She—well, she ran away from me.”

“Oh, Lord,” Muriel groaned. It wasn’t surprising, really. Her daughter had always had a short temper, and even Muriel had had problems keeping her under control.

“I tried to find her again, but by the time I got to the causeway, she was gone,” Marguerite went on. Then her voice took on a more hopeful note. “It didn’t look too bad, really. The storm seemed to be letting up a little. But she must have gotten across. Otherwise, she would have come back to the house, wouldn’t she?”

Muriel hesitated, trying to put herself into her daughter’s mind. “No,” she said at last. “She probably wouldn’t. Not if she was angry. She’d have stayed outside by herself before she admitted she’d made a mistake.”

“Well, I’m sure she’s all right,” Marguerite insisted. “Perhaps she went to see one of her friends.”

There was another short hesitation, but when Muriel Fletcher spoke again, Kevin could hear her concern. “Maybe so,” she said. “Anyway, I’ll call around. And Kevin? Are you still there?”

“I’m here,” Kevin replied.

“Would you mind taking a look around the island? I know it’s a lot to ask, but—”

“Of course I will,” Kevin replied. “I’ll call you back in an hour or so.”

He hung up, and a moment later heard his sister’s irregular step as she made her way down the second-floor hall to the head of the stairs. She looked down at him, her face a mask of worry. “I shouldn’t have let her leave, Kevin,” she said. “If something’s happened to her, it will be my fault. I shouldn’t have let her leave.”

“Hold on, Margie,” Kevin replied, unconsciously using the nickname he’d called her when he was a child. “We don’t know that anything’s happened to her at all. I’ll go out and have a look around—” But before he could finish, he heard a car door slam outside, and a moment later, the sound of heavy feet on the veranda. The bell rang just as he pulled the door open.

On the veranda, his expression somber and his eyes grave, stood Will Hempstead. Instantly Kevin knew something was drastically wrong, and he instinctively took a step backward.

“It’s Anne, Kevin,” the police chief said. “There isn’t any easy way to tell you this. Her … well, her body just washed up on a shore little bit north of town. We don’t … well, we don’t exactly know what happened yet, but …”

Hempstead’s voice droned on, but Kevin heard none of it. It wasn’t possible. Anne couldn’t be dead—she couldn’t! She’d just gone for a ride, just wanted to be by herself. She was coming back. She was coming back any minute now, and she wouldn’t be angry anymore. She’d be smiling at him, and telling him she’d finally thought it all through, and—

But she wasn’t coming back. Something had happened, and she was never coming home to him, or to the children, again.

He dropped onto the wooden chair near the door and buried his face in his hands, his body wracked by the first sobs of his grief.

Even the creatures of the night seemed to have fallen silent.

The air was still, and the last of the storm-driven surf had long since died away. Only a gentle lapping sound drifted through the darkness, and Kevin, alone now in the room he had shared with Anne, sat by the window, staring out. His mind felt numb, unwilling to accept the truth of what had happened. He kept feeling a strange urge to talk to Anne, to call out to her as if she were in the bathroom, preparing herself for bed. Twice he’d heard a sound and looked up
eagerly, ready for the door to open, for Anne to come into the room. But each time he’d caught himself.

It wasn’t Anne.

It would never be Anne again.

They’d pieced together what must have happened. She hadn’t even made it across the causeway. The wind and the sea had taken her, washing the car off the road, trapping her inside. But she’d gotten free, almost.

Will Hempstead’s words still rang in his mind. “We found the car. She’d gotten out of it. Almost made it. But from the marks on her body it looks like the seat belt wrapped around her ankle and held her under. So stupid. So goddamned, fucking stupid!”

Kevin almost wished Will hadn’t told him. In a way, it would have been easier if he could have believed she died instantly, knocked unconscious before she drowned. But to have been fighting to the very end, to be so close to surviving—

He shuddered, and tried to fight back the tears that overwhelmed him. Unable to stop himself, he gave in, sobbing silently for a few minutes until the wracking wave of grief ebbed once more. He opened the window, sucking the heavily perfumed air deep into his lungs.