The town of Barre was charming, Vickie thought. It was along the Mohawk Trail, part of a meandering journey that went through some of the most beautiful countryside to be found anywhere.
The town common was certainly one of the loveliest she’d ever seen and the picturesque bed-and-breakfast they had chosen—an early Victorian manor that bordered the common—was a stunning display of architecture, as well.
They were just sixty-one miles west of Boston, which, of course, made it a growing “bedroom” community. It was just about twenty miles from the city of Worcester, and part of Worcester County, making it even more of a bedroom community.
Once, it had been part of the northern area of Rutland, another area known for exceptional geography.
“Imagine this place when all the leaves change color!” Devin said, echoing thoughts Vickie hadn’t voiced. “I’ve never been out here in the fall—actually, I’ve barely been out here ever.”
“I’ll bet it is beautiful,” Vickie said, smiling. “I haven’t been out here in that season, either. Then again, most of New England is seriously beautiful in fall. And nice in summer, too.”
Devin laughed softly. “And hell in winter.”
But it was a beautiful summer’s day. They stood outside, just waiting for Griffin and Rocky to come out; they were bringing in the luggage and chatting with the sweet, elderly woman who was their hostess at the bed-and-breakfast, a place she had dubbed Common Court.
Dylan and Darlene had already taken off on foot, determined to understand the town and listen for whatever gossip they could come across.
Darlene had died by drowning, the first victim of the Undertaker. There was no way she wanted to visit the Quabbin, the Massachusetts man-made giant lake and reservoir.
Quite understandable.
The rest of them were ready to head out to meet up with the police divers.
For the general public, diving in the Quabbin was not permitted. In fact, doing so could get one arrested, facing serious charges.
The men appeared at the front door, still speaking with Mrs. McFall, their octogenarian hostess.
Vickie and Devin waved; she smiled and waved in return, and went into the house. Rocky and Griffin came down the stairs.
“Flirting, were you?” Devin teased Rocky.
“She’s a fascinating woman,” Griffin said. “I was flirting—at least a little. She gave us something very important.”
“Oh? What was that?”
“About a year or so ago, she had a guest, a young woman. She was just with her for a night, signed in as Nell Patton,” Rocky said.
“When she checked out,” Griffin continued, “she forgot one of her bags. It was just a little toiletries bag, but our Mrs. McFall is a good woman. She tried to reach Nell so that she could return the bag. She was never able to get in touch. Apparently, the phone number Nell gave her was written hastily—and it was missing a number. And—she has a real sign-in book, the kind with which you actually use a pen!—the address she wrote is illegible. She’s going to find the old book and show it to us.”
“But did she hear anything that might suggest something bad had happened to Nell?” Vickie asked.
“She spoke to Wendell Harper—Detective Barnes’s friend out here with the state police,” Griffin said. “He made an inquiry, but there wasn’t really much he could do. There was no sign of foul play, no one knew how to find Nell...and it all just dropped.”
“But you think that something bad happened to her?” Devin asked.
“I think that we’re possibly looking at a number of people who are a) dead, or b) part of the cult. We know that there are followers—Darryl Hillford and our girl Gloria were definitely part of the cult. So, yes, I think this woman was part of the cult or possibly came to harm at the hands of the cult. Which, I don’t know. But Wendell Harper is one of the men who is going to meet us by the Quabbin. We’ll have a chance to talk to him,” Griffin said.
“Then we should go.”
“This is actually an intriguing place when you’re talking about people coming and going,” Rocky said, once they had all slid into the car.
This time, he and Devin were in the back.
Griffin was driving; Vickie was staring ahead at the scenery.
She turned to look at Rocky. “Because tourists come through for the natural beauty, the Mohawk Trail and the Quabbin itself?”
Rocky nodded. “There’s a lot of space up here.”
“And an interesting situation,” Vickie said. She half turned in her seat to address them all. “When they determined through whatever legal machination one actually uses that they would flood the valley and create the Quabbin, they immediately set about clearing the ground, and leveling the towns that had to be destroyed to create the reservoir,” she said.
“Creepy!” Devin said.
“I thought so when I was a kid and first learned about it,” Vickie said. “It was built between 1930 and 1939 and four towns were basically destroyed for it—Dana, Prescott, Greenwich and Enfield.”
“She knows that,” Devin said, shaking her head. “She just knows that!”
Vickie laughed. “I am good with dates and all that, but I also just looked up a lot of this stuff when I first started reading about Ezekiel Martin. Anyway, when I was a kid, I thought that they just flooded whole towns with all the buildings standing—that wasn’t the case. They were torn down. You can maybe find roads and some foundations under the water, but Massachusetts did a pretty good job of tearing everything down, doing some burning...ridding it of the vestiges of dry life!” she said. “It is fascinating. There’s a bunch of videos on it—one that’s really good is called ‘Under the Quabbin’ by PBS. They can find shards of pottery, steps, bits of daily life, as in old prescription or liquor bottles or the like, but not much else.”
“What did they do with the dead people?” Devin asked.
“The dead people!” Rocky said.
“Yes! Old Massachusetts towns. There had to have been a lot of dead people!” Devin said.
“Quabbin Park Cemetery,” Vickie said. “It’s actually very cool. Okay, I don’t remember exact numbers on this, but over seventy-five hundred graves were moved from I think thirty-four cemeteries for eight towns—sometimes, you might not lose the town, but you might lose the cemetery! So, all those graves were moved. You can get to the entrance by Route 9, in Ware. Not far at all—we can go!” she said.
“And I do want to go there,” Devin said.
“Me, too,” Vickie agreed. “Of course, even if everything hadn’t been disturbed—torn down and dug up—for the Quabbin, nature takes a toll, the same way progress and populations do. There are many areas where you’ll see a cemetery and people basically respecting the cemetery when—in a city—it originally extended over the road, as well, and people are walking or driving over graves all the time. But I do believe that they tried very hard to see that when graveyards were going to be flooded, the known dead were reburied or reinterred.”
“Connecticut has Candlewood Lake,” Devin noted. “When populations need water, I suppose that we, as human beings, are incredibly lucky that engineers have long figured out how to change even the landscape around us.”
“Pretty incredible. Now, if we can only figure out how to stop earthquakes and tornadoes,” Rocky said, shaking his head.
“Maybe they will, eventually,” Vickie murmured.
“We’re coming up on the water,” Griffin commented. “The water we need here, now, in Massachusetts,” he added, glancing at them dryly.
Vickie could see a number of police vehicles and a large equipment van drawn up at the end of the road ahead of them. Two divers were seated at the tail end of the van; the doors were open and they sat—half in and half out—of their suits, sipping coffee as they waited.
Griffin pulled the car off the road and parked it. They all got out. As they did so, a man hailed them. “Agents! And Miss Preston, of course. I’m Wendell Harper. Nice to meet you. David Barnes spoke highly of you all. I’m hoping we solve whatever this is together!”
Wendell Harper was a big man—a very big man. He was about six foot four, and while not in the least fat, he was solidly built. With his shirtsleeves rolled up, it was easy to see that his arms were composed of a weight lifter’s muscle. He was probably in his early forties with buzz-cut hair and a friendly, no-nonsense manner.
Introductions went around.
“They’re going to go down in a few minutes, though I’m not expecting to find anything. We’ve been in the last few days, searching the area where the phone was found,” Harper told them.
“But you’ve been expanding, right?” Vickie asked.
“Yes, we’ve been expanding, Miss Preston,” Harper said. “Thing is, a lot of people—when they hear that towns were flooded—think that there are whole watery cities down here. Sure, things were missed here and there. We find a lot of foundations. But it’s not as if there are fully standing houses—though I do understand that there is one in Candlewood Lake, not forgotten, but dropped while moving! But trees were cleared, bushes were cleared, areas were burned...not to mention that this area was as it is now almost ninety years. Water takes a toll in that kind of time.”
“We’re looking for...for a body that might have been there a short amount of time,” Vickie said.
He nodded. “Any of you dive? I mean, you have to know what you’re doing—we’re not instructors. But if you do know what you’re doing, we can always use more sets of eyes. May be your one and only opportunity, you know, out here on a sanctioned police dive. Of course, we have gone in before—research with professors out from Worcester and Boston. But you never know when the powers that be will sanction another such situation.”
Vickie was stunned to see that Griffin, Rocky and Devin piped up immediately, all saying that they were divers.
“How?” Vickie demanded, looking at the three of them. “This is Massachusetts. You’re supposed to be skiers!”
“Well, I can’t ice skate to save my life,” Devin told her, “but I learned to dive in Salem in high school—lobstering is a big deal for us.”
“And you, too?” Vickie asked Griffin.
“Nope. I never caught a lobster,” Griffin said, glancing over at Rocky.
“We had an opportunity to become certified through work,” Rocky said.
“Oh, not fair!” Vickie said.
“Well, then, if this makes it any better,” Harper told her, “the water is very cold—very, very cold. These guys have some major dry suits. You can use the van for your changing room, those who are coming.”
“I guess I’ll just be up here,” Vickie said. She looked at Harper hopefully. “Unless...this isn’t like Florida or a cruise, or anything? Some dive, some snorkel...”
“Why not?” Harper said. “You’re going to need dive suits. Like I said, it’s cold—cold as a witch’s teat. Hey, it is Massachusetts, huh?”
“You just happen to be prepared for us to dive?” Griffin asked.
“Nope. Talked to Barnes for a while yesterday. You’d mentioned to him on the last case you were working together that you and a number of your associates had your dive certificates.” He grinned. Proud of himself.
Kyle Perry—the diver who had found the phone—was the one to take their group in hand, handing out equipment. He introduced them to Belinda Carvel, his partner. They both appeared to be in their midthirties, helpful and determined, and not at all averse to having fellow divers search the water.
“It’s hard as hell searching the reservoir. There’s ninety-plus years of tremendous natural growth down there now. But you’ll see.”
Vickie fervently wished that she knew how to dive. She was grateful, however, for the suit she was given.
Especially after they got into the water.
It might be summer, but that did little to combat the initial shock of the water. Even in the suit, she could feel the brutal cold.
They’d received a bit more information on the area of the water they were searching as they headed out in the police boat.
While diving wasn’t allowed, fishing was. The thing that mattered most was that the Quabbin supplied drinking water for well over two million people. That meant that it was important that it not be contaminated. Fishing was allowed from the shore, and a limited number of fishing boats were allowed out on the water, but they had to have an intact Quabbin boat seal and it had to pass inspection at the boat launch area. For those who loved nature, it was a fantasyland.
The bird-watching was fantastic, and if they were lucky, sometime while they were in the area, they would see moose, foxes, deer, porcupine, weasels, coyotes, black bear—and maybe even a wildcat. Even as he talked, Harper, who wasn’t a diver and wasn’t going in—What me? I’m an old land-loving cop. I don’t go freezing my ass off with the youngsters—pointed out a loon, and then a bald eagle.
The deepest part of the Quabbin was about one hundred and fifty feet—the median about fifty. There were shallower areas—the water was about forty feet deep where they would be that day.
Not that deep, Vickie thought. She wasn’t a diver, but she was a really good swimmer.
Kyle had chosen their dive location. Using a GPS system, he had them right over the spot where Alex Maple’s phone had been found. Before he went over—followed by Griffin, Rocky and Devin—he told them that they’d already been over the area, and that they were now searching a bit south of where the phone had actually been found.
Belinda had stayed behind to follow Vickie into the water; apparently, they seemed to feel that she was most likely to need help.
That was okay.
She might be!
But once she had adjusted to the temperature, she was fine, though she wasn’t sure at all if there was anything any of them could find, or if their time was being spent in any useful way.
Time and nature had taken their toll; the water was filled with various plants, some growing nearly to the surface.
She could see far below her, but not well, and so caught a big breath and dived down low. She noticed, just vaguely—and perhaps because she did have some distance—where a road had once been, leading to what appeared to be the remnants of a foundation.
She surfaced for air, and went back down, shooting for the depth.
She saw Griffin, Rocky and Devin ahead; they were basically walking along the bottom, led along by Kyle...searching.
She turned and kicked and went the other way. There seemed to be a long string of some kind of algae ahead of her. She surfaced for air, and went back down on the other side of the algae.
And that was went she saw it; or saw something.
Something that seemed to catch just a ray of the sun...and glint.
Vickie desperately wished that she knew how to dive. She surfaced for a huge gulp of air and went back down.
The others had just been in this area, she thought.
They had moved through it; they had touched the old bricks that might have once been part of a stone wall around an old farmstead.
Some seemed to have fallen. And beneath one...
Something was glinting. She made it down to the bottom... She touched it. Tugged and pulled at it. And then...it and something else came free.
Stunned, she sucked in water. Her lungs burned; she was going to die.
She shot for the surface, and came up, ripping away her mask and snorkel, treading water furiously as she coughed and sputtered.
Belinda came up right by her.
“Hey! We’ll get you on the boat—”
“No! Down. Get the others. Down there—just below.” She had to stop to cough again. “Please get down there. Please! Now.”
“Because—”
“There’s a rotting body down there. They dislodged the bricks when they went by. Now you can see...there’s a body!”
* * *
“I believe that we’d have eventually found her,” Wendell Harper said, his voice a monotone. “Maybe not. Whoever—whoever put her down there did a good job. What you saw...what glinted first,” he told Vickie, “was a very old and heavy anvil—probably lost by a blacksmith way back when. Nothing that can be traced to anyone today, certainly. The boat was over an area that had been a farm.” He paused and cleared his throat. “She was beginning to disarticulate, so body pieces might have floated up.”
They were still out by the water. Many officials had come and gone.
Most notably, of course, the medical examiner.
It had been a very long day.
The remnants of the body had been brought up. The search area had been expanded, and the immediate area searched more thoroughly.
Nothing else had been found, and the body was now with the medical examiner.
One thing that Vickie couldn’t shake was the fact that—although little had been left of the flesh on the face—the skull had still been topped with a headful of long, blond hair.
Was she the woman that Vickie had been seeing?
Was she Helena Matthews?
There had been no apparition in the water; no one to take her hand and lead her to the remains.
“The skull seems to be intact. Hopefully, we’ll find something from her DNA or dental records.” Harper cleared his throat again. “There’s no possibility of fingerprints at this point.”
Of course not. There were too many creatures who lived in the water. And water itself...
“The ME reckoned that she’d been down there about two weeks,” Griffin said. “Have you heard of any disappearances in the area in the last two weeks? Have you seen or heard anything?” Vickie noted that Griffin sounded frustrated.
“The Quabbin area is just short of 120,000 acres,” Harper said. “Water, forests—and there’s even more land surrounding the area that is privately held. We will get the state police out in force now. But...here’s the thing. You had a man attacking people in Boston. The Quabbin supplies water for Boston—but this isn’t Boston. You were out at Fall River. Miss Preston was attacked with blood from a woman who actually disappeared in Fall River. Professor Alex Maple disappeared from Boston. This is all over the place—there’s no reason to believe that whatever is going on is actually going on here.”
“Sir, we just found a body,” Griffin pointed out.
“Yes, and we’re looking. And now you agents are here,” Harper murmured. He sighed, drumming his fingers on the table. “We’re looking,” he said, sounding helpless—and defensive.
“This Quabbin area is so huge, so much could go on with no one knowing,” she said. “And, of course, it’s possible that someone is in a nice normal house somewhere, creating a mantra of hate, causing all these things to happen, and just living in plain sight. The thing is, people are missing. And people are...dead.”
“You think this woman might be Helena Matthews?” Harper asked them.
“She has the blond hair, but at this moment, it’s impossible for us to know. Obviously,” Griffin said.
“Well, I’m letting my people go,” Harper told them. “I’m calling it a night myself. I’ll get a fresh dive team out in the morning. We’ll see what else...who else might be down there.”
They bid him good-night and headed back to their car.
They all, naturally, wanted to shower.
They were quiet on the way in, all wondering if they had found Helena Matthews.
“There was no suggestion that...Alex is down there,” Griffin noted softly.
“And no suggestion that he isn’t,” Vickie said.
“Do you think that he’s dead? Or do you think that maybe, just maybe, he’s working with some kind of ESP? That he is calling out to you? You don’t see Alex in your dreams—you see...a blonde woman,” Devin pointed out.
“Maybe,” Vickie said, trying to sound hopeful.
When they reached their bed-and-breakfast, Mrs. McFall was on the porch with her other guests: a young couple from Georgia, an older man from Arizona and a fortysomething executive on break from his stressful job in New York City.
Mrs. McFall had teatime for her guests each evening, offering them tea, of course, coffee, sodas, beer or wine and little appetizers.
Mrs. McFall jumped up, and the group on the porch fell silent and waited for Vickie, Griffin, Rocky and Devin when they saw them approaching.
“They’ve heard something,” Griffin murmured.
“It’s all over the news!” Mrs. McFall called to them. “The body in the Quabbin. Of course, that’s all that they’re saying. They don’t seem to know much. There was an interview with a police liaison, but that’s all that anyone said. Oh—and that it was a woman!”
“That’s all we know, too,” Griffin said, coming up the steps.
“You look cold and tired, and your hair is damp,” Mrs. McFall noted. She gasped. “You were in there. You were in the Quabbin. Oh! They let you in the Quabbin. It wasn’t my Nell, was it? The young lady I told you about? The one who disappeared—and no one would believe had really disappeared?”
“Mrs. McFall,” Griffin said gently. “We have no idea. No one knows anything yet. I’m sure there will be more information out tomorrow.”
“Tea!” Vickie said, walking ahead of him. “I would love tea!”
In the next few minutes, Rocky and Devin escaped to shower. Vickie and Griffin stayed long enough to field the same questions, and to have tea and some miniscones.
Vickie was starving, she realized.
Sandwiches had been brought out to the Quabbin in the afternoon, but she hadn’t been able to eat any of them.
At that time, she still couldn’t get the ravaged face she had seen out of her mind.
She tried to change the subject, asking the young couple about Georgia, the younger man about Arizona and the executive about his life in New York City.
Then she and Griffin managed to get away, as well.
They showered quickly; they were both anxious to find a place for dinner. Mrs. McFall recommended a family-run place on West Street.
“It’s an inn and restaurant!” she told them cheerfully. “The food is very good, but don’t you all go deserting me for the inn!”
“We never would,” Griffin promised her solemnly.
The restaurant was charming and friendly. They all started with lobster bisque, which was creamy, rich and delicious.
They had just finished with the meal—and were still quietly discussing the day themselves—when Griffin said, “Hey. That’s our executive from the B and B over there at the end of the counter. He’s watching us.”
“So he is,” Rocky agreed. “I noticed that he was still on the porch, in one of the rockers, when Mrs. McFall was telling us about the local restaurants.”
“You think that he’s following us?” Vickie asked. She smiled; she was at the edge of the booth and she quickly slid out and stood, determined to walk over and find out.
She opted not to ask permission from the agents; if she was ever going to really be of value among them, she needed to become proactive.
She tried to remember his name; Mrs. McFall had introduced all her guests. This man’s name was something unusual...
Isaac. Isaac Sherman.
“Mr. Sherman!” she said. “Nice to see you here. Frankly, it’s interesting to see, as well, that you’re watching us. Did you follow us here? Did you want to speak with us?”
He was, very much so, the authoritative NYC type. He might have been on vacation, but he was still wearing a button-down shirt and a blazer. He was tall and lean, with brown hair just beginning to recede.
He looked at her with surprise. She thought he was going to ask her to take him to someone with authority—someone who mattered.
He didn’t. He smiled at her.
“Yes. I followed you here. I...wanted to talk to you and your friends. I mean, it’s not like you came in secret. You spent the day with the police. You’re FBI, right?”
“Well, they’re federal agents,” Vickie said. “Come over. Talk to us.”
“I’d rather talk when we’re out of here,” he said softly.
“Back at Mrs. McFall’s?”
“Over at the common,” he said. “If you don’t mind.”
“Sure,” Vickie said.
She walked back to the table and took her seat again. The other three were staring at her.
“Isaac wants to talk to us,” she said.
“He does?” Griffin asked. They all watched as Isaac Sherman walked past their table and out of the restaurant.
“Over at the common. I think he wants us to be subtle,” Vickie said.
Devin laughed softly. “All right. I wonder what Isaac knows?”
Griffin paid the bill and they all wandered out. They began a casual stroll back to the bed-and-breakfast.
Except that they strolled into the common instead of around it.
“There,” Vickie murmured to the others.
Isaac Sherman was standing by a nineteenth-century horse trough and hay scales. The town common here had been laid out around 1795 and had, Vickie knew, through the years, seen militia practice, speeches, games, bands and more.
Thankfully, that night, all was quiet.
“Mr. Sherman!” Griffin said, heading over to him. He didn’t perform any introductions; Mrs. McFall had done that earlier.
“You are FBI, right?” he asked them.
“Agents in a specialized unit, yes,” Griffin told him. “If we’re meeting in secret, I believe we can still be seen from any number of structures around the common.”
Isaac Sherman ran a finger beneath his collar and shook his head. “It’s not that we’re meeting in secret. None of what I’m about to say is secret. I just don’t think that the cop knows that I’m in town right now, and I’d just as soon avoid him.”
“The cop?” Rocky asked. “You mean Harper?”
“Yeah. Harper. He’s not a bad guy—he just has no patience for me right now.” Isaac Sherman hesitated another minute, and then let out a long sigh. “I came out here with my fiancée, Brenda Noonan, about a year ago. Brenda actually grew up in the city of Auburn, but her family was from out this way and she loved to come here, loved the whole Mohawk Trail, and just old New England. We had an argument—a public argument. She disappeared right after it. I was staying right where we are now—with Mrs. McFall. Thank God for Mrs. McFall! I was upset, and she stayed up with me through the night while we waited for Brenda to come back. But she didn’t come back. I filled out a police form. I stayed here—for weeks. Then I was on the verge of being fired, so I had to go back to work. The police promised to keep looking for Brenda. They did. Eventually, they found her. She wasn’t in Barre, but around north by the Quabbin. They didn’t know it was her at first—what they found was mostly bones. They were never able to determine a cause of death. She might have gotten lost, she might have cut herself and bled out—they didn’t have anything definitive. Her official cause of death was something like ‘accidental, nature unknown,’ but there had been a few bear attacks reported by hikers in the area, and because all they really had was bones.”
He paused for a minute. “Brenda and I fought, yes. We were both passionate. Anyway, to do the best that I can with a long story, there was never anything done about her death. But I know Brenda. I knew Brenda, I should say. She didn’t just disappear. She didn’t just wander off. And I don’t care what they could or couldn’t find on her body or around her body—she was murdered. And now...now, they’ve found a body in the Quabbin. Agents, this has been going on for a while! That’s two dead women that I know about now. And, of course, you spoke with Mrs. McFall! That other guest of hers disappeared, too. And on that one, I don’t think there was much of an inquiry at all.”
“Mr. Sherman, I’m so sorry!” Vickie said, touching his arm.
“I think that, when she was found, I would have been suspected of the murder, if it hadn’t been for Mrs. McFall. She told the police how we’d stayed up, waiting and hoping that Brenda would come back. And, thankfully, this is a good town. Other people reported that I’d asked about her endlessly and a lot of the cops—local and state—helped me, but...in the end, Brenda was dead.”
“And you come back here frequently?” Griffin asked him.
“I’m not returning to the site of the crime, if that’s what you’re suggesting,” Sherman said. “We’re almost at the anniversary of her death, so I felt I needed to be here.”
“Where is Brenda buried now?” Devin asked.
Sherman looked over at her. “She’s in the Quabbin Park Cemetery. Her family hailed from Enfield, and her great-great-grandparents were moved there when the Quabbin was constructed and the local remains were moved. You need to be a descendant to buy a plot. I saw that Brenda was able to join her parents there. Why?”
Griffin didn’t hesitate. “We may have to disinter her, Mr. Sherman.”
He nodded.
“Does she have other family?”
“Dozens of second or third cousins, but...no one who will protest,” he said, wincing. “There’s no one out there who wouldn’t want the truth.” He kicked the ground in a sudden bitter movement. “I’m just glad they never found the damned bear they were blaming—I just don’t believe it. No bear killed Brenda. You believe me? You know that I’m right?”
“Mr. Sherman,” Griffin told him. “We don’t know anything—as yet. But we will look into it.”
Sherman nodded. “I know who you are—I knew who you were before Mrs. McFall introduced us. And I know that you’re looking for people who have disappeared. I hope you don’t find more of them like you did today, in the Quabbin. Or like Brenda.”
“We hope not, too,” Vickie said. “Mr. Sherman—”
“Hey,” he said, interrupting her. “We’re all at the B and B. I’m Mr. Sherman on Wall Street. I sure wish you’d just call me Isaac.”
“Isaac,” Vickie said. “Have you heard about any occult activity? If you’ve heard about the fact that the FBI is looking for missing people in conjunction with the attacks in Boston, you know what was written on the people who were attacked.”
“That crap about Satan?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Brenda was from out here,” he said.
“Yes?” Vickie murmured.
“I’m from New York. A Satan cult in the Big Apple would most probably be an entrepreneur trying to come up with a new motif for a nightclub. I haven’t heard anything. I mean...”
His voice trailed suddenly.
“What?” Griffin asked.
“Carly. Carly Sanderson. Her dad, Frank, filled out a missing-person report on her. I know, because it was when I first came back after they found Brenda’s body. I spoke to him.”
“I’ve seen the report,” Griffin said. “Carly Sanderson, twenty-three, a college student. She was going to school in Worcester, right? She was at Clark?”
“Her mother lives in Oregon. She remarried and has a whole host of kids. But Carly was her father’s only child. And he’s here. Thing is, the cops aren’t considering it as a missing person anymore. Frank Sanderson got a call from her. She told him that she was happy, she didn’t want to go back to school and she just wanted to be left alone.”
“Is Frank still here, in Barre?” Griffin asked.
“I believe so. He’s a retired guy. He was in construction but now he hangs around and helps out Mrs. McFall sometimes,” Isaac said.
“All right. Let’s get back, get some sleep,” Griffin said. “A few of us will be attending the autopsy tomorrow. We’ll see what they come up with on that. She was weighted down with an anvil, so I don’t think that anyone is going to suspect a bear. We will look into this, Isaac. I promise.”
“Thank you!” the man said. He looked at them all. “They—as in the police—may tell you that I’m a kook who may have been guilty myself, and if not, I’m paranoid, I won’t move on...whatever. But she was murdered. And other people have been murdered because her killer wasn’t caught.”
“We’ll do everything humanly possible,” Griffin promised him.
Isaac seemed to believe them.
“Thank you,” he said again.
He turned and walked ahead of them.
They looked at one another and headed back to the bed-and-breakfast.
It was quiet. The others had gone to bed; Isaac, just ahead of them, had left the front door open. They locked it when they were in, and then headed up to their rooms on the second floor of the old Victorian.
“Eight,” Griffin said to Rocky.
“Eight,” he agreed.
They parted ways, Griffin and Vickie stepping into their own room. “Eight o’clock—the autopsy?” she asked.
He nodded. “I mean, you can come, but...”
“That’s all right. I’m assuming that our ghosts will be around in the morning, and I’m assuming, as well, that they will have heard a lot of gossip. Devin and I can hang around town, see what else is going on.”
Griffin took off his jacket and reached behind his back for his Glock and its little holster. As always, he set the gun on the bedside table.
“There is definitely something going on. If not here, per se, then nearby. And it’s worse than we knew. The problem is connecting all the dots. A woman was found dead in the woods. We didn’t have that information, because it was chalked up to a bear or other accident. Another woman is missing—but she was leaving town, so she wasn’t noted as missing. And now...”
“The body,” Vickie said softly.
“The body,” he agreed.
He slipped his arms around her. “I still believe Alex is alive.”
“I do, too,” she said. “I just wonder how long he can stay alive. Griffin, I so hope we’re getting somewhere with this! It seems it has been going on a long time...and no one knew! Well, of course, someone knew. The people involved with it had to know. What about Gloria? Is there anything they can do to force her to remember?”
Griffin had his phone out; he was tapping at it with an aggravated expression. “I’m going to step outside. I don’t know what this old house has for insulation or what might be in its construction, but I can’t get any service. I’ll be right back—I’ll see if Barnes has discovered anything new.”
“Excellent,” Vickie murmured.
She crawled into bed to wait for him. She was afraid to sleep. If she fell asleep here...after being in the Quabbin, after seeing all the forest that surrounded it, she was bound to have nightmares.
But just maybe, eventually, they would be helpful instead of terrifying.
Griffin closed the door to their room quietly as he left. Vickie closed her eyes.
She could see the water again, in her mind’s eye.
The water of the Quabbin. And then she could see, caught in a rare glint of light, a bit of a shimmer. The sun making it through the water—just barely!—to land on the anvil.
She saw the anvil...
And then, what remained of the woman’s face.
Then suddenly, she was out of the water. Her hair was wet and dripping; she was still wearing the dive suit. She walked a forest path. She’d shed the flippers she’d been wearing, and her feet were bare.
For a moment, it felt like she’d entered a cartoon. Little forest creatures were all around her. She could hear State Police Officer Harper as he spoke to them. The area around the reservoir was filled with animals—moose, foxes, deer, raccoons, panthers, bears...
A mountain lion walked next to her. He was a sandy color, large and sleek, and he looked up at her as he padded along by her side.
“It wasn’t the bear,” the panther said.
She spoke aloud in her dream.
“I am going crazy,” she told herself.
Syd Smith from Fall River was in her dream. He was seated on a log in front of her. Retired detective Charlie Oakley was on his one side while Detective Cole Magruder and Detective Robert Merton were on his other side.
“It could all be a distraction, misdirection,” Syd said.
“People take the easy way out,” Oakley agreed.
“If you’ve got a Satanist, what the hell, use him!” Syd said.
They didn’t see Vickie. She kept walking. She could hear her name being called; it had been called so many times before.
Then she saw the inverted cross in front of her.
A woman had been hung, upside down, upon the cross.
Vickie couldn’t see her face, or the color of her hair. Because of the blood.
“Vickie, please, I’m calling you! Look at me, look at me, please. You can’t change the past. You have to focus.”
She couldn’t see him! But she knew the voice! It was Alex...
Alex was alive.
The blonde woman was standing before her again. She was tiny, Vickie realized. Tiny and very pretty, and there was something about her...
“Vickie, help me.”
She could hear Alex’s voice.
“Vickie, Vickie, Vickie...”
The blonde stood before her; but there was still a body on the cross.
Blood was rising, as if the rivers and lakes everywhere were rising...
“No! Vickie, run. Stay away, run!”