by London James
"Your boat has a book collection?" Skylar asks.
"It does. A pretty eclectic one, too. I tried to get into a few of them but just couldn't get my mind straight. Then I picked one up and saw this."
She reaches into her bag and pulls out the large hardcover book I saw her slip into it on the boat. The words on the front of the dust jacket stand out to me.
"Ann Rule," I say. It hits me, and I snap my fingers, then point at the name. "The woman staying at Hometown Bed And Breakfast."
"Exactly," Avery says. "Ann. She showed up with all those books and spends all her time reading them. I got a look at some of them when I was getting her sheets. "They're all true crime books."
"She has that exact book," I tell them. "She showed it to me when I ran into her on the way to the village. Ann Rule is her favorite writer because they have the same name."
"Maybe for other reasons too," Avery says. "Ann Rule has gotten up close and personal with murderers on more than one occasion. She was friends with Ted Bundy and actually tipped off the police about him because she recognized the description of the car he used as one she had seen parked at his house."
"Are you saying you think Ann could have been the one to kill Mercer?" Seb asks incredulously.
"I know it sounds crazy, but think about it... She's obsessed with true crime and would absolutely know how to frame someone. She's been staying at Hometown Bed And Breakfast, so she knows about the caramel apples and would easily be able to copy them, especially while I was away from the house making my stock for the festival. And, Owen, remember what she said when we were at the Ferris wheel, right before they found Mr. Mercer?"
"She said someone called someone else and said the person in front of him saw him slump down," I say.
"Exactly, but then when we got up to the front and talked to Julie, she said everyone was saying it was the person behind him who said it," Avery continues.
"Is that significant?" Seb asks. "It could have just been a mistake."
"It could have been," Avery agrees. "Or it could have been a slip-up. Think about it. Supposedly nobody knew what bucket he was in, so no one would think anything of it to say the person behind him. But when the buckets started coming around, the one he was in put him at a position that the person behind him wouldn't have been able to see him anymore. Only the person in front of him could. The bucket behind him was empty."
"So, you're saying she knew which bucket he was in because she wanted to watch his body be discovered and so she knew there was no one behind him?" I ask. "But why would she spread the wrong rumor on purpose?"
"She might not have. You know how that goes. Someone heard the ride operator say something about a person slumping, that person calls another person and adds a little flavor, and it spreads. But when it was time to spread to us, she inserted the right information rather than the wrong without thinking about it."
Seb and Skylar exchange glances.
"Shawn and Leo have said that she's been spending a lot of time away from the house since all this happened. She even extended her stay by another two weeks, but hasn't been there most of the time," Skylar says.
"See?" Avery's voice rises.
"But why?" I ask. "What would make her want to come here? She's a fan of true crime, but not necessarily harvest festivals."
"The Curse. Seb, you said you couldn't find out a ton of information, right?"
"Right," he says with a nod.
"How about if they were ever solved or what happened to the killer or killers? Or maybe why nobody likes to talk about the murders?"
"I mean, there are plenty of reasons why people wouldn't want to talk about murders," Skylar says.
"Enough that people who have been here their whole lives don't know about them?" Avery asks. "That's strange. With a community as small as Vidalia Isle, a string of mysterious murders is something that kind of stands out in the bigger scheme of things."
"Which would be exactly why it would appeal to Ann," I realize. "She'd be drawn to what looks like a sweet little town on the surface but that's hiding a bloody history. Do you think we might have a Misery on our hands?"
"I mean, I, for one, wouldn't go straight to miserable," Seb offers. "Sad. On edge. Unnerved, perhaps, but I haven't quite reached miserable."
"No," Avery says. "Misery. The book by Stephen King. This woman is completely wrapped up in a writer, and she wants him to write a book, so she holds him hostage and does all sorts of horrible things to him to force him to write it."
"And you remember the name of the woman, right?" I ask.
Avery gasps, and she covers her mouth with her hands. She pulls them away briefly.
"Oh, shit." She covers her mouth again for a second, then moves her hands again. "Annie."
Chapter Twenty-Six
Avery
“Well, that was eye-opening,” Owen says, his back pressed against the wall of the library.
“So, it definitely isn't Ann,” I say, feeling both defeated and confused. "I feel terrible now."
"You had no way of knowing," Skylar tries to comfort me. "And you didn't do anything."
"I accused the woman of murdering someone to get attention from a true crime writer because she's been spending most of her time away from the bed-and-breakfast," I point out.
"Yes, but you didn't know that she has been spending all that time away from the bed-and-breakfast because she's been having rendezvous," she says.
"Get it, Ann," Seb murmurs, pulling his mouth slightly away from his phone. He tilts his face back against it like someone on the other end has said something. He makes a few affirmative sounds, then thanks the person and hangs up. "Yep, Tom up at the bar says they come in just about every evening, and he saw them right before they left for the festival. It was only a little bit before Mercer's body was found, so there's no way she could have gotten all the way through the village, down the boardwalk, hidden poison apples, and skittered off to play the innocent bystander in that amount of time."
"Nope," I say. "She was just a genuine innocent bystander. I just can't believe it. Eloise Mirman." I shake my head. "You know, I heard she put up a Halloween display that rivaled her Fourth of July one, but the Tea Party Committee made her take it down."
"Well, at least we know what's really keeping Ann in Vidalia Isle," Owen says. "Hopefully the whole murder and mayhem thing doesn't put a damper on it for them."
Seb suddenly crouches slightly, like a cat that's heard something in the distance.
"Everybody quiet," he says. "Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?" I ask, assuming his crouching position with him.
"Footsteps," he says. "It sounds like they're coming back."
"I didn't hear anything."
The unfamiliar voice makes me turn, and I scream at the unexpected figure standing beside me. It screams back at me. Seb and Skylar jump on us, covering our mouths to muffle the screams until we calm down.
"Julie!" I hiss when my heart wriggles its way out of my throat and back into my chest where it belongs. "What are you doing here?"
"What am I doing here?" she asks incredulously. "What are you doing here? I work in the library. Well, I mean, I’m not here to work tonight, " she shrugs and swings her head slightly. "But I am the official ‘Special Events and Public Outreach Coordinator’.”
"It's a wonderful title,” I say. “But why does it bring you out here tonight?” I've lowered my voice down to a whisper again and have resumed my slight crouch against the wall of the building. Julie dips down slightly, her expression uncertain.
“There's a baby shower being hosted in the back room of the courthouse tomorrow,” she explains as she gestures toward the building next door. “And I wanted to come by and make sure everything was ready before the decorations are delivered in the morning. What are you doing here?”
“Admiring the beauty of literature,” Sebastian says.
Julie glances over at him. “By hiding behind the building?” she asks. She leans closer to
me and points at my chest. “And you aren't even supposed to be on the island. The police are looking for you and your friends here told them you'd left.”
I let out a sigh. “I did leave,” I tell her. “But not because I did anything wrong. Owen took me on a little getaway because I was getting stressed out after Mr. Mercer died. We left days before they found out he was murdered. But, Julie, I didn't have anything to do with it. You have to believe me.”
Julie nodded. “Okay,” she says.
“Okay?”
“I believe you,” she says. “If you really did it and you had the opportunity to be off somewhere with a little chunk of pocket change like him, why would you come back here? You know the police are after you and will arrest you for obstruction of justice as soon as they lay eyes on you. The only reason for you to come back here is because you didn't do anything wrong. Besides, I was standing right there with you at Ferris wheel when he spun his way to glory. You looked just as shocked as everybody else.”
“Did she just call me pocket change?” Owen mutters under his breath.
I pat his thigh. “Just go with it.” I raise my voice higher. “Thank you,” I tell her. “You're right; there's no reason for me to be back here except that I didn't do anything wrong. I came back to Vidalia Isle to figure out the truth. My suspect just proved herself innocent, though.”
“Suspect?” Julie asks.
“A woman who's staying at my bed-and-breakfast.”
“Ann Vonnegut?”
“You know her?” I asked, surprised.
“I don't really know her, but she and Eloise have been coming to the library just about every day doing research. They left something here earlier and asked me if they can come by and get it. I knew I was coming up here again to look at stuff next door, so I left it right inside and wanted to make sure I locked the door before I left.”
“Are they gone?”
“They were walking away when I got here. Why are you hiding back here?”
“We were following her, and she dipped between the buildings, which we thought was suspicious, but it was just because Eloise was meeting her on the other street, and we got into a little bit of a tangle trying to stay out of sight.”
“What are they researching?” Owen asks.
“They are very fascinated by the unsolved murders,” Julie tells him.
“You mean the curse,” Skylar says.
Julie nods.
“So, they are unsolved,” I say. “Have they figured out what happened?”
“Not as far as I can tell,” she says. “Of course, I haven't done as much research as some people have. I like to keep myself out of things where people end up dying. Just a personal preference. But the theater teacher at the school had me look up a few things for a script she's writing for the high school theater department.”
“A script?” I ask. “For what?”
“Mrs. Copper is less than pleased about the city's stance on canceling Halloween and all the festivities. She thinks it's a bunch of superstition and that everybody is getting too worked up about something, which is just going to make it worse. So, she's decided to put on a performance. I haven't gotten all the details from her, but I know the murders have something to do with it.”
“Julie, do you think you could let us into the courthouse? Just for a little while so I can do a little research for myself? I can't come here during the day. Someone might see me.”
“Yes,” she says. “But only if you promise to tell me what you find.”
An hour later, I make a final note on the pad of paper Julie snitched for me from the main office. We’re all gathered up in what was once a courtroom. Rather than being torn down, the historical society put up shelves and started storing records of the history of Vidalia Isle. Volumes containing census records, birth and death certificates, land deeds, and more intermingle with yearbooks, scrapbooks, almanacs, and tome after tome of newspapers. All of which have been donated over the years when a company either went out of business or somebody died and their house was being cleaned out. The other courtroom was converted to a sort of community rec center for town activities that can’t be held outdoors.
Anything someone would ever need to know about Vidalia Isle could be found in this courtroom. That includes information about the curse.
“I can't believe after so long they still don't have any idea what happened,” I say. “Four people were murdered right here in Vidalia Isle, and they never got justice.”
“Four deaths are tragic,” Owen says, “but I don't understand why it's called a curse. It happened fifty years ago and hasn't ever since.”
“There are people who believe it has,” I say. “A couple of these articles are from just a few years ago, and people remember the original murders. They haven't gotten over them, and any time something bad happens on the island, their mind goes right back to it. There's been a couple of people who've gone missing or deaths that were ruled accidents, but some people think it's all related.”
“Do you believe that?” Owen asks.
“No,” I say, "but somebody does. Maybe those notes are coming from somebody who really does think this is all part of the same mess.”
“Or they're from somebody who knows you're trying to zero in on the actual murderer, and they want to keep you quiet,” Owen says.
“You gave me two weeks, Bud,” I tell him. “You're not going to talk me out of it now.”
“Far be it for me it to try to protect you,” he says, leaning down to kiss my forehead.
Seb squeals with delight and then tries to hide it behind a book of census records.
“Alright,” Skylar says, “what's next?”
“I want to look through Mercer's room at Hometown Bed And Breakfast. The police have already dug through it, but maybe there's something in there they missed because they don't know what they're looking for.”
“I know exactly what they're looking for,” Sebastian says. “You. And they go by that place a dozen times a day. Shawn and Leo have started leaving out a plate of cookies for them like Santa.”
“I don't know how much I like the idea of them baking cookies for people who think I'm a murderer.”
“You'll like it even less if you go to the bed-and-breakfast and they snatch you up while you're there.”
“So, what am I supposed to do?” I ask.
“Let Owen bring you back to his island,” Sebastian says. “You're safe there, and they can't get to you.”
“You seriously want me to just go back there and sit around waiting for something to happen?”
“No. I want you to go back there and keep thinking. Keep trying to figure it out. Go through your notes. Come up with some more theories. Skylar and I will stay here and be your proxies. Tell us what you want us to do, and we'll do it for you. The police can't do anything to us.”
Owen wraps his arm affectionately around Sebastian' shoulders. “I always knew I liked you, Cinnamon Buns,” he says.
“Right back at you, Scooby Snacks.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Avery
I'm still not pleased with my best friend and my... well... what is Owen? Is he my boyfriend? Was he my friend who's a boy when we were kids, and now he's my actual boyfriend? Is he too old to be my boyfriend? Would he panic if he heard me calling him my boyfriend?
All this is far too much for my already overworked brain to sort through. I slip that whole conversation into a filing cabinet in the back corner of my mind and go back to thinking about how they mutinied against me. I'm not happy about being loaded back onto Owen’s potentially-international-waters boat and hurried back to the island. There's more I could have done in Vidalia Isle.
The one good thing about it is that it has given me plenty of time with my new diagram. Now that the other bed-and-breakfast owners are clear, I don't need my stick figure representations anymore. At least not of the other owners. Now the stick figures represent my new suspects.
I've grown out of just two
pieces of paper taped together, and my more expansive three-piece combination is spread on the floor so I can walk around it and get a view from all angles. In the three days since we left Vidalia Isle, the paper has become a clutter of notes, lines, doodles, and more than a few question marks.
Owen walks into the room, and I gesture for him to come over. He hands me a glass of tea and a sandwich.
"Thank you," I say, chomping into the tuna salad that has become my recent favorite lunch. "This is so good."
Owen kisses me and laughs. "It's just tuna. Angela taught me to make it when I was a teenager because I never stopped eating, and she couldn't always be in the kitchen cooking for me."
"I know, but it's delicious. I've never liked tuna, but I could eat these all day."
"Well, if I'm the one manning the kitchen, it's your only option. I can make tuna salad sandwiches, bowls of cereal, and takeout orders. Unfortunately, the island is not yet equipped with a strip mall of restaurants, so we're limited to the first two. But I think we ran out of milk. So, tuna it is."
"It was nice of you to give Angela, Miles, and everybody some time off," I tell him. "I'm sure they appreciate being able to relax a bit."
"I know it made you uncomfortable to have them around," he says.
"It didn't make me uncomfortable to have them around. I just didn't like them feeling like they had to do everything for me," I explain. "But anyway, I will cook some real food for dinner tonight. Sound good?"
"If you can pry yourself away from your diagram for long enough," he says. "It looks like you're making some new... squiggles."
"That's what I wanted to show you. Look," I point down at the paper and the blue line I've just added. "When Seb and Skylar went into Mercer's room, there wasn't much."
"Right," he says, nodding along, "just a ton of hyper-organized notes."
"Yes, except there was one thing out of place. They said they saw some little scraps of paper in the bottom of the trash can. They didn't seem to coordinate with anything else in the room."
