An Equal Measure of Murder

by B. T. Lord

  Rick looked up and met her eye. They smiled warmly at each other. Rick moved his fingers until they intertwined with hers. “You’ve always been my best cheerleader,” he said.

  The warmth of his skin against hers sent a chill through her belly. Was it possible? Were they about to have a breakthrough in whatever they had – friendship? Working relationship?

  She held her breath, her heart hammering against her chest.

  “Anything else I can get you?”

  The spell was broken as Zee came up and placed the bill on the table. Rick quickly withdrew his hand and grabbed the check. “I don’t think so.” He took out his wallet and pulled out some cash. “It’s probably time we call it a night. Who knows what tomorrow will bring.”

  “Hopefully not another skeleton or hatchet,” Emmy teased.

  They put on their coats and left the warmth of the restaurant to step out into the cold night. Although a little miffed at Zee’s bad timing, Emmy felt as though they’d turned a corner. It might have been a tiny corner, but it was a corner nevertheless. They’d connected in a way they’d never done before.

  It was a start.

  They started back towards HQ where their vehicles were parked when Emmy stopped. “I need to stop off at the Grocery Emporium. I just remembered I need to pick up some milk for Mom’s coffee in the morning.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “That’s okay. You look tired. You go on home. I’ll just be a minute.” She saw the look of concern on his face. Oh yeah, they’d definitely turned a corner. She chuckled. “Really Rick, we don’t live in Chicago or Manhattan. I’ll be perfectly safe.”

  “Alright. See you in the morning.”

  She watched him walk down the street before turning and hurrying over to the Grocery Emporium. She quickly grabbed what she needed and made her way to the check-out counter.

  Lars Landry, the proud owner of the Emporium was a large, ginger haired man. He spent his days catering to his customers while keeping one eye glued to the TV he kept near the register. It was always tuned to a crime show. The upshot of Lars’ obsession with these programs was that he now considered himself an expert on criminal investigation. Emmy had hoped she could get in and out quickly, but as soon as he saw her, the look on his face told her she was doomed.

  “I have some theories about the skeleton I’d like to pass by you.”

  She couldn’t risk banishment from the Emporium by refusing to hear any of his cockamamie theories. Not if she ever wanted to grab a container of milk, a bag of Twinkies, or anything else she or her mother might need. Offending him meant a ninety-minute drive to the nearest supermarket. She inwardly sighed.

  “Sure, what have you got.”

  An hour later, Emmy finally managed to extricate herself from Lars. Damn, she should have let Rick come with her. If nothing else, she could have used his revolver to hit Lars over the head with. Especially when the man concluded that it was the Mafia who’d killed the teenagers and the man. “Had to be. There’s no other explanation. Here’s why--”

  “Goodness. It’s almost ten o’clock. Mom is going to be worried sick. I’ve really got to go.”

  “You’ll tell Rick what we talked about, right? It will save him a lot of time and legwork.”

  “Sure, sure.”

  She grabbed the milk and tried her best not to run through the front door. Once outside, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  “A little information is a dangerous thing,” she muttered aloud to herself as she crossed the street and headed towards her car.

  She pushed Lars and his crazy ideas out of her head and thought back to the magical evening. She sighed in contentment as she went over the night, almost giggling when she thought about how wonderful it felt to feel Rick’s fingers intertwined with hers.

  Lost in thoughts of love, she made it to her car. She opened the back door, put the milk on the floor, then closed it. She was about to open the driver’s side when she suddenly felt a prickling on the back of her neck.

  Someone was watching her.

  Rather than waste time looking around and running the risk of having someone grab her, she flung open the door and jumped inside, slamming and locking the door after her. It was then she glanced around the empty parking lot that sat behind HQ.

  When Cammie took over as Sheriff, one of the first things she did was install large halogen lights in the parking lot to illuminate the normally dark area. There were still spots that remained in shadow and it was here that Emmy peered. She saw nothing. But the feeling persisted.

  She took her cell phone out of her bag and placed it on the seat next to her. If she saw any headlights following her, she’d immediately call Rick.

  Pulling out of the parking lot, she kept an eye on the rearview mirror, breathing a deep sigh of relief when she made it home without incident. She opened the garage door with the remote and parked inside. She didn’t get out of her vehicle until she pressed the button and watched the garage door close behind her.

  It had to be Lars and his stupid theories that had gotten her so spooked.

  From now on, I buy whatever I need during the day when he’s busy with other customers.

  She grabbed her cell phone, her bag and the milk and let herself into the house, making sure to lock the door behind her.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The next morning Rick was already seated at his desk when Emmy came in. “You must be some kind of a lightweight. We left Zee’s at nine and you still came in late,” he teased.

  She rolled her eyes. “I got ambushed by Lars.” She told him about the man’s theories.

  Rick threw his head back and laughed uproariously. “The Mafia? That’s a good one.”

  “I didn’t get out of there until ten.”

  “You deserve combat pay for that. I’ll bring it up with the mayor the next time I see him.”

  Emmy chuckled. It was well known throughout Clarke County that Mayor Barnes was the epitome of the tight wad politician. If it wasn’t for Cammie, they’d still be earning the same wages paid to the previous sheriff and his staff.

  The young woman thought it best to keep her fears about being watched to herself. It made no sense why someone would be watching her. She and Rick certainly hadn’t uncovered anything that could prove detrimental to a potential suspect. They didn’t even have the name of the skeleton.

  As she’d done the night before, she chalked up her experience to getting spooked by Lars. Pushing it out of her mind, she made a cup of coffee and sat down at her desk. A few minutes later, all was forgotten as she searched the internet for any information on missing men from the early 1950s. “If I don’t find anything by lunchtime, I’ll go see Edwina. I know they have the old police files in the basement of town hall.”

  “Are you sure you want to do that? The woman probably hasn’t slept since I left trying to find that missing file.”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  The phone rang, and Emmy picked it up. “Twin Ponds Sheriff’s Department,” she answered. She listened for a few moments, then said, “He’s right here. I’ll transfer you over to him.” She looked over to Rick. “It’s Colin Haskell.”

  A moment later, the phone rang on Rick’s desk. “Hey Colin, how’s it going?”

  “Not bad. Still enjoying being the head honcho?”

  “Let’s just say I’ll be happy when Cammie returns.”

  “You know what they say. Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.”

  “Huh?” Rick asked.

  “Never mind. I’ve got some news that you’re going to find interesting. In fact, I guarantee you it may just be the thing to bring Cammie back. There’s no way that woman will be able to resist checking this out.” Rick unconsciously sat up in his chair as he heard the rustling of paper on the other end. “We received the results from the hair samples taken from the hatchet. They were able to find strands belonging to at least five different people – three females and two males. They were all C
aucasian. There were no traces of hair dye and they all came from the scalp of the victims. Now, if you need any more proof of who these victims were, I now turn to the DNA results. If you remember, we were able to extract DNA from the teeth of the skeletons found in the wall in the Taylor Mansion. That DNA matches the DNA found on the hatchet.”

  “Yowza,” Rick whispered.

  “Yowza indeed, my friend. Your friend found the weapon used to kill those teenagers. We’re still working on the samples sent by Doc from the latest skeleton you found, but after matching the nick marks on the bones to the blade of the hatchet, I’d say you’re looking at a sixth victim of the infamous hatchet. After examining the soil where the skeleton was found, we conclude that he was buried within the time period those five teenagers disappeared. The tie clip Doc uncovered is the icing on the cake, so to speak. It narrows the time line to no later than the 1950s. Further clues that we’re looking at the right time frame are the traces of red, green and blue thread on the leather jacket that was used to wrap the hatchet in. It looks as though they may have been part of an emblem that adorned the front left pocket. There’s no way of knowing what the emblem was. Could have been military for all we know.”

  “Military as in World War II military?”

  “Or the Korean War. If I remember my history, that conflict ended in 1953. Your killer may very well have been a military man or belonged to some sort of organization that gave out jacket patches.” Colin chuckled. “Or maybe he was a member of the Hell’s Angels.”

  “That’s going to be impossible to trace whatever emblem it might have been without more,” Rick frowned.

  “I’m just here to report on the findings. We can do a lot of things these days, but we’re not miracle workers.”

  Rick hung up. On a hunch, he dialed his grandmother.

  “Hey Gran, I’ve got a question for you. Do you remember when the Taylor mansion got the reputation of being haunted?”

  “The rumors have been around almost from the moment the Taylors lost the property. I remember my grandmother telling me they supposedly sought the help of someone who knew how to work with the darkness. They made promises they should never have made in order to keep their money and position. It didn’t help. They left, but the darkness remained. Naturally, the stories of what lurked inside the house grew worse when those teenagers disappeared. Until you and Cammie found the bones, no one knew what had happened to them. However, it wasn’t long after they vanished that people started reported seeing the silhouette of teenagers in the upstairs windows. When the police were called to investigate, they always came up empty.”

  “If the house had such a nasty reputation, why did those kids go in there in the first place?”

  “Because when have you ever known a smart teenager?” She chuckled. “For whatever reason, going inside the mansion became an initiation into adulthood. If you were able to spend more than an hour within its walls, you were considered the bravest of the brave.”

  “Did you try?” Rick asked with a smile in his voice.

  She sniffed. “I never had to prove anything to anyone.” It was true. Gran was a full-blooded Abenaki who had abilities that both astonished and creeped him out. He could very well see her not needing to step inside that house to prove herself. “Of course no one ever could. Those who would talk about it – and not many did – claimed they heard the sounds of crying. Of pain and torment. They saw moving shadows. One swore he witnessed seeing a man appear on the stairs with no eyes. I’m glad Doc decided to tear that place down. And he was smart to have Paul bless the ground. If not, the evil would have continued.” Rick wasn’t convinced yet it had ever stopped. “Why are you asking?”

  “Just curious…”

  “It’s about the hatchet and the skeleton you found, isn’t it?”

  “Sorry Gran, I can’t divulge that yet.”

  She snorted. “That’s alright. I already know they’re connected. Not only with the skeleton, but with those poor teenagers as well.” Her voice grew serious. “Their spirits are still in torment, Rick. They scream for justice. Their deaths were so unnecessary.”

  “Aren’t all deaths unnecessary?”

  “Not when Spirit decides a debt needs to be paid.”

  He frowned. He had no idea what she was talking about. “Spirit didn’t happen to tell you who killed these people?”

  She laughed. “I’m sorry but I can’t divulge that yet.” She hung up before Rick could respond.

  “Sometimes I wish Gran was just a normal, crochety old lady,” he muttered under his breath before he too hung up. He turned in his chair and told Emmy about the DNA. “I’d better call Cammie and let her know what’s going on.”

  He dialed her cell and when she answered, he shared Colin’s conversation, followed by what his grandmother had just told him.

  “I never told you this, but during that investigation, I went into the house on my own. I heard the sounds of girls giggling and someone going up and down the stairs.”

  “Come on!” he scoffed.

  “I know it sounds crazy. But I was alone. And I know what I heard.” She paused. “When Jace and I were standing in line to go through the haunted house before we discovered the body, he told me pretty much what your Gran did. Kids were always daring each other to go inside. It was Halloween night – the perfect time to prove you weren’t a weenie by going into a haunted house.”

  “We know all that,” Rick interjected.

  “Yes, but now that we have confirmation that the hatchet used on the skeleton was also used on the teenagers, let’s take it one step further. We know they went into the house on a lark. What if it was a case of being at the wrong place at the wrong time? What if they saw the murderer killing the man whose skeleton was found, or…”

  “They saw the murderer burying the body,” Rick finished for her. “And worse, the murderer saw them.”

  Violet returned to the cottage frozen through, but with a purpose.

  She would burn the pictures.

  However, she needed to check to make sure Andrew was still asleep. She couldn’t allow him to come downstairs and see what she was doing; he’d never let up until he discovered why she was burning original Phil Munson photographs.

  She shivered again as she let herself into the house. The term Phil Munson originals would never mean the same ever again. Those children, the monstrous poses.

  Violet shook her head, willing herself to tear the images out of her mind. She took off her coat and threw it over a nearby recliner. She then grabbed a large ashtray that once belonged to Phil. She recalled with disgust his evening habit of sitting on the porch smoking one of those awful smelling cigars. It seemed appropriate to use his ashtray to destroy his abomination.

  It was now used as a candy dish. She emptied out the caramels onto the kitchen counter, then placed the ashtray and a lighter she dug out from one of the drawers near the sink. After checking on Andrew, she’d retrieve the photos, open the window to get rid of the smoke and burn the evidence that could destroy her family. Then she’d call Splash and get the hell off this island.

  It was the only way.

  After setting everything up, she went upstairs and pressed her ear against Andrew’s bedroom door. She’d left him sprawled across his bed, lost in a deep sleep. Hearing nothing, she slowly turned the knob and pushed open the door, mindful not to make any noise that might awaken him. She poked her head in.

  The bed was in disarray, the blankets tossed about as though he’d done battle with them. Perhaps he had and lost because Andrew was gone.

  Violet sucked in her breath. The memory of the night before pushed its way forward, clutching her heart with fear.

  What if he’d had another episode of that terrifying madness that gripped him last night? What if he hurt himself? Dear God, what if he hurt someone else?

  With her thoughts in disarray, Violet flew downstairs, grabbed her coat and left the house, desperate to find him before he did something she would never be a
ble to fix.

  Andrew awoke with a start. He opened his eyes but couldn’t see through the fog in his brain. Fear shot through him as he realized he was disoriented. Where the hell was he?

  He moved his head and groaned aloud as his head split with pain. His mouth was dry, and a hacking cough burned his chest. Nauseous, he rested his head back down and prayed he wouldn’t throw up. His fingers felt ice cold as they gripped the blanket. It was then he realized that what he held in his hand wasn’t a blanket. It was sand.

  Slowly and carefully he rolled onto his back and found himself staring up at a gray, cloudy sky. For the first time he felt a chilly dampness seeping through his jeans, causing him to shiver with cold.

  As his senses came back into focus, he heard the sounds of the ocean pounding against the shore.

  On the verge of panicking, Andrew forced himself to sit up. The world spun around him and it took all his effort not to vomit. Without moving his head, his eyes flickered back and forth. It took a few moments, but it finally dawned on him where he was.

  Which made the panic set in even more.

  He had no idea how he’d ended up on the beach below the Munson cottage. He gulped when he realized that if he’d walked a few steps further, he would have gone into the sea and possibly drowned. He’d never been a strong swimmer. When he was ten years old, he became caught in a riptide not far from where he now sat. He’d paddled furiously, but the tide was too strong. He tried calling out to his family, oblivious to his danger as they sat on the beach, but his throat, raw from the salty water he’d swallowed, prevented him from being heard. The waves started to swamp him, pulling him down into their black depths. It was his father who finally realized what was happening and managed to save him. The experience left a scar on his psyche that never completely left him. The thought of those breakers finishing what they’d started so many years before left him sick to his stomach. He cradled his head in his hands, forcing himself to try and remember anything that might explain how he ended up here.