The Girl and the Cursed Lake (Emma Griffin FBI Mystery Book 12)

by A J Rivers

  “But why were the bones in there in the first place?” Xavier asks.

  I shake my head. “I have no idea.”

  By the time we get back to the ranger's house, night is creeping in. I'm starving, but the kitchen facilities leave a lot to be desired. Dean starts a fire and as it burns down to a temperature that we can use to cook, Xavier goes inside to continue to tinker with his equipment.

  I sit down beside Dean. He stares into the flames as if he's in another place. I wait for a few seconds for him to acknowledge me, but he doesn't. Finally, I lean a little closer.

  “What are you thinking about?” I ask.

  “What did I see that day?” he asks, almost more to the fire than to me.

  “I don't know,” I say. “You can't remember all of it. You know that you saw Violet moving through the woods. You were grabbed by a man. Then you heard her scream. It's entirely possible that you actually witnessed her getting taken, but your memory blocked it out.”

  He shakes his head slowly, still staring at the flames. Reaching beside him, he picks up a folder and hands it to me.

  "What's this?"

  "We didn't get a chance to look at it before leaving your house yesterday. It's the non-redacted version of my statement to the police. It must have been part of the material that was turned over to the Bureau when they got involved thirteen years ago."

  "What's in it?"

  "Take a look," he tells me.

  I open the folder and read through the interview. At first, nothing stands out to me, but then my eyes narrow, and I look over at Dean again.

  “You described her,” I frown, pointing at the words on the page. “You said she looked maybe a couple of years younger than you.”

  “I don't remember that,” he says. “I don't remember seeing it, and I don't remember saying it.”

  “You told me you saw the girl from a distance enough to see the color of what she was wearing, but not enough to see how tall she was or even be able to describe her face.”

  “And that's what I remember,” he nods. “But right there I describe her. Emma, that shoe they found couldn't have been Violet’s.”

  “No,” I say. “It wasn't. Remember, Carrie said it wasn't. Immediately identified that it wasn't.”

  “I know,” Dean says. “What I'm saying is it couldn't be. And the police should have realized that. Look at the picture again.”

  I take out my phone and flip through some of the images I have saved. One of them is the shoe.

  “It's too big,” I say. “Definitely too big for a four-year-old.”

  “Who did I see in the woods, Emma?” Dean asks. “Because it wasn't Violet.”

  “There aren't any reports of anybody else missing,” I say. “They never found out who that shoe belonged to, but they also didn't find a body or a police report for a missing girl from the area.”

  “Something happened to that girl. I know it did. I've spent my entire life thinking I led that man to Violet and caused her abduction. But that wasn't her. So, who was it?”

  I look up from the picture.

  “And what does she have to do with Violet?”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Dean and I stay up late into the night going over his statements and trying to reconcile them with what he remembers, along with the other evidence. I'm still tumbling it over in my head the next morning as we make our way down to the lake to trace Elsie Donahue's last known movements.

  The contradictions between what Dean said the day he was brought in and what he remembers now are confusing, but he was also so young, and it was more than half his life ago. As much as he's wrapped himself up in that situation and what it's meant for his life, it's easy to imagine he got confused and has twisted the memories in his mind.

  But that doesn't explain the shoe or where he was when he saw the girl.

  We walk down to the edge of the lake and stand at the spot where Elsie was doing her solo investigation. Looking down at my feet, I see the water washing up and something tingles in the back of my mind. I don't know what it is, but seeing the water that way has something churning.

  “Oh, what fresh hell is this?” Dean asks, pulling my attention away from the water.

  I look over at him and see him staring down the beach. Following his gaze, I notice someone coming toward us. It only takes a few steps for me to realize it’s Ken Abbott.

  “What's he doing here?” I groan.

  I walk toward him. Before I can say anything, he stretches his hand out to me.

  “Hello,” he says. “Ken Abbott.”

  He obviously expects me to recognize him and is waiting for a reaction. I don't take his hand.

  “Agent Emma Griffin,” I say. “I'm with the FBI.”

  “FBI,” he nods. “Impressive. It's good to hear Elsie's disappearance is being taken seriously. What can I do to help?”

  “Actually, Mr. Abbott, this investigation is being taken very seriously, which is why access to the campground is still restricted, only to authorized people associated with the investigation. I'm going to have to ask you to leave,” I tell him.

  “But I have permission to be here,” he says.

  “You had permission,” I counter, emphasizing the past tense. “For your investigation. That was over several days ago. And with the recent developments, trespassing here could be particularly damaging to the case.”

  “I'm not trespassing,” he argues. “I'm here to help. Elsie was my best friend. We've been investigating together for years.”

  “You're comfortable using the past tense now?” I ask.

  “What?” he asks.

  “In your statement, you said you wouldn't be thinking of her in the past tense. But you just said she was your best friend,” I say.

  “That's not what I meant,” he says. “I still believe she's out there. In one form or another. Maybe I can help you connect with her. She can tell you what happened.”

  I can't help but roll my eyes.

  “I'm sorry, Mr. Abbott, but this is not the time for that. You had the chance to do your investigation. Now I need you to step back so I can do mine,” I say.

  I turn away and start back down the beach toward where I’d been standing.

  “You have no respect for what I do, do you, Emma?” he calls after me.

  I stop and draw in a breath before turning around to look at him.

  “It's Agent Griffin,” I correct him. “And to be completely honest with you, no. I don't. You spend your time chasing around something that isn't there. I investigate reality. What really happened to real people. I solve crimes, and I bring those responsible to face justice.”

  “Just because you don't understand something doesn't mean it isn't there, Agent Griffin," Ken says. "The same goes for whether or not you believe in it. Your ability or willingness to perceive something doesn't impact the reality of something for anyone else. I can tell you from personal experience that there is far more in this world that what people say does or should exist.”

  I glance over at Xavier, where he's arranging pinecones across the ground.

  "I know that. It doesn't mean there are ghosts floating around."

  "And it doesn't mean there aren't. I'm not asking you to completely believe everything I do, or even believe that I believe it. But as someone who has unraveled as many mysteries and encountered as much evil as you have, I would think you would be more receptive to anything that might take even a little bit of that out of the world. Even if you don't understand it. Because honestly, can you really say that believing in a spirit world is so much more outlandish than a man who believes he can recreate his family through corpses, or the absolute devotion of oneself to a cult to the point of enslaving and murdering others, or the belief in dominating the world through a continuous chain reaction of chaos and destruction?”

  The words stun me and make me uncomfortable.

  “You know my cases,” I say.

  “Everyone knows you from the news, Emma,” he says.
“I know who you are and what you've done. I know no one has more ability to figure this out than you." He takes a step closer and lowers his voice. "But I also know that whatever the hell is going on in those woods goes beyond what you're looking at. It's not just four years. It's not just a little girl starting a cascade. There's more to it than that. And I might be full of shit half the time, but Elsie wasn't. Crime scenes talk to you, Emma. And spirits talked to her. It's the same thing, whether you want to see it or not."

  "It's not the same thing," I snap.

  "Yes, it is. You scour crime scenes and pore over case files because you want what you call justice. You want to set things right in the world. You wait for the details to talk to you, to tell you what happened and where to look."

  "Which is what I need to be doing right now," I say.

  "Why do you think people want so much to believe in hauntings?" he asks before I can turn away.

  I shake my head and shrug. "I don't know."

  "Because they want to know it's not too late. That it's not too late to hold someone accountable for what they've done, or to tell someone they love them. They want to know that the people they loved and were good are happy and able to continue enjoying their favorite things. That they are still there. And that those who did horrible things in this life are being punished. You want the same things. You want to give victims a voice and protect their memories and seek out justice for those responsible."

  "What's your point, Mr. Abbott?"

  "My point is we are taught in school that energy can never be destroyed. It simply changes. The question is what it changes to and how you're going to use that."

  I stare at him for a few seconds. "What did you mean, ‘it's not just the four years’?"

  Instead of answering, Ken looks over my shoulder and down the beach. I think he's looking at where Elsie was the night she disappeared, but when I glance over my shoulder, I notice a woman standing on the other side of the lake. She stares at us for a few seconds, then starts toward us.

  "Who is that?" I ask.

  Without waiting for a response, I start to walk down the beach. I've gone several yards when I change my mind and stop to let her come the rest of the way around. I don't know who she is or why she’s at the closed campground, and I need to be cautious.

  "Hello," I call out as she comes the final few feet toward me. "I don't know if you don't realize it, but this campground is closed."

  The woman laughs softly. "I know that. I came to speak to you."

  "Emma," I hear Dean say behind me just as the woman's eyes widen.

  "I knew you'd come back."

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Her reaction sends a chill through me until I hear an unfamiliar voice behind me.

  “Hello, Laura,” it says.

  I turn around and see an older man with cold blue eyes and silver streaks through his hair standing beside Dean.

  “Emma, this is Detective Fitzgerald,” Dean says.

  “Oh,” I say. “Detective, yes. We were expecting you.”

  He nods an acknowledgement and gestures toward the woman.

  “This is Laura Mitchell. You might remember her name from the case files. She was here when Violet disappeared. She also lives in the area, so I asked if she might be willing to come talk to you. I figured you would want to interview as many of the original people involved as you can.”

  "That would actually be very helpful, thank you,” I nod, surprised at how forthcoming the detective is being. I turn back to the woman, thinking through what I know about the case to try to place her. It suddenly clicks. “Mrs. Mitchell. That's right. You were here with your children when Violet disappeared.”

  She nods. “Please. Call me Laura. Yes, I was here with my sons.”

  “Had you been here before?” I ask.

  She gives a brief laugh. “Yes. Detective Fitzgerald mentioned I live in the area. That's an understatement. I live just outside of Sherando Ridge. Some of my family's land was actually incorporated into the park. So, I've spent a tremendous amount of time here. Especially at this campground. I used to rent the same cabin on a continuous basis. They wouldn't let me become an official resident of the park, but as soon as the rentals opened up, I would book it for as long as they would allow me, then just keep going that way.”

  “Oh,” I say. “I didn't realize people did that.”

  “I realize I must sound a little off when I say that. Let me explain. As I said, some of my family's land was incorporated into this park. My family has lived in the area for generations and I came here as a child way before Arrow Lake Campground was anything like it got to be. Just a few cabins, no electricity. Most people in tents. This is where I spent most of my time with my grandparents and my extended family. It's where I met my husband and where I brought my sons when they were young. It's a very special place to me."

  "I can understand that," I say. "It must be hard now that it's closed to not be able to be here."

  “Extremely,” she says. “I still miss it all the time. I visit the park still, of course. But this area has special meaning to me, so it is difficult to have to be away from it. I guess that's just the Mama in me, though. I still want to cling to those memories of when my boys were little. I used to sit out on that beach next to the lake all day long so that they could swim and play. I would get the worst sunburns."

  She laughs, her eyes nostalgic. "I wouldn't have given it up. Anything to make them happy. But they definitely aren't those little boys anymore. As much as I want them to be, they somehow grew up when I wasn't looking."

  “Little ones have a tendency of doing that,” Detective Fitzgerald says.

  “Yes, they do,” she nods. “Can you believe my youngest, Aaron, is going to be getting married soon?”

  “Is that right?” Detective Fitzgerald asks.

  “It is,” Laura says. “I found a nice girl for him. The two of them are going to be so happy together. It's going to be so nice having him home for good now.”

  “He's been away?” I ask, trying to maintain control of the conversation before it spirals away into small-town gossip.

  “Oh, yes,” Laura says. “Ever since that summer…” her voice trails off and her expression gets sad for a second before she shakes it off. “Anyway. It was hard on him and he thought it would be best to get away from all of it. I would see him in the summers, but that grew less frequent when he got around college age. But now he's home.”

  “I'm glad to hear that,” I say. “I hope you don't mind if I ask you what you recall about that day. I know it's hard on you. It probably brings back some bad memories.”

  She swallows hard and nods.

  “I couldn't believe something like that. That poor girl. Didn't even know where she was. How could her parents not know where she was? I wanted to hold my boys close that night.”

  “I heard they were a part of the search,” I say.

  She nods.

  “Oh, yes. They hated the idea of that little girl wandering around the woods all by herself, too. They wanted to help bring her home. They searched and searched, but…”

  Her voice fades, and I nod.

  “I know. So, it sounds as though you’re really familiar with the area. You think you could show me around a little bit? Tell me from your perspective what happened that day?”

  “Sure,” she nods. “Where should I start?”

  “Where's your cabin?” I ask.

  “Cabin 2.” She turns and points all the way across the lake to one of the large cabins up on the opposite hill.

  “So, you weren't close to where the Montgomerys were staying?” I ask.

  “No,” she says. “But I saw them several times. A sweet family. Even with the tension.”

  “Tension?” I ask.

  The thin smile on her face says she regrets letting that word out of her mouth.

  “I shouldn't say that. I don't mean to gossip.”

  “Your sharing observations like that is the whole point in talking
to law enforcement. Something you might not think is significant can mean a lot to my investigation. It could give insight into why they might have been distracted, or why Violet might have tried to get away from a difficult situation happening between them.”

  “I don't think it was anything like that,” Laura says. “That's not what I meant. It wasn't as if they screamed and yelled at each other or anything. There just seemed to be something between them. Something just a little bit…not right. I didn't know them well. I wasn't privy to their private lives. That's all just observation.”

  “Okay,” I say. “Thank you.”

  I let her guide me around the campground and tell me everything she remembers from the days leading up to Violet’s disappearance and then the day she actually went missing. I try not to ask any questions, but just let her talk. Just as I’d told her, often it's the things people don't realize have any significance that actually stand out. But by the time we are done with the tour, I don't feel that's going to be the case with her. Most of what she told me revolved around her sons and memories of their family vacations.

  “I have one more potentially unpleasant question for you,” I say when we get back to the beach.

  “Okay.”.

  “The cavern where Violet’s body was found,” I say. She cringes slightly, but nods. “Do you know where that is?”

  “I know the general area,” Laura says. “But I've never been back there. I love being out here, but I tend to stick to the trails and the lake.”

  “How about your sons?” I ask.

  “My sons?” she bristles immediately.

  “Yes,” I nod. “Would they know how to get to the cavern?”