by Kathi Daley
“You told Trevor that you found Jessica in your bed and thought she was there voluntarily, so you went to sleep in your parents’ room. What time was that?”
“Late; around three-thirty or four.”
“Who else was still at your house?”
“No one. I swear, I cleaned up a little, locked up, then went upstairs to go to bed. That’s when I found Jessica.”
“Was she covered up?”
“Yes. Well, partially. The covers had fallen to her waist, but she was lying on her stomach. It looked like she’d been tossing and turning.”
“And you didn’t think it was strange that she was all alone, naked in your bed?”
“I was totally wasted. I didn’t stop to think at all.” Tommy looked back toward the campus. “I really need to go. Fifth period is going to start in a few minutes.”
“I’ll let you get to class, but remember, this conversation never happened.”
“I got it. I swear. My parents will send me to military school if this thing gets out.”
Alyson patted him on the shoulder with an open hand. “Yeah, that’d be a shame.”
Chapter 6
Alyson stopped by her locker before heading to fifth period. Her lack of sleep the previous night was beginning to catch up with her. Maybe she should skip PE and head over to the library for a nap in the stacks. The library would be deserted in the middle of the day, and no matter how hard she tried, she didn’t think she could muster the energy to hit a white ball over a net.
As she’d figured, the library was empty. Alyson found a table near the back corner of the room and sat down at a table. Crossing her arms, she rested her head on top and closed her eyes, welcoming even a few minutes of blissful unconsciousness.
Alyson.
She opened one eye and looked up, but there was no one else nearby. She frowned and put her head back down. Not only was she seeing things but, apparently, she was beginning to hear things as well.
Alyson, you need to go. The Shadow knows.
Alyson’s eyes popped open. She stood up this time and walked to the edge of the stacks. She knew she’d heard something. “Is anyone there?” she whispered.
Her inquiry was met with silence. She walked up and down the aisle, looking at each row of books, but she didn’t see anyone. Deciding she wasn’t as tired as she’d thought, she gathered her belongings and headed for the gym.
******
“Did you talk to Tommy?” Mac asked as they drove to Booker’s after Alyson had finished school for the day and Mac had put in two hours at her internship.
“Yeah.” Alyson turned her Jeep onto the coast highway. “He’s standing by the story he told Trevor, but I got the names of the guys tending bar for him at the party. He said he just picked the drink up from the cups lined up. If he’s right, it sounds like someone randomly spiked the drink, which is a lot more frightening than if it had been spiked intentionally for Jessica.”
“Do you believe him?”
“I don’t know.” Alyson turned on the windshield wipers as the rain that had been promised made its appearance.
“Aren’t you afraid he’s going to tip off whoever did it if he isn’t the culprit? If the guilty party finds out we’re snooping around, he’s bound to do whatever he can to cover up for himself.”
Alyson slowed as the rain began to come down harder. “No, he won’t talk. I explained to him how important it was that he not blab. I think he understood me.”
“I hope so. He doesn’t seem the type to care much about other people’s lives.”
“He may not care about other people, but he cares about himself. I just pointed out how much trouble he might be in legally if it got out that a violent crime took place at his house during a party where he provided alcohol to minors.”
“I suppose his parents could even be sued.”
Alyson turned off the highway and onto the road leading to Booker’s oceanfront home. “A lawsuit would be a very public thing, and I got the impression Jessica’s parents just want to make the whole thing go away.”
“Yeah, they’re well known in the community. This must be uncomfortable for them. But still, you’d think they’d be more concerned about bringing whoever did this to Jessica to justice. My mom would be pounding on doors and demanding DNA samples if it had happened to me.” Mac adjusted the heater vent so it was blowing on the passenger side window to defrost it.
“I could see your mom doing that.” Alyson turned the windshield wipers up to the highest setting. “It’s really starting to come down.”
“I should have brought my raincoat. Or an umbrella.”
“There might be an umbrella on the floor in the back.” Alyson pulled into Booker’s long drive. He opened the front door himself as the girls ran up the steps.
“Were you waiting for us?” Alyson shook the rain from her jacket.
“I found out some quite exciting stuff. I’ve been anxiously awaiting your arrival.”
“What’d you find?” Alyson tried not to drip all over Booker’s hardwood floor as he led them down the hall to the library.
“Have a seat by the fire and I’ll show you.”
Booker picked up a manila folder from his desk and took out a yellowed piece of paper. “I found a newspaper article dated May 30, 1867. It states that the body of Whitney Lincoln, the wife of one of the area’s richest men, was found at the bottom of what’s now called Dead Man’s Bluff on May 27. She was pregnant with the couple’s fifth child when she disappeared a week earlier. When they found her body, the fetus was missing.”
“Missing?” Alyson poured a cup of coffee from the pot on a nearby table, beside a plate of cookies, and passed it to Mac.
“It appeared she had delivered the child before being killed.”
“And the child?”
“Never found.”
“Did the article say who killed her?” Mac picked up one of the still-warm cookies and broke it in half.
“A Native American man known only as Marcus. He was seventeen.”
“Why would he kill her?”
“At this point I don’t know. I’m still looking through diaries and other newspaper accounts. He was hanged in the town square the same day Mrs. Lincoln’s body was found.”
“It doesn’t sound like he got much of a trial,” Alyson said.
“He was a Native American living soon after the end of the Civil War. In those days he wouldn’t have had many rights.”
“I know this is going to sound strange, but I had a dream about the two people I saw on the cliff. This time I heard them arguing. The man was demanding that the woman tell him where she hid something. Do you think it was the child?”
“Why would she hide the child?” Mac asked.
“The newspaper article said Mrs. Lincoln was missing. Are we assuming she was kidnapped?”
“The article seems to indicate Marcus kidnapped and then killed her,” Booker said.
“If he kidnapped her and she delivered during her captivity, wouldn’t Marcus know where the child was?” Mac reasoned. “Something seems off. This guy was seventeen years old. Why would he kidnap a pregnant woman who had four children already? How did he even know her? It’s not like they traveled in the same social circles.”
“Maybe he worked for her or for her husband,” Alyson guessed.
“That would make sense,” Booker agreed.
“But why kidnap her?” Mac asked. “Was he after a ransom? I mean, a Native American kidnapping a rich white woman? It seems so risky.”
Alyson closed her eyes and tried to picture the scene from the night before. “I couldn’t see the people involved in the altercation on the bluff. It was dark and I couldn’t make out any distinct features. I do know the person who did the pushing was really intent on finding something the other person had. A Native American male kidnapping a white woman for ransom doesn’t jibe with the intensity of the conflict I witnessed.”
“Dreamed about,” Mac corrected her. “You dreamed about it.”<
br />
“Yeah, dreamed.”
“You didn’t dream about it,” Mac suddenly accused. “You went back to the bluff after Trevor and I left last night.”
“We’ll talk about it later.”
“I can’t believe you lied to us.”
“Please, Mac. We’ll talk later. Right now, let’s see if we can make some sense of this. Does the article say what evidence they had to accuse Marcus of the kidnapping and murder in the first place?”
“No.” Booker handed the newspaper article to Alyson. “It just says he was hanged for the crime. At that time no evidence would have been necessary.”
“If Mrs. Lincoln’s death was the catalyst that started the deadly cycle we’re going to have to figure that out. If it was as cut and dried as a man kidnapping a woman, killing her, and being brought to justice, I doubt the cycle would have started in the first place,” Alyson insisted. “It seems to me the only way to stop the cycle is to find what was lost or right what was wronged, or something like that.”
“I’ll keep looking,” Booker offered. “Now that I have a date I know which diaries to focus on.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.” Alyson stood up. “We should go. Is it okay if we come back again tomorrow after school?”
“That would be fine.”
“We’ll keep looking too. Hopefully between all of us we’ll find something meaningful.”
Mac and Alyson ran through the still-pouring rain to her car.
“I’m sorry I lied,” Alyson said as soon as they were buckled in. “I knew you’d worry. I didn’t want that, but I need to find out what’s going on and what my part in it is. I can’t do that if I’m being babysat all the time.”
“Was your mom’s plane really delayed?”
“No. She isn’t due back until the twenty-eighth.” Alyson started the ignition and turned up the heater.
“I’m sorry if we’re stifling you, but we love you and don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“I know.”
“Those other girls ended up dead.”
“I know.”
“Trevor is going to kill you.”
“I know.”
“Look, I get that you’re trying to do the brave thing, but let us help you. If you think you need to be alone to have the visions maybe we could use walkie-talkies to back you up or something.”
“You’re right. I shouldn’t have gone off on my own.”
“Okay.” Mac crossed her arms and sat back in her seat. “It sounds like you learned your lesson. I’m glad we had this talk.”
Alyson cracked a smile. “Yes, Mom.”
Mac chuckled. “I guess I did kind of sound like a mom, huh? How’d I do? My first mother-daughter talk.”
Alyson reached over and hugged her friend. “You did great. You’re going to be a great mom someday.”
Chapter 7
By the time they pulled up outside Alyson’s house Trevor was there waiting. The radio in his vintage Mustang was turned up so loud, Alyson doubted he’d even heard them arrive.
“Mac,” Alyson stopped her as she started to get out, “do you think we could not tell Trevor about my little field trip last night? We both know he’ll totally freak out and I so don’t have room for him in my bed. You know he’ll insist on staying over if we tell him.”
“Okay, but from now on, no field trips without backup.”
“Agreed.”
“Hey, guys, you’re late.” Trevor turned off the radio, got out of the Mustang, and met them at Alyson’s car.
“Yeah, we were at Booker’s and we lost track of time,” Mac said. “We’ve got a starting point now.”
“Let’s go inside, I’ll make you some of my world-famous grilled cheese sandwiches and we’ll tell you what we found out,” Alyson added.
Mac and Trevor followed Alyson into the house, where they were all greeted by Tucker, who acted like they’d been away for years, not just a few hours. Alyson let him out before heading into the kitchen to rustle up some dinner. It was still raining; soup and sandwiches felt just about perfect.
“They were probably sleeping together.” Trevor crumbled crackers into the tomato soup Alyson had heated up to go with the sandwiches after she’d let Tucker back in and they were all seated at the kitchen table.
“Sleeping together? He was only seventeen,” Mac said.
“Seventeen’s old enough, believe me.” Trevor stirred his soup so the crackers were all well coated.
“But why would a mother of four who was married to one of the richest men in the area be sleeping with a seventeen-year-old?” Mac placed several pickle slices on her toasted bread.
“Because she was the mother of four and the wife of some rich old guy,” Trevor said. “Think about it. You’re a pretty young thing who catches the eye of some old rich guy. You marry him for money and prestige, bear his babies, and keep his house. You’re set for life, but he doesn’t really satisfy you sexually. On the other hand, the young, virile ranch hand, or whatever he was, has been giving you the eye. You look in the mirror, wonder if after all those kids you’re still sexually attractive to men your own age, and a few shy smiles later you’re boots-up in the barn.”
“Trev, you should write romance novels ’cause that theory sounds like the chick flick of the week,” Mac teased.
“No, Trevor’s right,” Alyson said. “It makes sense. Mrs. Lincoln was having an affair with Marcus and she got pregnant.”
“With his child,” Mac guessed.
“She doesn’t want her rich husband to find out, so when she’s ready to deliver she sneaks off and has the baby,” Alyson continued. “She stashes the kid somewhere, Marcus comes along and wants it, but she doesn’t want the proof of her indiscretion to exist to mess up her life.”
“Do you think she killed the baby?” Mac asked.
“Killed it or maybe just stashed it away. She might have given it to someone traveling through or maybe even to someone from one of the trading ships that frequented the area.”
“So Marcus catches up with her and tries to get her to tell him where she stashed the baby,” Trevor continues. “She won’t tell him and they get into a struggle and he kills her.”
“But why kill her?” Mac asked. “With her dead, he’d never find the kid.”
“Maybe he didn’t mean to kill her,” Alyson suggested. “Maybe it was an accident.”
“Okay, say all of this is true,” Mac said. “How does that relate to the deaths that have happened since? Whose ghost is causing the endless loop, his or hers?”
“His,” Alyson concluded. “It’s always a female who dies.”
“Okay, then why?” Mac asked. “What does he hope to gain?”
“He’s reenacting the night the mother of his child died to try to come up with a different ending. He’s still trying to find the child,” Alyson guessed.
“That sounds like a possibility, but there’s still a lot we don’t know,” Mac pointed out. “Most importantly, how do we stop it? If it was a baby he was trying to find, he or she is way dead and thus not findable.”
Alyson rubbed her hand across her face. How did one solve an unsolvable puzzle?
“All well and good, but what you just concocted is only a theory,” Trevor reminded them. “We have no proof any of this is true. While exploring it may have merit, I think it would be a mistake to abandon all other possible explanations.”
“Trev’s right,” Mac agreed. “We should keep an open mind as we search for clues. We don’t even know for sure one of the ghosts on the bluff is Marcus. He was hanged for the crime, but that doesn’t mean he did it.”
“So we go see Booker tomorrow and hope he’s found something in one of his old diaries,” Alyson said. “Let’s go into the living room now that we’ve finished our culinary feast. I have Oreos for dessert. Anyone interested?”
“Got milk?” Trevor asked.
“Yeah.”
“Then grab the cookies.” Trevor opened the refrigerator door in
search of the promised drink.
Alyson tossed a log on the fire as everyone settled in. Given the dreary conditions outside, it would be nice to make the room warm and cozy. Alyson enjoyed the rain, which was a good thing because Oregon received quite a lot of it annually, but tonight she could feel the urge to head to the bluff begin to build and really didn’t want to have to stand on the edge of the cliff in a downpour.
“I hacked into the police files regarding the most recent murders,” Mac informed them as they settled onto the sofa, “and I found something interesting. Copies of the exact same files were formally requested by someone twenty-five years ago.”
“Who?” Alyson tossed another log on the fire.
“Parker Gates.”
“Do you think he put together the pattern?” Alyson tucked her legs up under her body.
“He must have.”
“Do we know who he is?” Alyson asked.
“No clue.”
“Let’s see what you’ve got.” Alyson reached for the pile of pages Mac had copied that afternoon.
“‘Samantha Roberts. Found dead at the bottom of Dead Man’s Bluff on May 27, 1992. A thorough investigation yielded no signs of a struggle or foul play. She was found at approximately eight p.m. by a passing jogger.’” Alyson stopped reading. “That’s strange.”
“Why?” Mac asked.
“I’ve jogged up on Dead Man’s Bluff lots of times. The overhang is steep, really steep, and pretty far up. It was dark. I don’t see how the jogger could have seen the body. The other night when I thought I’d witnessed a murder I was looking intently over the edge and couldn’t see anything.”
“Yeah, but when you were looking there wasn’t a body,” Mac said.
“Yeah, but I couldn’t see anything anyway, not even the rocks below.”
“Maybe May 27, 1992, was a full moon,” Mac speculated. “The fog already had started rolling in on the night you were on the bluff. A full moon on a clear night might provide enough illumination to see a body lying on the rocks.”
“Maybe. Is there any way to find out the weather and phase of the moon on that night in 1992?” Alyson asked.
