by Lisa Mancini
At last, Freya saw her chance. She interrupted the woman’s diatribe. “Oh, my birthday is in December too. I’ll be twenty-one.”
Maude smiled warmly and finally stopped talking. So, Freya began asking questions. The woman seemed alert and answered her with detail. Maude explained that a few weeks back she saw a middle-aged woman with short dark hair and glasses with a young girl. The child had bright red hair and was very well dressed. They stayed at the house across the road for only a week. But she was sure that the girl was Hannah Baker and Freya believed her. She thanked the woman and her daughter and left.
While walking to her vehicle, she looked across the street at the small brown cabin. It looked vacant. Not seeing anyone around, she made a decision. She was going inside to look around.
She crossed the road and walked around to the back of the cabin. There was a little porch. Freya walked up the porch stairs and saw two little windows facing directly into the living room of the cabin. She glanced through them and saw a furnished house. It looked like it had been thoroughly cleaned. But maybe something was left behind, something that would lead Freya to find Hannah’s abductor.
Freya tried both windows and found them to be locked. She went around the perimeter of the house and found all the windows locked. Hmmm, how do I get in? Then, she reached inside her bag and pulled out a paperclip. Duke had shown her some months back how to jimmy a lock with a paperclip. Oh well, here goes.
She inserted the paperclip into the key hole and twisted back and forth and up and around. After a few tries, she heard a click. Thank you Duke!
She opened the door and walked inside. It was starting to get dark now so she pulled out her flashlight. She tried the wall switch and to her surprise found that the electricity was still on. She glanced around the living room and kitchen. It looked neat as a pin. She checked the trash pails and they were empty too. She checked out the other rooms and found two bedrooms, one bathroom, and a room off the back porch used for storage. That was when she saw it. A little scrap of paper balled up on the floor in the corner.
Picking it up, she saw that it was a store receipt, dated a few weeks ago. The print was faded but she read it clearly enough. It was from Prunrier’s market in Bomoseen. She checked her watch. It was 5pm. The store might still be open. She stuck the receipt in her bag, walked out the back door, locked it, and ran to her vehicle. She hopped in and drove to the market. She saw a sign that read- closes at 9pm.
She walked inside. She went up and down the aisles grabbing a few items to make her visit there seem necessary. When she got to the register, she placed her stick of pepperoni and her green peppers on the counter. She smiled at the cashier. After she caught her eye, she showed her the school picture of Hannah and asked if she had seen the little girl a few weeks back. The clerk shocked her.
“That kid? Are you kidding? I’d never forget that brat! She threw a tantrum because her mom wouldn’t let her have a candy bar. If my kids acted like that, I’d smack them!” said the clerk.
“Are you sure it was her? How can you be certain?”
The clerk explained that the child threw a tantrum and the mom had a hard time settling her down. The clerk said she was 100% sure, that was the same kid.
“So, what about her mom? Did you recognize her?”
She shook her head and explained that she couldn’t remember her. She just looked like every other tired and worn out mother. Jeez, thought Freya. I hope I don’t look tired and worn out if I have kids. She paid for her items and was about to leave, but she thought of something else.
“Hey, you didn’t happen to see what kind of car she drove?”
“Nope, sorry. I was so relieved when they left. But wait, I think the kid called her Ivy. I thought it was odd because I figured they were mother and daughter. But the kid didn’t call her mommy. She called her Ivy. That’s a weird name, isn’t it?”
Freya agreed. It was weird and unique. How many middle aged women are called Ivy these days? I bet the department of motor vehicles could answer that question, thought Freya. And she had a contact at the DMV too. Ben Hadley. He helped her last year with the Joey Taylor murder. I think it’s time I gave good old Ben a call. Freya waved goodbye and walked to her vehicle smiling.
CHAPTER NINE
Freya texted Ben. Ben Hadley worked at the local Department of Motor Vehicles. He had a big crush on her in high school but they had ended up just friends. Last year he was elected to city council. Ben had the distinction of being one of the few living descendants of the founder of Agatha Falls, Agatha Putnam Ingersoll. As such, he inherited the bulk of the estate when Judge Pringle died last year. Since then, Ben was busy with his projects, both environmental and social. If anyone could find the owner of local vehicle, it was Ben.
He texted back that he was in a meeting, but he’d be done in an hour. Freya decided to drive back to town. She wondered if the Sander’s housekeeper had spoken to Detective Ramirez yet. Hopefully she could identify the young man who visited Sydney. Freya had a hunch it was Brandon. All she needed now was proof.
Freya’s stomach growled. She’d missed lunch. But no worries, one of her favorite eateries was close. Roxie’s Restaurant in Castleton was famous for its French fries served with white vinegar and salt. A burger joint really; hamburgers, fries, chicken nuggets, hotdogs, lobster salad, onion rings and ice cream, just to name a few; were favorites of the locals. But people came from all over to sample its menu. She pulled into the parking lot and walked over to the food bus. Ordering a Coke and fries, she texted her friend Ali to see what she was up to.
Ali was her best friend since high school and she attended Claremont College. Since both were busy with school and jobs, they didn’t see each other as often as they used to but emails and phone calls filled the void.
Her order ready, she walked over to the picnic table and sat down. She enjoyed the fresh, salty fries, enhanced with the tart white vinegar sprinkled liberally over them.
She read Ali’s text. OMG! Freya quickly texted back. The news shocked her.
Polly Brown retiring. Diner closing.
Yellow Deli buying the space.
I HATE CHANGE! Call me later.
Freya texted back. She agreed. Change was hard. Both girls grew up at the Diner. But the Yellow Deli was awesome too. Specializing in sandwiches, soups, salads and breakfast fare, the food was fresh, homegrown, and never processed. Freya’s favorite sandwich was the Green Mountain Club. It featured turkey, cheddar cheese from Vermont, lettuce, tomato, and maple mustard on a pumpernickel roll. It was delicious.
Finishing her fries, she tossed her napkins into the trash bin and walked back to her SUV. As she got into the vehicle, her cell buzzed. It was Ben Hadley. His meeting over, he asked her what she needed from him. She quickly told him and he promised her he’d see what he could do. Satisfied with her day of informal investigation, she headed for home. As content as she felt these days she had some anxiety. Abby Vale was still out there. She hadn’t been caught yet.
The woman was responsible for the murders of at least a half dozen young girls and her former lover. A member of the Coalesce cult, she escaped last autumn and was somewhere in Scandinavia. Or, at least that’s what the FBI believed. Abby promised Freya in a letter that she’d return some day, very soon to finish her off. Freya shuddered at the thought. But she was prepared.
Freya had her handgun and she was a great shot. She and her brother Jake practiced every month at the firing range. Her home had a state of the art security system. Even Duke, her friend, and neighbor had taught her some self-defense moves. She practiced on Erik. He was caught off guard one day when she flipped the six foot two man over her back and onto her hardwood floors. The look on his face was priceless.
Erik had not called or texted her in at least a week. Still in Montreal for a family funeral, she worried that something more than that was afoot, but she kept her feelings to herself. It did no good to worry about something she couldn’t prove. It was another one
of her hunches. And unfortunately, they were never wrong.
She drove into town and up Center Street. It was busy this time of day and there was no parking on the street. What else is new? But Freya knew where to go, proceeded up the street, took a left hand turn onto Wales Street, and parked in front of Dominos. Oh well, I’ll only be a minute. Rushing inside the Beacon’s headquarters, she wanted a quick word with her boss.
She ran up the stairs to her shared office and saw Kerry Quinn in Lou’s office. The girl was waving her hands excitedly and Lou was calmly sitting there watching her. Freya stood quietly outside the glassed in office and caught Lou’s eye. He motioned her to come in. Freya opened the door and listened as Kerry spoke excitedly to Lou.
“I’m not kidding you! They saw it and they are positive. Please, let me go to Wallingford to check this out,” the girl pleaded.
Kerry was a journalism intern from Claremont College. Normally left to write the obituary page, the college student had persuaded Lou in recent weeks to let her write actual stories. So far, she’d covered the annual Halloween parade and a local pumpkin decorating contest. But, Kerry had loftier goals.
“Please Lou! What if Freya went with me? Would you let me go then?” the girl looked so strained that Freya felt for her. She remembered what it felt like to be the new person in the office. And for a writer who wants to write and needs to write, not being able to write is torture. So, Freya raised her hand.
“Barrett, put your hand down, we’re not in school here,” said Lou gruffly.
But Freya knew better. Lou was a pro and as the new editor of the paper, he was willing to take it in a new direction. The Beacon was now focusing on crime and news that affected the world outside of Agatha Falls. She knew he was only testing the intern.
“Barrett, would you accompany Ms. Quinn to the exotic village of Wallingford in her pursuit of a werewolf?”
Freya said nothing. A werewolf in Wallingford?
“Sure, why not? I’ll go with her,” she said. Kerry hugged her and before she knew it, Kerry was dragging her out of Lou’s office.
“Wait, I need to speak to him first, okay? And then we’ll go.” She gently pushed the girl out of the office, shut the door, and updated her boss on the new information into Hannah’s disappearance.
“I like it, good work, Barrett. Keep me posted on the DMV. Now, go find that werewolf,” he said leaning back in his chair grinning at her.
Freya and Kerry drove out to Wallingford, a little town about ten miles south of Agatha Falls. The town was divided into three villages offering colonial, federal, and Victorian homes. Established in 1761, Wallingford had a population of a little over 2,000.
The actual werewolf sightings occurred at nearby White Rocks Cliffs Trail. Freya hadn’t been out there since she first moved to town. She and Jake climbed the trail as kids. Freya never forgot the feeling of accomplishment she’d felt after reaching the top. The view from the peak was amazing.
Following Sugar Hill Road for two hundred feet, they saw the sign for the National Forest. Kerry jumped out of Freya’s vehicle and immediately checked her phone.
“The couple who saw it said they’d meet us at the Information Center.”
They walked over to the small building and looked around. There were at least a dozen hikers sitting at picnic tables and Freya glanced quickly at all of them. Kerry went inside the Center to find the couple. After a few minutes, an older man approached her.
“Hello, are you Kerry?”
“No, I’m Freya, but I’m here with Kerry. We’re from the Beacon. Did you actually see a werewolf up here?”
“Well, we saw something that resembled a werewolf,” said the man who introduced himself as Kent Flattery and his wife as Barbara.
Kerry joined them. Walking up the trail, the Flattery’s pointed to the area where they saw something out of the ordinary.
“It was at least eight-feet tall and had the head of a German Shephard but was walking on two legs. But the legs were like dogs legs. And he was eating something. He was holding it in his hands like a human would,” said Barbara carefully.
Freya watched the woman closely as she spoke. She seemed anxious. Whatever she saw had frightened her.
“What did the hands look like?” asked Kerry.
The couple looked at each other nervously. The husband spoke. “They were hands but they weren’t human hands. They were covered in dark hair and the fingers were very long.”
“The claws – don’t forget the claws,” said Barbara grabbing his arm.
He nodded. “Yes, very long claws. I am a retired veterinarian and I have no other way to explain it except to say it resembled a werewolf like you’d see in own of those old movies.”
Kerry snapped some pictures and Freya looked down at the rocky ground. One rock stood out to her.
“Mr. Flattery, did you see these?” she pointed to the rocks. He looked at them closely.
“Did you notice those marks before?” asked Freya.
There on the rock were four jagged vertical scratches. The scratches were deep enough to indent the rock formation, leaving white lines in its wake. Kerry snapped pictures and even Freya took one with her phone.
The Flattery’s backed away from the rock and looked around the trail worriedly. The sun had set and the temperature had dropped. There was barely enough light to accompany them back to their vehicles. Freya pulled the zipper up on her jacket. Feeling an odd sensation that she couldn’t explain, she said, “Okay, we have enough. Let’s head back.” The group turned to leave when Kerry suddenly yelled.
“Hey, look at this!”
They turned to look at the girl as she held up what looked like a black shard of glass. But as Freya got closer, she saw what it was and she inadvertently stood back as well. Kerry’s hand held a partial claw that was at least five inches long. It was shiny like glass and black in color. She took the nail from Kerry and showed it to Kent.
“Could this be a bear claw?” asked Freya hopefully.
“Bears have five claws, not four and theirs are curved. These are too straight to belong to a bear and too long. Bear claws are three inches on average but this is almost twice that. Whatever this is, it didn’t come from any bear.”
Freya pocketed the claw and walked down the trail. Turning one last time to look behind her, she glanced at the rock and felt the claw deep inside her pocket. A werewolf in Wallingford? Stranger things….
CHAPTER TEN
Detective Ramirez stared at the yearbook photo. The young man was good-looking and had an air about him. Even she could see that in the black and white photo. So this was the boy. She closed the book and shoved it into her desk drawer. She planned to speak with him tomorrow, on his turf - Wainsbridge Academy.
It now occupied the old Castleton University. After filing for bankruptcy, the school sold its buildings to another local school. That school, Wainsbridge, expanded and moved their entire academic body to the university. Now, a boy’s prep school for ages 12-18, it was one of the top schools in New England, if you could get in.
But, if you were a legacy, like Brandon Cambridge, than you were promised a place at birth. No wonder he looked so arrogant in his photo, she thought. She’d encountered men like that in her youth. Men who thought her Latina heritage made her acceptable for a life as a hotel maid or a housekeeper. But Dianna Ramirez wanted more and she got more.
Earning a scholarship to a prestigious college and working her way up to police detective was not easy. But anything worth having was worth fighting for, she believed. Now she had to make a decision. Did she put all that on the line to help these girls or did she go along to get along? Thinking of her own daughter made her decision easier. She picked up her phone and called Brandon’s school. She asked to speak with the Headmaster.
Explaining what she intended to do; the Headmaster stammered and stuttered. Brandon Cambridge? You want to question him? Yes, she explained. I’ll be there tomorrow morning at 10AM. She hung up. By now, the ma
n had called Brandon’s father, who probably called their family attorney. She wasn’t worried though. She had a witness on the record who swore that Brandon was the young man who made Sydney Sanders so upset that day not so long ago. Was it true? Did he rape the girl, then go back four months later, and kill her? We’re going to find out.
Ramirez called Freya Barrett from the paper. She gave the girl a heads-up about the interview tomorrow. She asked the young reporter not to say anything yet and especially not to write about it. The young woman gave her word she wouldn’t and Ramirez believed her. She trusted her too. That was unusual for her because she didn’t trust many people. But there was something about the young reporter that made Ramirez smile. As long as there were people in the world who were willing to fight for what was right no matter the cost to them, there was hope in the world. And if we needed anything right now, it was hope.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The detective sat very still and didn’t smile once. She had no time for small talk today. And no, she didn’t want any coffee or tea either. Just bring me the boy – that’s exactly how she said it too.
Headmaster Gabriel looked stricken.
“I, I think he’s in chemistry now but, but we can get him here. His father is on his way. He asked us to wait until he gets here. It, it should be any minute now,” he said in a shaky voice.
Ramirez said nothing and waited.
Ten minutes later footsteps could be heard outside the office. Low male voices too. Then, the door was thrown open and two men walked in. One, a younger version of the other. Both, well dressed, well-groomed and each as arrogant as possible. The older male spoke first in a deep, cultivated voice. Harris Cambridge was not a man who enjoyed waiting for others.
