Fire Walk (A Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud Mystery Book 12)

by Melissa Bowersock

  Sam considered that for a moment, but then shook his head. “She was only seventeen. We don’t know if the reverend and his wife were paying her for helping with the kids, but it was likely just room and board. The organ-playing, I would assume, was a volunteer thing. If all that’s correct, she had no income. Where would she go, how would she get there, and how would she support herself?”

  “Hmm, true,” Lacey allowed. “Fell in love? Ran off with a boyfriend?”

  “Then why come back and torch the church? No, something happened here to her. I’m sure of it.”

  Abby appeared suddenly with their order, interrupting the intent conversation. She set plates down in front of each of them. “Now, can I get you anything else?”

  “No, this looks good,” Lacey said. “Thanks.”

  The waitress hovered for a moment. Lacey salted her chicken and dumplings, and smiled up at Abby. The woman smiled back and left.

  “So,” Lacey said, drawing out the word, “you wanna go back to the church tomorrow and see if Reverend Hillenbrand can give us any answers?”

  Sam snorted. “Why do I think that’s a long shot?”

  “Yeah, I know. He wasn’t exactly welcoming today. But we were just fishing then. Now we’ve got names, dates. Maybe if he understands that we’re not concentrating on these latest fires, not looking for a suspect, maybe he’ll be a little more forthcoming.”

  “Maybe,” Sam said. “I guess it’s worth a try, and we don’t have anything else. Why not?”

  That much settled, they ate in comfortable silence for several moments. “How’s your taco salad?” she asked him.

  “Pretty good. It’s not a Navajo taco, but… okay. How’s the chicken and dumplings?”

  “Filling,” she said. She sat back and sipped her iced tea. “Too bad we don’t have a microwave in the hotel room. I could take half of this back and have it for dinner tomorrow.”

  “Maybe eating rabbit food is not such a bad idea after all.”

  Lacey stuck her tongue out at him.

  Abby checked back with them. “Is everything all right?” She appeared concerned that Lacey wasn’t eating.

  “It’s fine,” Lacey said. “I’m just taking a break. It’s a lot of food.”

  “Yes, it is.” Abby smiled broadly, her relief plain on her face. “More iced tea?”

  “I’m good,” Lacey said.

  “I’d take a little more.” Sam shook his glass, the ice cubes rattling.

  “All right. Be right back.”

  “She’s very attentive,” Lacey said in a low voice.

  Sam shrugged. “Not many people in here.”

  “True enough.”

  The waitress returned and refilled Sam’s iced tea. She began to step away, hesitated, then came back.

  “Um, I hope you don’t mind my asking, but are you here about the fire?”

  Lacey perked up. “The fire?”

  Abby nodded. “I saw you this morning with Beau Hewitt. I wondered if you were insurance investigators or something.” She blushed slightly, her round cheeks turning rosier than usual. “I know it’s none of my business. You don’t—”

  “As a matter of fact,” Lacey said, “we are here about the fire. But we’re not with an insurance company. We’re private investigators.” She got out a card and laid it on the table. “Do you know Beau Hewitt? Do you know anything about the fire?”

  Abby took the card and read it. “Private investigators?”

  “Mr. Hewitt hired us. Neither he nor his insurance company is happy about two fires within a matter of months. We’re trying to figure out what the cause is.”

  Abby set the pitcher of iced tea down on the table, but then seemed reluctant to lift her eyes to her customers. She looked anywhere but at them.

  “Do you know?” Lacey asked pointedly.

  Abby glanced up, her brow creased, her mouth open. She licked her lips. “I don’t know Mr. Hewitt, just seen his picture in the paper. About the fire… well, there’s a… a story. A legend.” She broke off.

  “What legend?” Lacey asked. She realized her interrogative voice could be construed as doubt or accusation. She reached out and touched Abby’s hand lightly. “Really, we want to know. That’s why we’re here.”

  “You won’t like it.” The waitress shook her head.

  “Try us,” Lacey said.

  “It’s a ghost.”

  Abby’s eyes locked with Lacey’s. The muted clatter from the kitchen filled the silent space between them.

  “Did you see me blink?” Lacey asked with a slight smile.

  Abby’s eyes widened. “You believe me?”

  “We know you’re right.” Lacey motioned toward Sam with her chin. “Sam’s a medium. We know it’s a ghost, and we know who she is.”

  “Harmony?”

  Now it was Lacey’s turn to drop her jaw. “Yes. Harmony Stowe. You know about her?”

  Abby nodded. “Everyone in town knows. It’s not a secret.”

  “Abby! Order up!” The cook in the kitchen called out from the pass-through window, his voice a growl.

  “Uh, oh. I gotta go.” Abby grabbed the pitcher of iced tea with one hand and slid Lacey’s card into her pocket with the other. She looked back quickly as she walked away.

  Lacey and Sam stared at each other across the table. “Everyone knows?” Lacey repeated. “And we’ve hit nothing but brick walls with the police and the reverend?”

  “Obviously not something they want to talk about. Probably afraid others will think they’re all crazy.”

  “Well, normal people, yeah.” She grinned at him. “We’re not normal.” She looked over at Abby, unloading several plates on another table. “And we need to get the full story.”

  ~~~

  SEVEN

  At several minutes after nine, a timid knock sounded on the door of their hotel room. Lacey immediately pulled the door open to let Abby in. The woman still wore the brown dress with the diner’s logo embroidered above one breast, her name above the other.

  “Come in,” Lacey said. “Have a seat. Would you like some water or soda? Coffee?”

  “No, thank you. I’m fine.” She took a chair in the tiny seating area, her considerable apple body filling it from armrest to armrest. She smiled weakly but fidgeted, as well.

  Lacey and Sam took other seats around the table. Lacey had her digital recorder there, plus her notebook and a pen.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” she said, motioning toward the electronic gadget.

  Abby ducked her head. “No. Fine. It’s just a little… odd talking about it. We never… I mean…”

  “We get it,” Lacey said. “We ran into brick walls at both the church and the police station earlier. No one wants to talk about it or even admit it.”

  Abby’s eyes widened. “You went to the police?”

  Lacey waved away her concern. “Just to request public records. We wanted to see if they have any record of criminal activity for Harmony.”

  “Criminal record?”

  “Let me show you what we have.” Lacey pulled out the articles she’d printed earlier and took Abby step by step through their process: finding Harmony’s name; her new position in the reverend’s home and the church; the gap between her last stint as organist and the fire.

  “We figured she did something to get kicked out of the church, and thought it could be criminal activity. But we’re just guessing at this point.”

  Abby was already shaking her head. “It wasn’t that. She was… troubled.”

  “Troubled how?” Lacey pulled out the article where Reverend Calder was quoted and tapped it. “The reverend said she had emotional problems. Is that what you mean?”

  Abby nodded. “I don’t know the details. Obviously I wasn’t around then, but I’ve heard my grandmother talk about it. From what I gather, she was prone to outbursts of violence. The reverend and his wife feared for their children, so they had her institutionalized.”

  “Institutionalized?” Lacey repea
ted. “Like committed to a loony bin?”

  Abby shrugged. “I guess. They took her to a place outside of Westbrook, about seventy miles away. She was there for months. Then… she burned the church down.”

  “Institutionalized,” Lacey said again. An archaic word for an archaic way of shutting someone away. She looked at Sam. “No wonder she was pissed.”

  His eyes gleamed in agreement.

  Abby looked at him, slightly aghast. “You… you talked to her?”

  “No, not exactly. I just walked the property and I could pick up her emotions. She was enraged near to bursting when she burned the church down. She still is.”

  Abby pressed back in her chair slightly, as if proximity might make her vulnerable to that rage.

  “Okay, so we know she’s the one that keeps burning down Beau’s new store,” Lacey said. “How do you—how does everyone in town—know? What makes you sure it’s still her after ninety years?”

  Abby’s eyes darted left and right. She licked her dry lips. “It’s just… we’ve always known. She won’t let anyone build there. I grew up knowing that.”

  “Anyone?” Lacey repeated. “Have others tried to build there?”

  “Oh, yes.” She bobbed her head. “They tried to rebuild the church as soon as they raised the money for it. She burned it down again. Other people tried to build on that property over the years, but they all burned, too.”

  “What year was that when the church tried to rebuild?” Lacey had her pen ready.

  “I—I don’t know. Maybe later that same year? The next year? I don’t know. But my grandmother said they knew it was her. She said the reverend even brought in an exorcist.”

  “Exorcist?” Lacey glanced at Sam.

  “How’d that go?” he asked.

  Abby shook her head. “Not good. I don’t remember now what Granny said, but it didn’t work. That’s when they decided to build the church in the new location.”

  “And move the graveyard,” Sam said.

  “Yes.”

  “Was your grandmother alive when this happened? Did she see it firsthand?”

  “Alive, yes. But she’s ninety-two now, so she doesn’t remember seeing it. She heard about it growing up, though. She said she and the other children in town would walk over there to see if they could see the ghost.”

  “She’s ninety-two now? She’s still alive?”

  “Yes.”

  Lacey leaned forward. “Can we talk to her?”

  “Uh.” Abby wrung her hands. “I don’t know. I guess, maybe.”

  “What kind of shape is she in? Is she still pretty sharp, pretty strong? If she’s fragile, we wouldn’t want to upset her, but…”

  “Oh, she’s in good shape, I mean for her age. She doesn’t get around well, but she still does crossword puzzles and stuff, and gives my mom heck. She can be real stubborn.”

  Lacey smiled. “Sounds like my kind of woman. Would you ask her if she’ll talk to us?”

  Abby considered that for a moment, her eyes shifting from Lacey to Sam. “I, uh, can ask. Sure. Why not?”

  “That would be terrific,” Lacey said. “You’ve got my card. Would you call us tomorrow and let us know?”

  Abby pulled the card from her pocket. “This is your cell?” Lacey nodded. “Okay. I’ll ask her in the morning. She goes to bed early.”

  “Sure, fine,” Lacey said. “Just let her know that we could really use her help. And Harmony could use it, too.”

  “Harmony?” Abby’s brow creased.

  “That’s why we’re here: to release Harmony so she can move on. That’s our goal.”

  ~~~

  EIGHT

  A second morning of the “continental” breakfast in the hotel was making Lacey rethink the diner. The fare at the hotel was definitely uninspiring. But she realized a third meal of heavy comfort food every day might be too much. She settled for an English muffin.

  “I hope Abby calls soon,” she said.

  Sam nodded. “This could be our breakthrough.”

  “If we can find out the name of that institution, that will help a lot.” She arched an eyebrow at Sam. “But I’ve got a question for you. There’s all this talk of Harmony being mentally troubled. Unbalanced, it sounds like. Did you get that from her? Did you feel that?”

  He sipped his coffee thoughtfully for a moment, turning his mind back to his walk yesterday.

  “Not beyond the batshit crazy anger, no,” he said. “I mean, like I said before, she was almost out of her mind with rage, but it was fully focused, fully conscious rage. It wasn’t… scattered. It wasn’t all over the place, like I would expect from a psycho. No, I would never take her for a head case without whatever happened to drive her to do this.”

  “Okay, good to know,” Lacey said. Had the institution “cured” her? Or was she never crazy to begin with? Just one of the many questions they needed to answer.

  They finished their breakfast and decided to walk down Main Street. Without any prior agreement, they headed toward the ruined lot. It drew them both as a noted landmark would, or a troubling piece of art.

  They stood on the corner and stared into the charred wreckage.

  “I feel sad for her,” Lacey said quietly. She took Sam’s hand in hers.

  “I do, too,” he said. “She didn’t want this. Didn’t choose this.”

  The breeze freshened, finding tatters of ash and spinning them up out of the ruins. Lacey wondered how long it would be before the ash was fully carried away. A long time, she thought.

  Her phone rang. “It’s Abby. Hello?”

  “Lacey? Granny says she’ll talk to you. Can you come to my house?”

  “Sure. What’s the address?” Lacey didn’t bother digging pen and paper out of her pack; the three-digit address made it easy to remember. Abby gave her brief directions.

  “We’re on our way. Be there in a few.”

  “Where is it?” Sam asked as she put her phone away.

  “Five twelve Third Avenue. Up the hill behind Main Street.”

  It was a quick walk. Third Avenue was a pleasant row of tall, narrow cottages, some with the proverbial picket fence, green lawns, even a garden gnome here or there. The street rose gradually up toward the higher ground that boasted dark, lush forest.

  The house marked 512 was a pale, robin’s egg blue with white shutters. No garden gnome, but a neat gathering of hollyhocks and gladiolas tilting in the breeze.

  “Adorable,” Lacey said as they moved up the walkway to the front door.

  Abby had the door open before they could knock. What was it about small towns that compelled people to keep watch out their windows? The woman welcomed them warmly, though. She wore pink pedal pushers and a loose, flowered smock.

  “Come on in.” She pulled the door open wide to let them by, then led them to a bright yellow kitchen with a maple table in the center. An elderly woman was seated with a cup of tea while a slightly younger woman moved about the kitchen in a patterned muumuu.

  “Mom, Granny, this is Lacey Fitzpatrick and…” Abby faltered on the second name.

  “Sam Firecloud,” he said, stepping forward to shake hands with both women. “Thank you for seeing us.”

  “Hazel Bertram,” Abby’s mother supplied. “This is my mother, Winona Cray. Can I get you some coffee or tea?”

  Sam shook his head but Lacey opted for tea. They took seats at the table on either side of Winona and both Abby and her mother joined in.

  “I love your kitchen,” Lacey said as she got her notebook and digital recorder out of her pack.

  “Thank you,” Hazel said. “My father built this house.”

  “How nice,” Lacey said. She smiled to Winona. “Your husband?”

  “Yes.” The woman’s voice was soft and airy, as if she hadn’t the strength to empty her lungs. She was very thin, making her head look disproportionately large, and wore her silver hair in a knot at the back of her head.

  “We’ll keep this short,” Lacey said. “We’r
e grateful for your time, but we don’t want to tire you.”

  “Now what is it that you do?” Hazel asked. She hunched forward over her coffee cup and waited expectantly.

  “I’m a medium,” Sam began. “People hire us when they’re having problems with ghosts. I walk the property, get what impressions I can, then we research the entity to find out why they’re tied here. Once we know their story, we can release them from their trauma and help them move on.”

  Hazel sipped her coffee, but she eyed Sam with some trepidation. “Do you get a lot of… business with this?”

  “Lately, yeah.” He smiled. “It seems like the more we do, the more people hear about us and the more calls we get. Like from Beau here.”

  “I see.” Hazel sat back and crossed her arms over her chest.

  A skeptic, Lacey thought. Well, we’ll see how she feels when we’re done.

  She turned to Winona. “So here’s what we know, or think we know. The ghost who burns down the buildings is named Harmony Stowe. She died in the original church fire when she was only eighteen years old, back in 1928. We know she’d been taken in by the reverend’s family when her parents were killed, and that she played the organ in the church. But there’s a gap between July 1927—the last time she played at the church—and June 1928, when the church burned down. Abby said she was institutionalized for emotional or behavioral problems. Is that right so far?”

  Winona had listened closely, her head angled toward Lacey. Maybe hard of hearing, Lacey thought, and reminded herself to speak clearly.

  “I didn’t know how old she was,” Winona said. “I thought she was younger, but I heard about her when I was a child, so maybe I just assumed she was my age.”

  “What did you hear?” Lacey asked. “What stories, and from whom?”