by Etta Faire
It was hard, even now, to see the old photos of the paramedics with their stretchers, knowing who was under the sheets and how they got there.
Lynette pointed to the screen with her pencil. “I’ll text you these photos along with a picture of the article I found about the Linders. Their remains washed ashore in October,” she said. “And — huge surprise here — their names were misspelled.”
October. That would explain why I hadn’t found the article. I’d only looked at reels from before that.
“Remains. Are we talking bodies or clothes?”
“It didn’t say. I assume bodies.”
“Don’t assume anything with this paper.” I was really getting annoyed with Aunt Ethel’s journalism standards. “Send it to me anyway,” I said as I took the liar’s notebook from my purse and handed it to Lynette, just as a cold wind shot through the office from an opened door. Because I have that kind of luck.
I looked up and into the eyes of a chubby, balding man in armpit-reaching jeans and a tucked-in polo shirt. “What’s going on here? Some sort of party? I thought we said no friends…”
Lynette stuffed the notebook in her pocket.
“She’s not a friend, Dan,” Grace said from behind him. “She’s the medium I was telling you about. The one doing a seance on the old accident. The one who practically called my grandmother a murderer.”
I waved to the man. “That’s me, minus the murderer part. And, to clarify, I don’t think your grandmother was a murderer. She was simply a journalist before ethics were a thing.”
Lynette chuckled by my side and Grace scowled at her.
I searched my purse for my hat as I headed toward the door, trying to think on my feet, which was not my strong suit. “Anyway, just forgot my hat the other day. Thankfully, your intern found it. She is a treasure to have around. So helpful.”
Judging by the glares on my way out, I wasn’t sure they bought it. But at least they hadn’t seen the notebook. I smiled to myself as I walked to my car. Maybe my luck was changing.
Sitting in my car outside the newspaper office, I looked over the article Lynette sent me while my car warmed up again. Like the intern said, the article only mentioned remains.
Remains believed to be those of Dwight Linder and his son, Frederick, were discovered just south of the country club late last night when a passerby spotted them along the shore. Mr. Linder and his son were last seen July 20 on a boat owned by family friend and business partner, Bill Donovan.
That was it. I wondered if the article had been buried behind the tips for safe trick-or-treating. I was just about to bring up the photos when a text came in.
For real? You were the one who wanted to try the spin class. Where are you?
It was Justin. I was letting this investigation ruin my relationship again. I texted back. “On my way. Meet you at your place in 10.”
Chapter 25
Spin Cycles
Justin smirked at the receptionist when we checked in at Donovan’s gym, like they were sharing a joke. “We’re here to learn bike riding,” he said.
I couldn’t take my eyes off the humungous smiling photo of Myles Donovan placed above the waiting bench in the lobby. It was the same one that stalked you in the hallway of the Grocery Ranch if you ever had to use the bathroom and the one at the main lodge of the country club. A cheesy, promotional, “I’m important because I’m in this suit” photo, mostly there to remind employees they’re being watched.
I almost pointed at the smug old man and yelled something about how he was going down, but instead followed Justin into the room the perky receptionist told us to go to.
“Hey, you guys made it,” Parker said. He was dressed like he shopped in the Tour-de-France section of Big Five: bright yellow top and tight-fitting spandex biker shorts. “You both ready?” He clapped his hands together.
“Ready?” Justin rolled his eyes. “To ride a pretend bike? Yeah, I think I’m ready. Are you ready, Carly?”
Parker didn’t seem to pick up on the macho-sarcasm coming from my boyfriend, and I wasn’t entirely sure whether Justin’s bad attitude was directed at me or Parker. He was still on trash duty, and despite the “you’re probably onto something big” speech he gave me the other day, I knew he was still pissed.
The spin class was empty except for the two rows of exercise bikes and the three of us. Parker’s bike faced us, and when he got on it, Justin leaned in and whisper-yelled, “Is this guy seriously going to show us how to ride a bike?”
I shrugged as hip hop music began to play.
“We’re going to keep it slow to begin with,” Parker said, cycling away like he was just strolling around a park. “A nice easy pace. Get the heart rate going.”
I looked to my side. Justin’s “nice easy pace” looked more like a killer was chasing him. Every once in a while, he’d look over at me and roll his eyes, which I couldn’t help but think was adorably confusing.
Was he trying to impress me with his bike riding skills or was he working out some anger issues?
“We’re just warming up,” Parker reminded Justin. “You don’t have to go so fast.”
Justin half-smiled. “I want this to actually be a workout, dude.”
“Okay,” Parker said as the music began to pick up. “Then get ready. Let’s go.” The music went at triple speed and so did our pace, except for Justin’s because he was already going pretty fast. Parker woo-hoo-ed and stood up. We followed him. At first it was fine, but after about thirty seconds I was ready to sit back down again. Each pedal felt like a million. My butt hurt, along with part of the back of my thighs where I hadn’t even realized I had muscles. Justin was doing even worse than I was.
Sweat poured from his purplish face. He guzzled his water. Parker was barely sweating. “Everyone okay?” he asked, obviously directing his question to the heart-attack by my side.
Justin nodded, puffed out his chest, and picked up the pace again.
“Good. Because that was the beginning round. Let’s raise it up a notch. This is why they pay me the big bucks. Because I get results.” Parker turned a knob on his bike and Justin and I both followed suit. And suddenly, it felt like we were riding uphill, slower, harder. Parker stood up again and so did I. Justin stopped pedaling and drank some water.
“Do whatever you’re comfortable with,” Parker said, and Justin glared at him before turning his knob even higher and fast-peddling again.
After about five minutes of this, I was pretty sure my boyfriend was on the verge of death. He was making weird, raspy, gasping noises, kind of like a wild animal with emphysema.
I grabbed the side of my stomach and stopped. “Sorry, Parker,” I said. “I’m out of shape, and I have a cramp. I’ll need the beginner class from now on.”
“This is the beginner class,” he replied, still standing as he rode, not even sweating at all. “My advanced class is in half an hour.”
“Let’s go home,” I said to my out-of-shape boyfriend.
Justin stopped pedaling and sucked in another strange-sounding gasp of air. “Only if you’re sure you’ve had enough,” he managed to say.
He grabbed my water on the way to the lobby and chugged it down because he’d finished his. Then he turned to wave to Parker, putting his arm around me.
“Impressive job out there, dude,” Parker yelled to Justin. “You certainly made pretend bike riding into a real workout.”
“Be prepared to bench press next time,” Justin yelled back as we left. “I want you to know what a real workout feels like.”
He turned to me as soon as we were out of earshot. “He was being sarcastic, huh?”
“Oh yeah,” I said. “I thought you were pretty impressive, though.”
Justin kept a normal pace as we passed the receptionist and some other clients in the parking lot until we reached his truck where he practically collapsed into the passenger’s seat, weakly demanding that I drive because he’d pulled something.
“Let’s go to Spoo
ny River. I’m starving,” he said.
“Exercise and a healthy meal?” I replied. “We’re living to a hundred.”
I leaned over and gave him a very light kiss on his very sweaty cheek, even though he didn’t deserve it. The sun was already setting and dinner sounded good to me too. I pulled across the parking lot as a gorgeous blonde in an expensive black SUV pulled in, blaring Taylor Swift.
“I cannot believe it,” I said, taking my foot off the gas and throwing the truck into park. “Lila Donovan’s here.”
Justin barely opened his eyes from his fetal position in the passenger’s seat. “So?”
“So, that’s a pretty big coincidence, don’t you think? Myles Donovan’s granddaughter has been following me all over town since I started snooping into that accident. Or I’ve been following her. Not sure yet.”
“Maybe you should just stop snooping,” Justin said. He groaned and rolled over, his seatbelt curled uncomfortably around his thick neck.
“The library. The newspaper. And now this.”
I also realized she had probably been the one heading to Delilah’s earlier for tea. Delilah’s distant cousin, and probably her namesake.
I turned around and watched her park, straining my neck to see if she was even wearing a workout outfit. “I cannot picture that woman breaking a sweat.”
She got out of her SUV and sauntered across the parking lot in leggings and a cute coat, a different cute coat than the day at the library. How many cute coats could one incredibly rich person own? I mindlessly fixed my hair, pulling my curls out of their sweaty ponytail and swishing my head around, pieces of frizz sticking to my cheeks. I checked my hair in the mirror, noticing Lila looking over at me. She waved and I ducked into my seat.
“She’s watching me,” I said.
“Well, you are the only vehicle just sitting in the parking lot, idling by the entrance. She probably thinks she knows you.”
I lifted my head up again as she went inside. “Do you think she’s going to the advanced spin class?” I asked as I pulled forward toward the exit.
“Probably,” Justin replied. “Rich people have time to excel at things like pretend bike riding.”
“And did you hear Parker say he was getting paid the big bucks? I bet they’re overpaying him so they can control Mildred’s family again.”
“Carly, you’re being very paranoid.”
He didn’t know the half of it.
I knew I needed to ask him about the forest. It was still playing heavily on my mind. “Speaking of probably just being paranoid,” I began. “When I left your apartment the other night, I thought I saw you going into the Dead Forest. Did you?”
He groaned and rolled back over so he was facing me again. “Now, I’m really worried about you. What? Why would I go into the Dead Forest? Why would anyone? I mean, I’m not afraid of it and I don’t believe the rumors, but it’s also not something I would do. It might be time for you to see someone.”
I leaned back in my seat. He was right. Damn it. My phone rang, and I pulled it out of my purse, half wondering if it was really ringing or if I was hallucinating again.
“It’s not a good idea to talk on the phone while you’re driving,” said the police officer beside me.
“I wouldn’t be driving, officer, if my boyfriend hadn’t pulled something pretending he and Lance Armstrong shared steroids.”
The call was from California. Gloria’s sister maybe.
My hands fumbled trying to answer it fast enough. “June Gilman? Hi. This is Carly Taylor…” I put her on speaker, and pulled down the road toward Potter Grove and the Spoony River. “This is probably going to be the strangest phone call of your life,” I said.
Justin groaned even louder from the passenger’s seat, but I ignored him.
Her voice was shaky and I could tell her hearing was a little off. “What’s this about again? How do you know Gloria?”
“I’m investigating your sister’s death,” I yelled, watching my boyfriend turn closer toward the window. “I’m gathering information about a possible cover-up from 60 years ago.”
“Who is this now? And what do you want from me?”
Not exactly how I’d pictured things going. I held the phone closer to my mouth. Justin shook his head when he saw how I was driving.
I went back to my conversation. “I’m a medium.”
“A what?”
“A person who can connect with ghosts, talk to them, and your sister came to me. Gloria wants you to know the truth about that night. She wants you to know what happened. She loves you and…”
A man’s voice shouted from somewhere in June’s room. “Mom? Who’s that on the phone? You okay?”
I rushed the rest of my message. “I’m going to be exposing the truth next Saturday at a seance at the Landover Bed and Breakfast in Wisconsin. Gloria will be there. I know it’s short notice, but if you’ve got some frequent flier miles…”
“A seance? You want me to go to a seance in Wisconsin a week from today?” she said.
Her son’s voice got louder. “Who are you talking to?”
“It’s about Gloria,” she said to the man. “Some woman is claiming Gloria wants me to go to a seance in Wisconsin. She’s a medium.”
The man got on the phone. “Hello?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. “What is wrong with you? You’ve made my mother cry. I will never know what kind of a person calls up a vulnerable senior citizen like this, but if you call again, I will alert the authorities. She’s not going to a seance.”
“But I can prove…”
“I don’t care what you can prove, lady. We don’t want any.”
My face felt hot. “Just tell her Gloria said, ‘It’s okay, Bug. We’ll get ‘em next time.’”
“I’m not telling her squat. If you call again, I’m taking this straight to the police.”
I hung up the phone and slipped it back into my purse. “Shoot,” I said. “I forgot to tell June the location’s not at the bed and breakfast anymore.” I told Justin about how Paula Henkel had called the seance off but how I was just about to expose everything for free. “Maybe I should call them back.”
Justin pointed to the road. “Just take me home,” he said. “I’m not feeling up to dinner.”
He didn’t say a word the rest of the way.
Chapter 26
Pros and Cons
It was already dark when we got back to Justin’s. I parked next to my car even though I wasn’t ready to leave yet. And I hoped he wasn’t ready to let me leave.
I leaned into him. “You want me to pick something up for dinner and bring it back for us? We could vedge out on the couch and see what’s on HBO?”
He inhaled deeply like he was going to say something then exhaled without saying anything.
I could tell. This boiling frog was about to jump the pot. He thought my investigation wasn’t worth it, and he was right, but I was still doing it.
The engine rumbled and hummed, the only sound in the car other than the disappointment sighs coming from my right.
I looked at my cell phone. “Is it really almost eight? I have to feed Rex and put some dishes away, straighten the living room.”
I shut the engine off.
“I think I pulled something in my leg,” he said. “I’ll probably go to bed early, anyway.”
“Are we breaking up?” I asked just before I opened the door.
He looked at me, but he didn’t say “no.”
I threw the door open.
“There are so many things I like about you…” he began.
“Oh no. This sounds an awful lot like another pros and cons list,” I said. “You pulled that crap twelve years ago, and now, here we go. Round two.”
His eyes grew large.
Snow fell softly outside and a gush of wind blew in from the opened door. I closed it again so I could rant in comfort. “You didn’t know I found that, huh? Twelve years ago. Your little pros and cons list. It was right by your computer,
so I’m pretty sure you wanted me to find it. And now, it sounds like you’re starting another one.”
“If I remember right, twelve years ago,” he began. “The only thing on my cons list was that you were a little immature and you liked to pick fights.”
“That’s not quite the way it was phrased on the piece of paper. I believe the words childish and moody were used.”
“I’m not so sure you’d find a different list now.”
I opened the door again and got out, slamming it behind me. I looked back momentarily then kicked myself for doing it because then I knew, he wasn’t looking back at me.
I got in my Civic and shivered while it warmed up, watching as Justin walked to his apartment.
He could’ve at least faked a limp.
The whole way home I tried to get my mind off of Justin. It felt an awful lot like we’d broken up, even though we hadn’t officially. He was so confusing to me. On the one hand, he said he liked my crazy. But on the other, he always seemed so upset whenever I talked about it.
And how dare he call me moody and childish? He was the one who was moody and childish, the jack-ass bastard.
Ohmygod. I was making a pros and cons list while being moody and childish.
I decided to concentrate on what the missing images could have been from that night, and why they’d been deleted. Maybe the newspaper didn’t want anyone to find out who the sheriff had been talking to, in case anyone ever investigated things.
I turned my car onto Gate Hill, thinking I saw a shadow in the distance. I hit the door locks and looked out at the falling snowflakes, drifting along the darkness. No shadows. Nothing but darkness. I took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of my nose, just in case another episode was starting and I was hallucinating.
