by Eryn Scott
A vague memory stirred in my brain. I’d seen a button like this before, but I couldn’t quite place it.
Althea and the cook paused, concern stopping them both in their dinner prep.
“Are you sure you’re okay, Rosemary?” Althea asked, placing her knife on the table and moving around to sit next to me. “Is there anything else?”
Standing to leave, I pulled Althea into a hug. “No, I’m sorry. I was lost in thought for a moment. I’ll let you get back to your cooking.” With a wave goodbye to Althea and the cook, I headed for my car.
On the way home, I returned my mom’s call.
“Hey, Mom. What’s up?” I navigated my car down the winding road that descended the cliff side.
“I wanted to call and let you know I’ve been reading Helen’s journal, like you asked. I also read the letter she left me.” Mom’s tone was quiet, tentative, but there was a lightness sitting on the edges that gave me hope.
My breath caught in my throat at the news, and I pulled my car off onto the wide gravel shoulder right next to the cliff’s edge. Through a few sparse pines, the ocean was visible hundreds of feet below. Putting the car in park, I turned off the engine so I could hear her better.
“And?” was all I could croak out.
She exhaled. “You were right, honey. I’m glad I did. She wrote about us a lot, mostly you. I can see how much she regretted what she said.” Mom’s voice tightened at the end, and she added, “Probably as much as I regret not reaching out to her before she passed.”
Warmth rushed through me. “Oh, Mom. I’m so glad you feel that way. Thank you. Hearing this is just the boost I needed after today.”
“Why? What happened today?” Mom’s words sped up with concern. “Is it more about that Frank guy?”
As Mom said his name, my memory zoomed in on the picture of him lying on the beach, of his blue shirt with those bright blue buttons, like I’d never seen before, except today under the stove at The Pines just now. His shirt had been missing a few of them.
My mind whirred with ideas as I remembered Police Chief Clemenson telling me Frank had reservations at The Pines but never checked in. But if he hadn’t, how did his button get in the kitchen?
Unless … Althea lied.
“Rosemary,” Mom said, pulling me back. “You there? Are you okay?”
I blinked. “Uh—yeah, Mom. Sorry. I just—realized something, but it doesn’t make any sense.”
“I have a few minutes, if you want to talk about it.”
I explained to her the inconsistency between Althea telling the police Frank had never checked in and finding one of his unique buttons on her kitchen floor. “But Althea was Grandma’s best friend.” I shook my head. “I can’t see her lying about something like that.”
“Althea Pine?” Mom asked, a hint of surprise coating the name.
“Yeah. She’s been kind to me since she was Grandma’s closest friend here.”
“That’s odd.” Mom paused, and I heard pages flipping in the background. “In her journal, Helen writes about how much she disliked Althea. She worked with her to provide tea for the restorative center, but she didn’t trust the woman, not one bit.”
My body flushed, making it feel as though all my blood had whooshed to my feet. “Wait. They weren’t friends?”
“Not based on what Helen wrote in here,” Mom confirmed.
“What dates are you reading entries from?” I asked, thinking she might be in an old section. People change. Maybe they’d only become friends recently.
“This was the week before she died.”
The car seemed to spin around me.
“Mom, I need to call you back.” I hung up and dialed Daphne before Mom even said a word.
“Hello, hello.” Daphne’s cheerful voice rang out from the other end of the line.
“Daphne, how did you know Grandma Helen and Althea were friends?” I asked, my words rushing together.
“Ummm … Althea told me, of course.” Daphne’s tone stayed bright even in her confusion. She didn’t know the gut punch her words brought.
My stomach dropped.
Daphne continued. “Helen always visited The Pines.”
I grimaced. That hadn’t been because they’d been friends, it was because she supplied Althea with tea.
“Okay, thanks. Gotta go.” I hung up. My fingers shook as I held my phone, unsure what to do next.
I thought about calling Chief Clemenson but remembered how he’d reacted when I’d told him my theory about Grandma being murdered. I knew the first question he would ask would be what proof I had. Lying about friendship and a button on the floor didn’t prove anything.
Althea had no reason to hurt Grandma, or Frank, for that matter.
What if she’d lied about Frank so the police wouldn’t be sniffing around The Pines? Police asking questions and searching for clues in a man’s death didn’t sound very relaxing at all. And she could’ve come up with the whole, “Helen and I were friends” story because she felt bad that my grandma didn’t have family here to plan her funeral.
But other than the guilt that sat in my gut as I thought through that rationalization, there was also an odd wobbly feeling of doubt.
I looked up the road toward The Pines. The sun was dipping below the ocean, and I realized I needed to see for myself. Climbing out of my car, I locked it and started back up the hill by foot. Something in my bones told me I wouldn’t find out the truth if she knew I was coming. For the last few yards, I snuck through the trees, knowing the kitchen looked out on the driveway and parking lot.
Branches cut at my face, hands, and arms. The forest blurred together in the gathering dark, making me squint to see as I maneuvered through the brush. The crashing sound of the ocean sounded to my left, like a distant friend yelling warnings I couldn’t heed.
Finally, the glowing yellow light of the farmhouse cut through the tangled branches of the forest. I stayed low and flanked the house, glad now for the cover of darkness. The crescent moon above didn’t provide much light at all. The darkness felt like a cloak of protection as I slid around the side of the house and peeked into a window.
The large dining room table was set, and an older gentleman wandered in, a book open in one hand. He read as he walked, settling into a chair without appearing to miss even one line.
A chime sound made me jump. It was loud enough to be heard throughout the house but still pleasant enough to be calming. After that, more guests filed into the dining room. Some chatted, while others sat quietly, smiling, and surveying the table.
My hammering heart slowed. These people were happy. Nothing was wrong here.
Scooting around the building, I moved so I could see inside the kitchen. Althea and the cook were working, just as they had been when I left them. A salad was going out to the guests first. Althea dressed it and garnished it with some sunflower seeds and a few ribboned carrots.
The cook put the final seasonings into a soup on the stove top before tasting it, nodding, and taking off her apron.
When Althea reentered to grab another few salads to take into the dining room, she waved at the cook.
“See you tomorrow,” Althea said.
“Have a good night,” the cook said as she grabbed her purse from a blue cabinet in the corner and headed out.
I slowly moved around the farmhouse so she wouldn’t see me as she walked to her car. Once I heard the crunching of tires and saw her taillights as she drove away, I moved back to the kitchen window. I was feeling pretty silly for doubting Althea as she plated the soup.
I was about to leave, when she pulled out a small baggy of white powder, like I’d seen in Mayor Hoff’s hollowed-out book.
Movements quick and eyes flicking up to the dining room door, Althea used a measuring spoon to place a small amount of the white powder in each serving of soup. She tucked the baggy into her apron and then stirred each bowl of soup until the powder dissolved.
If I hadn’t been glued to the window,
I would’ve stumbled backward out of surprise. As it was, the farmhouse whirled around me in my confusion, and I gripped the siding to steady myself.
What had just happened?
Was Althea drugging her residents?
I fumbled with my phone, turning on the video record feature as I held it up to the window. Any signs of the drugs were gone though. I was too late. She reached for two soup bowls and was about to carry them out to the dining room when her phone rang. Setting the bowls down, she answered with a huff.
“Hey, you forget something?” There was a pause as she listened on the other end. “Yeah, that sounds like her car. You sure she’s not in it?”
Ice water flowed through my veins as I stood there, unable to move.
The cook must have seen my car. I was about to curse myself for not finding a better hiding spot, but I didn’t have time. In that moment, Althea whipped around. Her eyes captured mine through the window.
Face clouding over, she ran over to the front door. “I’ll be right back! Need to grab something from the garden,” she called over her shoulder.
Panic flooded my thoughts, and I backed away. The door flew open as I ran toward the driveway. Althea didn’t call out for me, which made fear skitter up and down my arms even more. She didn’t want anyone inside to know I was here.
I’d only gotten a few yards away from the farmhouse when bright headlights flashed in front of me. I stumbled backward, hands raised to shield my eyes from the blinding light. Just like that night at my mailbox.
Spinning, I tried to look behind me, to run forward, to do anything to escape. Before I could ground myself in my surroundings, pain exploded from the back of my skull.
26
My head pulsed with pain as if it were being simultaneously squeezed in a vice and worked over by a jackhammer. I blinked, trying to gauge where I was, but the bright lights still blurred my vision.
A face came into my field of vision. I tried to focus, to see the person’s features.
Icy blue eyes and a rough jaw came into focus, and I cried out in relief.
“Asher!” Tears pooled in my eyes. “You came back.”
His face didn’t display any of the excitement I experienced at our reunion, however. He regarded me with fear and worry. That was when I noticed that behind him, the sky was bright, almost white. I wasn’t in the night-cloaked forest by The Pines farmhouse anymore. I was somewhere else entirely, on some kind of ghostly plane of existence.
Fear clutched at my esophagus, making it close up in terror. “Am I dead?” I asked in a hoarse whisper.
Asher frowned. “No, only knocked out.” He disappeared for a moment, and then I heard him talking, but it didn’t seem directed at me. “I can’t go there. I never visited that house. It won’t work. I need someone else.” His tone was frantic, on the edge of breaking.
I attempted to sit up, tried to find where he’d gone. But before I could, a sensation like falling came over me and I jolted awake again.
This time it wasn’t Asher staring down at me but that cook woman from Althea’s kitchen. Her lips were set into a grim line. I became aware of the cold dirt floor of a barn beneath me and that she’d tied my arms and legs behind me. A gag that tasted like motor oil cut at the corners of my mouth.
The barn door creaked open. Althea rushed in, her eyes wide and wild. In her hand, she clutched a glass of water. “Okay, they’re eating, so we’ve got about a half an hour.” She pulled out a baggy from her apron, but instead of containing white powder like the other one, this one had two pills.
“You going to use both?” the cook asked her.
Althea frowned. “Helen only took one, but she had a weak heart. I think I’ll use two just to be safe.”
My whole body shook as I took in the words Althea had said. She didn’t even acknowledge me as if I didn’t matter. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing this to be a nightmare, but when I opened them again, the scene before me was equally terrifying.
The cook grimaced. “It would use your last. Don’t you think we should save one?”
Now Althea glared at me. “If we do this right, she’s the last person we’ll have to worry about.”
“You said she has a mother though.” The cook stood and paced.
Althea rubbed the back of her neck as if this were just part of yet another long day. “Yeah,” she said, “which means we’ll need to make it very convincing that she killed herself. Maybe we should add a note?”
Chills raced down my spine.
The cook snapped her fingers. “That’s even better. Save both your pills, and we can push her off the cliff. Then she won’t have any drugs in her system, and nothing will point back to us.”
“True. With Ruth’s godson poking around about drugs, we need the least amount of connection to that as possible.” Althea shot a pointed look at the other woman.
The cook shook her head. “I’m sorry. I did all the research. On paper and online, she had no family. How was I supposed to know about a random godson?”
“It’s okay. We can’t do anything about it now.” Althea curled her lip. “I’m the one who drugged Frank without having him fill out his medical paperwork. If I’d known he had a heart condition, I would’ve started his dose even lower than we usually do.”
Panic clawed at my chest as I listened to them put together the puzzle I’d spent the last few days trying to piece together. But it didn’t feel satisfying, like it did when I was on the last few pieces of a puzzle. Here, there was no warmth of satisfaction or accomplishment. There was only dread. I was a loose end, and they were going to kill me, like they had Grandma, Frank, and who knows how many others.
I wriggled and tried to loosen one of my binds, but nothing moved.
Althea tucked the pills back in her pocket, resolute. “You stay here and watch her. I’m going inside to type up a suicide note. Good thing I know all about the fight she’s having with her mother and the feelings of guilt she has about not getting back in touch with Helen. Those will be motives enough to jump.”
“Make sure you draw Tyson’s curtains when you’re inside,” the cook said.
Althea held up a finger. “Right, his is the only room with a view of the barn. Okay, I’ll be back in a few.”
The cook muttered something to herself about getting a different job and how she never should’ve let her talk her into this. I blinked rapidly, trying to remove a piece of dirt from my eye. The ground was damp to the touch and smelled like decay. We sat there in silence—mine forced, hers not, for what seemed like hours, but was only about ten minutes.
The thought of my mother reading a note about how I didn’t want to live anymore left a metallic taste on my tongue that mingled with the motor oil. I wouldn’t let that happen. Slowly working at the ropes around my wrists, I couldn’t seem to get them to budge. Silent tears streamed down my face, settling into the dirt below.
As my body lay there, trapped in place, my mind planned. If I could kick and wiggle enough as they put me into the trunk of a car, I might escape their grasp. The only hope I had would be that small period when they would have to undo my ropes before pushing me over the cliff. They couldn’t pretend I’d committed suicide when I was bound up. They would have to take these off before they pushed, and that was going to be my moment. My only moment.
While I was planning how to stay alive, the cook stood in the corner leaning against a stack of hay bales.
Until she wasn’t.
A resounding thunk rang through the barn, and then there was a sound like a bag of potatoes hitting the ground. The gag in my mouth loosened.
I blinked the tears from my eyes and tried to see, but all I made out was a ghostly shape.
“Asher? Asher! Is that you?” I called, spitting out the fabric and rope.
My heart ached as his words from the white-space rang through my head, I can’t go there. I need someone else. It wasn’t him.
I squeezed my eyes shut and then open as I tried to free them of tears. After
doing this three times, my vision cleared enough to see across the barn. I gasped as I recognized the ghostly shape.
“Grandma?” The word caught.
My focus landed on the large shovel on the ground next to the cook. Grandma must’ve used a burst of energy to knock her out.
“Shhh, shhhh. It’s okay, Rosemary.” Grandma rushed over to me.
Her long gray hair hung in a braid down her back, and her cheeks still looked rosy even though she was transparent. Like Asher, when he came to town, she was muted like tea that hadn’t steeped long enough. I saw the energy she’d used to knock out the cook eating away at her. She dimmed more with each second.
She knelt next to me, and I felt her trying to loosen the ropes around my wrists.
“Grandma, I’m so sorry I didn’t come see you,” I said through tears as she worked. “I love you and I miss you.”
“Oh, Rosemary. I’m sorry too. I’ve felt so awful for what I did, for years. I love you so much t—” But before she finished, the barn door swung open.
Althea strode inside, clutching a piece of paper in one hand and car keys in another. Grandma’s face hardened, and her spirit flickered like a pulsing light bulb.
“What’s going on here?” Althea gawked, her attention skipping from the unconscious cook on the ground to me, still bound but no longer gagged. “How’d you—?”
In that moment, a bale of hay flew across the room, straight into Althea. It knocked her off her feet and landed on top of her with a thud. Grandma’s watery eyes met mine, and she began to disappear, just like Asher did after moving my car.
Tears ran down her cheeks. “Run, Rosie. Now,” she said before vanishing.
Before she faded, the ropes around my wrists loosened a little more. Heart hammering, I squeezed my hands through the loosened rope. Out of the corner of my eye, I monitored Althea’s unconscious body under the hay bale. A sob of relief pushed out of me as I brought my arms in front of my body and pushed myself up into a seated position. From there, I ripped at the knots tying my feet together.
