by Laney Monday
Something hit my back. A pair of hands. It was unmistakable. I lurched forward and lost my balance. In the same instant, I tried to turn around and reach back to grab whoever it was. My fingers touched something, then with a jerk they slipped off. I was falling. There was no changing that. I tucked my head and rolled, as I’d learned to do in judo, as I’d done tens of thousands of times over my career. I angled myself away from the water. If, in spite of my best efforts, I hit my head and lost consciousness, the last place I wanted to end up was in the water. There were parts of this cliff that cut straight down, but here, thankfully, there was more of an incline, where jagged boulders were piled up.
My arm scraped against something. The rocks were hard and sharp underneath me. One of my feet smacked against them as I came to a stop. My side, which I’d landed on, stung. It would soon ache. For now, my adrenaline was pumping and the pain barely registered, much like during a match. I scrambled up right away, not to a full stand, but to a crouch. Whoever had shoved me could be coming to finish me off. I looked over the rocks, to the top of the cliff. Man, that was a long, hard fall.
A figure stood there, silhouetted in the sun. I was torn between wanting to make out who it was, to give chase, and fear that he or she was armed. The figure appeared to startle. He or she must’ve seen that I was not only alive, but conscious. Then my attacker turned and ran. I gave up all thoughts of ducking and hiding and began frantically scraping my way back up the rocks. This person wanted me dead. I had to find out who it was.
I stood there—really, half-crouched there, since my back didn’t seem to want to straighten completely—heaving, scanning the street. There was no way to know which way my assailant had gone. With shaking hands, I pulled my phone from my pocket. My screen was cracked, in spite of the protective cover that was supposed to prevent such damage. To be fair, I guess it wasn’t designed to protect a phone from taking a tumble in its owner’s back pocket while she’s pushed off a cliff. It still turned on, though, and I dialed 9-1-1. It took me three tries to get those three numbers right, but finally I got the operator.
“Someone’s trying to kill me,” I said as soon as she answered.
“Did you say someone’s trying to kill you?”
“Yes, someone just pushed me off a cliff!”
“Do you need an ambulance?”
“I need the police! They’re getting away. They’re going to get away with it.”
“Just give me your location, and we’ll get the police there.”
I knew it was her job to be calm. But her even tone made me want to shake her. Someone tried to kill me. Again. There was another murderer in Bonney Bay, and he or she was after me!
I took a deep breath and tried to speak clearly. “Market street. Right at the edge of the park. It just happened. Send someone quick, and they might still be able to catch them. Please.”
I stayed on the line not only because the operator asked me to, but just in case the would-be killer returned to finish the job.
Wait. Here I was, standing right where they’d left me. Making it easy for them to come back and do just that. Sure, they’d likely expect that I’d called the police, and stay away for now, but what if they thought I’d gotten a good look? I’d stared right at my attacker; I just couldn’t see because of the sun. If they didn’t know that, they might think their best bet was to come back and shut me up. Or, they could be just plain nuts. Like Harvey.
I couldn’t help the thought popping into my mind. Harvey wouldn’t kill me, I told myself. I liked Harvey, but the truth was, I didn’t really know what he would or wouldn’t do. I ducked behind a bush, just to be on the safe side, and watched the street, willing the police to come. Willing Will to come. Oh, how I wished I could call him. But I didn’t know his number by heart, and with my cracked screen, I couldn’t see my list of contacts. Note to self: memorize Will Riggins’s private number. For safety purposes only. Not because I wished I had his arms, in particular, around me right now.
Finally, I heard the blare of sirens, and in a whirlwind of flashing lights, a police vehicle came to a stop at the edge of the park. I jumped out from behind the bushes, overwhelmed with gratitude.
“Freeze!” said a young officer I’d never seen before. Must be the new hire, brought in to replace one of Bonney Bay’s finest, who was now awaiting trial.
There was a gun pointed at me. Holy moly. My hands shot up in the air, and I let the phone, still with the 9-1-1 operator on the line, drop to the ground. At least it landed in the grass this time. Unfortunately, I landed in the grass, right on top of it, a police officer on top of me. It was kind of a relief to let him tackle me to the ground. I’d had enough of having guns pointed at me lately. Once I realized what he was going to do, I reacted fast, checked my fighter instinct, and made sure my knees buckled, nice and easy.
You don’t need that gun, officer. I’m just a weak little lady, I tried to tell him with my jelly-like body language. I guess I scared the newb, jumping out of the bushes like that while he responded to his very first murder scene. Very first crime scene, maybe. First arrest, even.
I didn’t bother trying to explain myself as he pulled my hands behind my back and cuffed them. At least if he was cuffing me, he probably wasn’t going to shoot me. This was just fantastic. Just absolutely fantastic. After you fall down a cliff, you don’t want a few words of comfort and perhaps a nice beverage—with a cookie. Nope. You want a cell phone digging into your bruised ribs and a knee in your back.
“Would you mind calling Officer Riggins, please?” I said. “He’s familiar with this case.”
“What case? There is no case yet.”
Don’t call my bluff, newb, I silently challenged.
I heard another car pull up and someone get out, but all I could see was grass. The newb told me to get up. When I did, I saw that it was Chief Sanders. Instead of Will, I got the Bonney Bay Chief of Police himself. I didn’t know much about him. I tried to be optimistic.
“What’s going on here?” the Chief said. “I thought Ms. Battle was the victim.”
“I am the victim,” I piped up.
“She is?” Officer Newb said.
“An ambulance is on its way, Ms. Battle. Do we need those cuffs, Adams?”
“Well, she—she scared me, sir.”
“I was hiding from the killer,” I explained. “When I saw that the police were here, I jumped out.” I fought hard to keep the anger and irritation out of my voice. I needed these guys on my side. I needed them to listen to me. And to act, dang it. As the newb uncuffed me, I said, “Look, I appreciate the thought, but I don’t need an ambulance. I need you to catch whoever did this to me.” I waved my hand over my body. And that’s when I noticed it was bloody. There was a pretty impressive gash across my palm. As I examined it, a drop of blood fell on my other hand. Even in my rattled and battered state, I remembered that blood was supposed to drip down, not up. I brought my hand to my head. It was bleeding. Great. Not only had someone tried to kill me, they may very well have gotten me another very expensive trip to the hospital. I am not going to the hospital again, I vowed. Not while some violent criminal is on the loose.
“Go and get the first aid kit,” the chief ordered the newb.
I wiped my forehead and clenched my bleeding hand into a fist, hoping the chief would just forget about it. “Listen, Chief Sanders. Someone just shoved me off this cliff. We’ve got to find them before they try to finish the job.”
“Finish the job?”
“Kill me!”
A wrinkle creased the chief’s forehead. He frowned and nodded. I’m sure he meant to look comforting, understanding, but I knew condescension when I saw it. “How do you know someone is trying to kill you?”
“I felt them push me! And when I was down there—” I walked over to the cliff’s edge and waved at the jagged rocks—“I looked up here and saw them watching. To see if I was still alive, I guess. And then they turned and ran.”
“Who did you see?” t
he chief said.
The newb was back with the first aid kit. I stood there and let him press a gauze pad to my head, hoping to appear reasonable. “I couldn’t tell who it was.”
“Could you describe them?”
I grabbed the tape Officer Newb was struggling with out of his hands, tore off a piece, and stuck the gauze pad to my own forehead. “I couldn’t see. I mean, I saw a person, but it was just a silhouette, because of the sun.”
“So, you can’t describe them at all?” the newb said. There was no condescension in his voice. He just sounded plain skeptical. I ignored him and took the roll of gauze out of the first aid kit and wrapped a bunch hastily around my palm.
“Ms. Battle,” the chief said, “Isn’t it possible that you lost your balance and fell over the edge?”
“No, it’s not possible!”
“If you hit your head, you may not be remembering accurately.”
“I didn’t hit my head this time! What if I’m right? Shouldn’t you assume I am for now, before the killer is long gone?” For heaven’s sake. There would be plenty of time to doubt me later.
“You just suffered a concussion less than two weeks ago, correct?” Chief Sanders reminded me.
“Well, yeah, but—”
“That can affect memory, perception—”
I lowered my eyes in order to keep from rolling them at him. And that’s when I saw the shiny little bits of glass sparkling in the sun. I nudged one of them with my toe. That wasn’t just a piece of broken glass, it was a polished bead! The kind I’d seen somewhere before—on a necklace, around Jacinda Peters’s neck.
27
I recalled that moment, when I’d felt the hands pushing, when I’d reached back. It was her necklace! That’s what I’d grabbed. I knew two things for sure: those beads were absolutely enough for me to suspect Jacinda Peters of trying to kill me—and Harvey, and probably Derek, too—And they were absolutely not enough to convince the chief. Especially since he thought I was a little loopy right now. Hey, he probably thought I was permanently loopy.
Was I loopy? Why would Jacinda do this? And then I remembered the gleam in her eye when I first spoke to her at Shaw's about Derek’s death. I’d thought it was just her nutso obsession with spirits, her sick excitement at the possibility that they were not only real, but could interact with the living to the point of even taking a life. Could it have been that she was really thrilled with what she’d done? What would she have accomplished by murdering Derek and going online to promote the story that Moira’s ghost had done him in?
Promote the story.
There was my answer. Jacinda’s books. How much would such a dramatic turn in Reiner House’s ghostly history help the sales of her new book, and her old ones? It didn’t really matter how much, as long as Jacinda was convinced it would do the trick. Did that mean she knew all this spirit stuff was false? Or had she wanted so badly for it to be true, that she made it so?
“Ms. Battle?” Chief Sanders said.
I blinked at him. Then I smiled. “You know what? Maybe you’re right. Maybe I did lose my balance.”
“Huh?” Newbie Cop said.
The chief raised his eyebrows.
“I think I’ll just be on my way now. Time to go home and rest. You know, my sister told me I needed to get more rest. I really should listen to her. I’m just so used to being active, you know? I’m sure she’ll insist on taking me to the doctor,” I added, just to make sure they wouldn’t try to call that ambulance after all.
“How about we give you a lift home, Ms. Battle? Make sure you get there okay,” Chief Sanders said.
“Oh, no. It’s just a few blocks away. I’ve already wasted too much of your time. I’m really sorry. I know you’ve got super important work to do.”
There was no way I was going anywhere with these guys. I’d probably end up taking another ride to the hospital to undergo all kinds of tests I had no desire to endure or pay for. Not to mention, I had to talk to Will. Maybe I could convince him to pick Jacinda up for questioning. What if he didn’t believe me, either? Could I figure out how to catch Jacinda—and convince the police she was guilty?
The police gave me a few more odd looks and said their good-byes, and I kept standing there smiling like an idiot.
Where would Jacinda go? That really depended on whether she thought I’d recognized her or not. Whether she thought anyone was on to her. If she thought the police were after her specifically, she’d probably try to get out of town as quickly as possible. Was her car parked nearby, ready just in case she needed to make an escape? Or, had she assumed she’d get away with killing or scaring me into minding my own business? If that was the case, she’d go about her regular routine and play innocent. Where would I go if I were Jacinda and I was playing innocent? To my favorite hangout, that’s where. Maybe I should check out Shaw's. With my head and hand bleeding? That certainly wouldn’t draw attention. Not at all.
My ringtone blared, an annoying dance tune Blythe had set for me “because you never hear your phone.” I tapped blindly on the screen, hoping I was answering and not declining whoever it was.
“Brenna?”
“Harvey!”
“Brenna, you’d better come over here, quick.” Harvey shouted into the phone.
“To the police station?”
“No, they let me go home. And Moira is not happy.”
“Are you okay? What do you mean, Moira’s not happy?”
“Well, that’s what Julia says. Julia says you need to come over here right away.”
“Julia’s there with you now?”
“Yes, I’m standing right here talking to her. She says Moira’s going to really get out of control if you don’t come.”
He wasn’t making any sense, but the last time Harvey called me, someone was dying. “I’m coming!” I said, and I kicked it into high gear, sprinting all the way to Reiner House, hoping and praying I wasn’t going to have to make another 9-1-1 call.
28
The front door was wide open, and Harvey stood on the porch, waiting for me.
He said, “Hurry! She says there isn’t much time.”
I jogged up the steps, joints aching. Harvey didn’t seem to notice my scrapes and scuffs. When his mind was set on something, it didn’t seem able to take in anything new. Especially something unrelated. As soon as I stepped into the foyer, I heard the voice—a low, muffled refrain.
“Brenna Ba-a-attle … Brenna Ba-a-attle … ”
The voice was creepy, but this time, there was no body lying on the floor, thank goodness. My heartbeat slowed a bit. Okay, weird and goosebumpy as this was, maybe no one was dying this time.
Unless it’s me. Unless I’m the one who’s supposed to die. The thought hit me suddenly. My fear turned to anger. I did not believe in ghosts. There had to be another, earthly explanation for the voice that wouldn’t stop moaning my name. If Jacinda had made her way back here already, and she was trying to give me another “warning,” I was going to kill her.
I pressed my ear to one wall, then another, trying to locate the source of the voice.
“She’s here!” Harvey shouted. “Come back out, Julia.”
“Harvey, are you saying that you actually saw Julia?” I said.
“Of course I saw her. She was standing right here, telling me to get you, but then when you didn’t come right away, she said Moira was angry and she had to go to her. But she’s still here, in the house. Talk to her. Tell her you’re here, and she’ll come back.”
Right. She’d come back and try to kill me again. I looked up, and spotted a vent near the ceiling. “Harvey,” I whispered, “someone’s up there! Someone’s upstairs, talking into the vents!”
Harvey looked at me with an odd, out of place calm, different than anything I’d seen from him before. Instead of looking huge and wild behind his Coke-bottle glasses, his eyes looked big and stern. “Brenna, you really need to listen. It’s Julia.”
I took a deep breath. How could I expla
in to Harvey that there was a real, live person sneaking around in his house, and not a ghost?
“Harvey,” I whispered, “please. I want to surprise her. I’ll go up there and talk to her. Just don’t let on that I’m here.”
Harvey hesitated, but I didn’t wait for an answer. I hurried into the kitchen in search of a weapon. I grabbed a steak knife in one hand and a broom in the other, then headed upstairs. I moved as silently as possible, working my way down the hall, pausing at each doorway. Some doors were open, some closed. I paused when I figured I was near the area right above the foyer, and listened.
“Get Brenna Ba-a-attle!” A wavery voice said. “I must speak to her.” It was closer, clearer.
“She’s coming!” Harvey’s muffled bellow came from downstairs.
“Now … ” the voice moaned. I approached the door to the nearest room and slowly twisted the knob. I eased it open prepared to fight. The room was empty. Not a stitch of furniture. Nothing but a light layer of dust. And a closet.
“I mu-u-ust spea-a-ak to her … ”
The closet! Ha! She was in the closet.
Broom in hand, I approached the closet door. I yanked the door open and thrust the broom in, handle first.
“Eep!” someone screamed.
I poked and swung the broom around, eliciting more yelps. I considered trading the broom for the knife. But if whoever it was had a firearm, I might be able to knock it out off their hands with the broom. I kicked the door all the way open.
Avery, Jacinda’s assistant, blinked in the daylight. At least, I was pretty sure it was Avery. She was wearing a long, red wig and a flowing white night gown-like dress. Her face was powdered pale, her lips painted dark red. She threw her hands up in the air. For a moment, she stood there, trembling and gulping like a fish. Then she dropped her hands and fell to her knees, and tried to scurry underneath my broom and past me. I foot-swept her. To be precise, since she was on her knees, I swept her knees out from under her with my foot. She smacked down onto her belly with an oof. Her wig flew off.
