by A M Ialacci
“Mom! I’m done!” Kiara shouted, bounding toward them, her black curls bouncing.
Imani gave her a look. “I’ll be the judge of that,” she said and took the rake from her daughter to go inspect her work.
“You seem chipper, Kiara,” Cleo said.
“I’m just excited for the Founders Day Festival,” Kiara said, catching her breath and smiling wide.
“Why?”
“Oh my God. How do you not know anything?” Kiara’s hazel eyes went wide.
“Hey! I know some things!” Cleo laughed.
“Vanessa VanEckle will be there! And because they got Vanessa, they got Tiffany Jacobs to perform! I still can’t even!” Kiara twirled in place and squealed, eyes to the sky. Her mother shot a look in her direction but Kiara was oblivious. Cleo chuckled.
“Okay, now tell me who these ladies are.”
Kiara stopped twirling and rolled her eyes. “You know nothing!”
Cleo nodded and said, “Teach me, oh wise one.”
“Vanessa VanEckle is the most famous person in this place. She’s a fashion blogger that lives right here in Crimson Falls!”
“Well, she lives over off of River Road in one of those castles they call ‘estates’ here.” Imani approached, setting the rake against the fence and crossing her arms.
“And Tiffany Jacobs is from Riverside and was a runner-up on National Talent Search last season. She’s only sixteen and is Ah-maz-ing!” Kiara went back to twirling.
“You ever heard of Arlie Montgomery? Her husband was killed last year in a shooting in Arbordale, and she wrote a bestselling book. She’ll be there, too, I guess,” Imani said.
Cleo nodded. “Okay, then. Sounds, um, fun.”
Kiara stopped twirling and started giggling. “You’re hopeless, Miss Cleo.”
“You’re just realizing that now, little one?” They all laughed. Cleo checked her watch. “Okay, I gotta go check on Nicholas. I think he broke some toes knocking a mallet onto his foot a little while ago. I hope that didn’t slow him down too much.”
“Tell him to come see me at the hospital if they start to swell,” Imani said. “I’m on the late shift in the ER tonight.”
Cleo smiled at her friend. “I will. See you later, ladies.”
“Be careful, Cleo.”
They waved goodbye, and Cleo called to Oliver. He came ambling up to her, and she allowed him to head up the steps to the back deck first. She turned the knob on the door and let the warmth of the bungalow wrap around her as she shut the door behind her.
CHAPTER FOUR
It was late afternoon when Cleo clicked save on her last batch of edited photos from a house fire earlier in the week and pulled the flash drive from the port. The scanner was crackling softly, but it was only patrol reports. Nothing newsworthy. She leaned down to give Oliver a scratch on the head and instead of leaning in, he started to growl. Buttons the cat must be nearby.
Buttons had come with the house and believed he owned it and governed all the occupants. He was a smush-faced white puffball that always looked a little grubby because he refused to let Cleo touch him. Not that she wanted to, as he was the nastiest cat she had ever met. The couch was his throne and therefore covered with a not-so-thin layer of white hair. Cleo let him have it. She preferred the recliner anyway.
She rose to her feet and checked her reflection in the mirror in the entryway for stray globs of toothpaste or food. When Greg had left, Cleo had stopped wearing makeup. The tiny wrinkles around her eyes and mouth just came with the territory. A few gray hairs had cropped up in her dark messy pixie cut, but she had neither the time nor the inclination to mess with them. She just didn’t care. “You two behave. I’ll be back in a bit.” Pulling her pea coat on, Cleo decided against a knit cap and went out the front door. She walked a few blocks east toward Main Street, crossed at the light, and headed left toward the offices of The Chronicle.
The building had a small, cramped storefront area that was crammed with auction-bought office furniture, and the floor was a maze of questionable wiring choices with extension cords under every desk. It was a small paper that only came out weekly, and it was the weekend, so there were only a few people at desks. Penelope Waterman was one. She saw Cleo and smiled.
“What’s up, Cleo?” Her trim frame elongated as she stretched, her black hair extending down her back.
“Wanted to pass along the photos from the house fire this week, and…”
“And?”
“What can you tell me about this ‘Crimson Falls Curse?’ My great-aunt wrote about it in a letter, but I thought she was losing her marbles. Now Imani is telling me to be extra careful this week and told me some story about settlers killing each other… I figured I’d ask you, local intrepid reporter and all.” Cleo smiled at her own joke but saw how flat it fell. Penelope looked like she was going to be sick.
“Yeah, um. It’s kind of a sore spot for me,” Penny said. The fluorescent lighting in the room made everyone look ill, but she was a different shade of green. “My dad was killed one year.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Cleo said, unsure of what else to say.
“And Peter’s young daughter was killed in an accident in the late eighties. Just about everybody has been affected by it, so it’s difficult not to believe in the curse.”
Cleo nodded. “I’m sorry I brought it up. I didn’t mean to…”
“No, it’s okay. To answer your question, just about every year young girls go missing, people are injured or killed. Rapes… A few serial killers over the years. One by the name of Syd Grace just a handful of years ago. He stalked his female victims, and then he strangled or stabbed them. Suffice it to say, it’s not a safe place to be in October.”
“But…why would anyone live here?” Cleo asked. “This makes no sense!”
Penny shrugged. “Because the people we love live here. I know it’s difficult for outsiders to understand, but a town is more than a place on the map,” Penny said. “Some of us just want to reclaim it from whatever darkness has consumed us for far too long. Have you heard about the Founders Day Festival?” Penny asked.
“A bit.” Cleo nodded.
“It’s something new they’re trying this year. A lot of people in town are tired of hiding in our homes for the month of October. This civic group formed, town leaders and respected community members. Even Walter VanEckle was involved until he fell ill and died. They want to show the world that we are more than the myth, that there’s strength in numbers, and that we can take back our town in October. They’ve arranged a town fair this year to be kicked off by some pretty big names. It’s a smart move, I think. Proactive.”
“You think it’ll work?”
“I’m hopeful.” Penny smiled.
Cleo nodded. “It’s worth a shot, right?” She smiled but wondered again whether moving here had been a good idea. It seemed so much easier to leave trouble behind than to stand up and invite it in. She paused, looking in the direction of Peter Sanders’s office. “Is he in?”
Penny nodded and took the flash drive from Cleo. “Yep. I’ll take care of this for you. Good luck.”
Cleo stepped around the cords on the floor and went to the makeshift office constructed of wood paneling in the corner of the room. Knocking on the frosted glass door, she heard a shuffle and stood back, thinking Peter was coming to the door. Instead, he yelled, “Enter!”
She pulled open the door and squinted into Peter’s office. “Peter?”
“Yeah, sorry,” he said, switching on a lamp. “I forget how overcast it gets outside and how dark it gets in here.” Peter ran his fingers over his white mustache and leaned back to stretch his long legs.
“I just dropped off some photos from the house fire earlier this week,” she said, rocking on her heels.
“And you’d like to get paid,” Peter guessed with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I would,” she said, maintaining eye contact. He broke off first.
“I’m
not sure how fast it’ll happen, but I can contact accounting. Hopefully, they can get a check cut for you soon,” he said.
“It’s been more than two weeks, Peter.”
“Okay, Cleo. I’m not the bad guy, here. I submitted the expense. But I’ll do what I can to help move it along, okay?” There was an edge to his voice that Cleo didn’t miss. She stretched her neck to the left, then the right, and let her gaze travel to the ceiling, letting out a deep breath. She could make so much more money concentrating on stock photos. And get paid regularly.
“Fine. Thanks for your help.” She turned on her heel and reached for the office door, then turned back. “I was sorry to learn about the death of your daughter.”
Peter stilled. “That was ages ago,” he said. Cleo had seen people who were able to master their emotions before, and Peter was an expert. “But thank you.”
Cleo turned again to the door. “Thanks for your help with my check.”
“Things operate a little slower here than the big city, Cleo. You’d better get used to it,” Peter said.
Without turning, she rolled her eyes and left.
CHAPTER FIVE
Cleo let her legs extend fully on the empty sidewalk, glancing at the police department as she walked by. She needed to think about this “curse” or whatever it was, and continued down Main Street instead of heading home.
She quickened her pace only to slow again when she spied the contents of the overstuffed antique store through the front window. It was filled with furniture and brick-a-brack, but it was all in impeccable condition, and the place was clean, too. Cleo stopped at the sight of a bluebird figurine that she knew had a doppelgänger on her bookshelf and wondered how much the store was asking for it. A hushed argument nearby interrupted her musings. No one was visible on the wide sidewalk. The combatants were probably along the alley running from the sidewalk to the parking lot behind the shops. Sidling up closer to the corner of the building, while trying to look unremarkable to any passersby, she listened.
“Stay out of my business!” a female voice hissed.
“And if I don’t?” a familiar man’s voice said.
“Try me, you old kook. Taking you down wouldn’t be hard at all.”
“We’ll see who’s taking who down.”
Cleo risked a quick look and saw the back of Nicholas Stubbs in flannel and jeans. He was watching Maeve Witten, a white-haired local bigwig in a pink pantsuit and matching heels as she marched away from him, toward the parking lot. Cleo ducked back around the corner and pretended to study the contents of the antique shop display window once again. When Nicholas emerged from the alley, she watched him glance at her from her peripheral vision and turn the other way down Main Street. She only allowed herself to exhale when he was half a block away.
Wonder what that was all about.
While it felt good to stretch her legs a bit, as she had gotten quite used to remaining hiding out at home, she was tiring of the drama from the morning and craving the solitude of her recliner. A curse on the town, an overheard volley of threats. Maybe it was time for a drink? She eyed the bar down the street.
Locals called it the Crooked Crow, but there was no sign saying anything other than BAR. She had spent more than a few nights behind that wooden door, perched on a cushioned barstool under a small dusty brass lamp, feeling the welcome smooth burn of bourbon as it slid down her throat. It was a bit of a dive, and rumor had it the owner, Perry Chambers, was a nasty character. She tried to remember if she’d ever laid eyes on him.
Again, her reverie was broken when she looked across the sidewalk and saw the bulky form of Officer Will Truman leaning against his cruiser with a wicked smile in the middle of a field of stubble.
The sudden heat in her cheeks flustered her even more as flashes of memory flooded her mind’s eye. Being lifted, carried like a child out of a muddy ditch by strong arms, put in the front of a police car, carried once again, but this time into her home through the back door, and placed on the hairy cat-couch. Being tucked into a warm blanket, with pillows propped beneath her head. Will Truman had witnessed her at her weakest and had helped her without hesitation. She couldn’t bear to face his teasing. Cleo half-turned to go back the way she came, but just then, Will reached to tip his hat to her and winced. His hand was wrapped in bandages and another memory flashed, one of Oliver growling at Will’s proximity to Cleo just before he bit into the meaty part of his right hand. Cleo returned the wicked smile.
Cradling his bandaged hand, Will Truman stood and walked past Cleo, turning to ascend the steps of the police station. Cleo watched him with a mild sense of disappointment mixed with satisfaction. She wasn’t a big fan of men right now, even the ones who retrieved her from muddy ditches.
As her attention returned to the sidewalk, she noticed another man leaning against the corner of the building, looking at her. He was no one she recognized and curiosity made her pause and study him for a moment. He was about six feet tall, with darker blonde hair that was short but longer on top. He was smoking a cigarette and wearing a black leather jacket that was the real deal, not something you buy at a department store. With his foot propped up on the wall of the building like that, his bad-boy look will start to attract women from every corner of the town if he isn’t careful. And he knew she was studying him.
He nodded slightly and smiled at her before disappearing around the corner and down the alley.
Time to head home. Unsettled by the man watching her at the police station, Cleo turned and stepped into the street. A black Audi’s brakes screeched as it tried to avoid hitting her. Cleo instinctively hopped up, using the fleshy part of her thigh to land on the hood of the car, while clenching her upper body and squeezing her eyes shut.
As the impacted adrenaline faded, she slid down the hood until her feet touched the ground.
“Jesus, Vanessa! What the hell!” A young man’s voice roared from the open passenger-side window.
Cleo opened her eyes and looked straight at the driver, a young woman with long blonde hair and flushed cheeks, who was breathing heavily and staring back at her.
“Why can’t we just have a car without totaling it?” The young man in the passenger seat with similar fair coloring and fine features was saying. “The whole reason I’m riding around with you is because that fool of a handyman couldn’t cut a limb down and possibly miss my car with it. Now you almost total yours by hitting a cow!”
Cleo’s eyes narrowed as she drew herself up and shook out the soreness in her body. The young man was sneering at her now. She yanked her pea coat down and flipped him off, then crossed the street. The Audi’s tires screeched as it sped away.
CHAPTER SIX
Cleo sat in the leather recliner and bent over to unlace and pull her Docs off. She threw each one as soon as it was removed. They each landed with a thunk near the couch. Buttons hissed and glared at her.
“You can suck it, you mean old hairball.” She stuck her tongue out at the cat. Oliver was snoring in his fluffy bed in the corner, so she had no allies at present. She couldn’t bitch about her day to Imani, who was probably at the hospital by now, or on her way there. As was normal for Cleo Kemp, she was on her own.
“A cursed town,” she muttered, rolling her neck in a big circle and trying not to be alarmed at hearing the pops and cracks as she did so.
“What the hell am I doing here?” she asked aloud. Sometimes it helped to talk to herself and pace. Not much room to pace here, so she rocked in the recliner instead.
“The whole point of moving here was so I could retreat from my two failed attempts at married life in Charleston. Ray and I had been babies, and he had refused to grow up.” She barely remembered most of her life with Ray. “Greg, on the other hand, was always a bit of a control freak, and turned on me like a switch had been flipped after a small argument. He pushed me away so hard and fast that I didn’t know what was real anymore.” With the ink barely dry on the divorce papers, she heard about her Aunt Mildred’s de
ath and the house here in Crimson Falls.
“It had seemed so perfect. But now I find out that instead of the safe haven I hoped for, this place is some kind of small-town murder, kidnap, and rape capital, at least for the month of October. My neighbor thinks my handyman snorts coke. I can’t get paid for my work because things ‘work slower here,’ seemingly normal people are threatening each other in back alleys. I’ve already had an embarrassing encounter with local law enforcement, some random dude was watching me at the police station of all places, and then I get hit by a car!” She was shouting now. “‘Safe haven’ my ass.”
She rocked and took a deep breath.
“On the plus side, I do have a rent-free place to live. I don’t have to worry about running into Ray or Greg at all,” she continued. “I can concentrate on my photography career and not have to worry about other people.”
Another deep breath and the rocking stopped.
“Fine. I’m pretty much over people right now. And if I stay in my house, maybe I won’t get kidnapped, raped, or murdered by the crazy people in this crazy town.” Cleo stood and went into the kitchen. The tile was cold enough to chill her stockinged feet, and she didn’t linger as she poured herself a generous snifter of bourbon and grabbed a bag of chips. Sinking back into the recliner and pulling the handle to extend the footrest, she pulled the soft blanket from the top of the chair and tucked herself in. Oliver woke when she opened the bag of chips and he plodded over to her side before collapsing in another puddle on the floor. “Dinner of champions,” she said, munching on her chips and ruminating into the night.
Startled awake, heart pounding, it took longer than it should have for Cleo to understand what was happening. She had thrown her blanket directly on top of Oliver, who barked because he couldn’t see. The cat happily hissed at everything that moved and on top of it all, a crackly voice issued from the built-in cabinet in the dining room.
