Mystic Falls

by Vickie McKeehan

  “Helping people? Oh. Sure. I’ve already donated to the county food bank and I’ve helped out several times at the soup kitchen down the street. Gram’s last will and testament was very specific. She left detailed instructions on practices she wanted me to continue, like helping raise money for books at the library.”

  Vincent’s face fell. “That’s not what I mean at all. Marissa had a knack for…I’m not sure how to say this…or how to explain it. Your grandmother had a gift for getting at the truth when other people couldn’t or wouldn’t. You may not know this, but many people came to her from the reservation---to get her to help them fix their problems. They knew she was always someone they could come to when they needed help. She’d take care of them---one way or another---from the usual way to…the other.”

  Gemma frowned. “I’m still not following. What other way is there?”

  “Let’s just say Marissa could’ve had her own psychic hotline if she’d wanted to go that route. Not the shyster kind either, but the real deal.”

  Gemma combed her fingers through her dark toffee-colored hair in frustration. “You’re suggesting my grandmother was a psychic? Uh, that’s ridiculous.”

  “Your grandmother had a history of working with law enforcement to help solve cases. Just ask Lando Bonner or Zeb Longhorn.”

  “Since when?” Then Gemma got the joke. She chuckled with laughter. “For a minute there you had me going. A psychic? My grandmother? You couldn’t be more wrong. My Gram had a gift all right, for making chocolate, for planting flowers, working in her garden, for helping her neighbors, donating money to the library. Stuff like that. She was no fortune teller.”

  Vince’s mouth hardened. “She didn’t tell fortunes. Marissa had a knack for solving crimes. She’s the one who found that serial killer for Lando several years back. Didn’t you know about that? Your grandmother’s the reason he got the job as police chief in the first place. Lando arresting that guy and bringing in the killer, marching him up the steps and into the police station is what got him elected. He beat out Reiner Caulfield two to one and never looked back.”

  “Gram did all that? How?”

  “I’m telling you, Marissa had a gift for that sort of thing. I need you to step up and help me find what happened to Collette Whittaker, one of my employees, who went missing in March.”

  “What?” But studying the expression on his face and the tone he used made Gemma realize he was serious. She bobbled the cup she was holding filled with espresso. The saucer clattered on the counter, spilling the coffee. She grabbed a towel to wipe up the puddle it had left. “I…I’ll fix you another.”

  Vincent Ballard stood up to leave, tossing a few bills on the counter. “Don’t bother. I’ve obviously wasted my time coming here. I thought maybe you could help me solve a mystery. I see now you don’t have it in you to fill your grandmother’s shoes. You can barely hold a cup of coffee without making a mess, let alone find two missing women.”

  2

  “Now wait just a minute,” Gemma demanded as she darted around the counter to prevent him from leaving. “You can’t just come in here and drop a bombshell like that about my grandmother and walk out of here like nothing happened. Besides, you mentioned one missing woman, not two.”

  While Vince continued to glare at her, Gemma went on, “You can’t say all that about my grandmother and just leave. I deserve an explanation. You want me to help, you need to start from the beginning.”

  Coaxing him back onto one of the stools, she plopped down on the one next to him. Sensing he really wanted to talk, she prompted him to stay by pushing what was left of his coffee toward him. “Drink up and tell me why you think my grandmother was a psychic. Why do you think she could find a missing person?”

  “Why is it so hard to believe? I thought you grew up here. I thought your grandmother raised you. Now you act as though you didn’t even know who she was.”

  Gemma took exception to that. “I knew her better than anyone.”

  “Did you? Are you sure about that? When were you ever able to fib to her and not get caught in a lie? Didn’t you ever wonder how she always knew when you were less than truthful? Like the time you told her you were too busy to come to Coyote Wells for Christmas. Your excuse was that you had too much work to do for the next semester, a tough research paper to write, as I recall. The real reason you didn’t come was that you were heading to Squaw Valley on a ski trip with your friends.”

  Gemma couldn’t think of a reasonable comeback. From somewhere deep inside she knew it was true. “I…that was back when I was in college. I was twenty-one. How did you know about that?”

  “Let’s just say your grandmother and I knew each other a long time. We were very good friends. She loved my merlot, probably better than anybody in town, even used it a time or two in one of her chocolate recipes, experimenting she said. She’d order a case and I’d make deliveries to her house…personally…and stay for dinner. She confided in me a lot, as she did with her many other good friends like Paloma Coyote. The three of us often shared a meal together, watched many a sunset from her gardens.”

  “But you’re saying my grandmother used her power right in front of you to help solve crimes. She wasn’t doing that back when I lived with her.”

  “She was. She just didn’t let you in on it. Besides, after you took off for the Bay Area, she could be more open about things. Word got around. Whenever anyone had business hardships, or financial difficulties, maybe personal woes, even a domestic incident that needed resolving, Marissa could figure out a way to help. It didn’t take long for everyone to come through her door looking for answers. And when she died, your grandmother was in the middle of helping solve as big a mystery as we’ve had since the serial killer caper six years back. Last March one of my best employees disappeared. Collette Whittaker went missing on a Saturday night. They found her car near the reservation. But she had no business being out there, especially alone and in the cold. That night the temperature must’ve dropped to twenty-five degrees. We’d gone out to eat. After dinner, she left to go home because she said she was tired. That’s how I know she wouldn’t have been gallivanting all over the county when she should’ve been home in bed.”

  “Maybe she was meeting someone else,” Gemma prompted and immediately picked up on the man’s rigid body language. She lifted a shoulder. “It’s possible you didn’t know everything about your favorite employee. Maybe she brushed off her employer to get back home and see a boyfriend.”

  Vince’s tone changed. “Collette wasn’t lying to me about being tired.”

  “If you say so. You sound like you were really worried about her. But to have a big mystery like that here in Coyote Wells is…farfetched. Nothing much ever happens here except the occasional pot bust. Now you’re suggesting Gram once helped catch a serial killer and was doing something major to find Collette.”

  “Where were you when Lando caught Timothy Smyth?” Vince charged. “Was your head buried in the sand then, too? Smyth had killed ten women down in Orange County and went on the run up here. Catching that monster was your grandmother’s doing. She provided the information that led Lando to where Smyth was hiding out. Lando followed her instructions to a campfire near Mystic Falls. Bingo. Next thing I know it’s all over the news. Lando’s slapping the cuffs on the guy and bringing him to jail. Where were you? Not here, that’s for sure.”

  Gemma winced at the accusation. “No, six years ago I was doing everything I could to pass the bar, studying around the clock.”

  “Hmm. That’s really no excuse not to know what an important role your grandmother played in catching that monster.” Vince strummed his fingers on the counter. “I know in my heart Marissa was on the verge of finding out something important when she herself died.”

  Gemma sensed something else. “How long had you and Collette been having an affair?” She expected Vincent to squirm at the question or avoid answering, but he did neither.

  “We were both unattached. We did
n’t see the harm in providing a little comfort to one another now and again when we both needed the company. Besides, what happened outside the office was separate from work. Collette was a terrific personal assistant, a wonderful admin to me. She kept me on schedule and got me to my appointments on time. I miss her terribly, both at work and as a friend.”

  “Then why don’t you tell me what you think happened to Collette?”

  “That’s just it, I don’t know. I need answers. I was hoping you’d help me, step in and do what your grandmother was doing. But I see now you’re nothing like Marissa. In fact, you don’t even know the basics about her.”

  That hit a little too close to home. “Gram and I had been…out of touch…recently…for several years in fact. But the idea of looking for a missing person at her age is crazy. That’s what the police are for. If Collette disappeared on the reservation, then you should contact the tribal police. That’s Zeb Longhorn’s job.”

  Vincent Ballard made a derisive noise in his throat. “No, you don’t understand at all. Zeb might be okay if you need him to track down a stolen bicycle, or nab a pot grower. But anything beyond that, he’s worthless. He doesn’t even think Collette’s disappearance is out of the ordinary. And Lando, Lando’s just as bad. He’s still dealing with Marnie Hightower going missing. And before you ask, yes, I knew Marnie, too.”

  Gemma’s eyes bugged out. “Wait. What? Marnie Hightower, the eighth-grade English teacher is the other woman who went missing? I went to school with Marnie. How long has she been…gone?”

  “Since two weeks ago. Collette’s disappearance might’ve landed in Zeb’s jurisdiction because of where her car was found. The Rez is Zeb’s territory. But Marnie...that’s on Lando.”

  “Back up a minute. What exactly are they doing about these two cases?”

  “Beats me. I don’t think those two speak to each other much, let alone work together. Lando asked me a bunch of questions about Marnie and then nothing.”

  “With two women missing that’s just plain silly. Maybe there’s a reasonable explanation why they left town.”

  “They didn’t leave town,” Vincent insisted through gritted teeth.

  “Is Collette the type of person who would’ve grown tired of your affair? Maybe she wanted more out of your time together and didn’t have the nerve to tell you face to face. You were her boss.”

  “I’m telling you it wasn’t like that. Neither one of us was serious about the other. We were just fooling around, having some fun during the winter,” Vincent said, as if that explained his philandering. “Besides, she wouldn’t have quit her job. She loved working at the winery. I’m telling you, Collette never left the area. Her things are still at her house. She didn’t even take her purse or any of her credit cards.”

  Gemma narrowed her gaze. “You were inside her house?”

  “Of course. I went there to check on her. I’m the one who reported her missing.”

  “I admit that does sound…weird. Okay, then tell me what you know about Marnie going missing. Were you having an affair with her, too?”

  For the first time since sitting down, Vincent looked uncomfortable. He rubbed his forehead before picking up his cup of espresso and draining the contents in one quick gulp. He wiped his mouth and finally admitted, “Marnie was also a very dear friend of mine. We’d had dinner the night she disappeared.”

  A chill went through Gemma at the knowledge. Was she in the presence of a killer? Had Vincent Ballard been the one to do something to these two women and he was simply using this conversation as a smokescreen?

  “I see it in your eyes what you’re thinking,” Vincent declared. “That right there is what’s so very different about you and your grandmother. Marissa could pick up on the truth. You, not so much. She knew I had nothing to do with Collette going missing. And if she’d been alive when Marnie disappeared, she would’ve known I had nothing to do with that either.”

  “Obviously, I’m not my grandmother. If you want my help, you’ll have to give me some time to wrap my head around what you’ve just told me. Surely you understand that. I mean, I know Gram read a lot of mystery novels and she never missed an episode of CSI, but I had no idea she took part in solving any crimes herself. I need time to digest the fact that my sweet grandmother was an amateur sleuth wannabe.”

  “Marissa was a lot more than that. She had an innate kindness and curiosity about her, a basic goodness that wanted to genuinely help others. Ask around if you don’t believe me. I went to her for help because I believed if anyone could find the answers about what happened to Collette, it would be Marissa. I do know this much. Your grandmother kept a file on all the details she’d found out.”

  “Really?” Gemma said, chewing her thumbnail trying to remember if she’d seen such a file folder when she’d moved in. “I do know her desk was left in a bit of a mess the day she died. There were certain things I had trouble locating once I arrived in town. That included everything in and around her desk.”

  “There’s one more thing you should keep in mind. Consider how your grandmother died. Think about that before you turn me down.”

  Gemma wrinkled her brow. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at. Gram fell inside the garage, apparently after she came home from work that evening. It was her next door neighbor, Lucinda Fenton, who found her sprawled on the concrete. It looked like Gram had tripped on a rake that had been left out.”

  Gemma’s face turned ashen as the impact of what Vincent was suggesting hit home. “You aren’t implying that her death was anything but an accident, are you?”

  “All I know is Marissa had asked a lot of questions of a lot of people. She might’ve been getting close and the killer made her death look like an accident. Who would question an old lady taking a tumble? Happens all the time, right?”

  “That’s…ridiculous.”

  “Is it?” Vincent asked, his gaze searing with anger. “You don’t seem to know your grandmother very well at all.”

  He swiveled on the stool to meet her eyes. “She once told me that when you were a little girl, you had the same talent she had, you just didn’t act on it. She felt you had the same psychic ability that came with a very inquisitive mind. She said you were more like her than her own daughter. Genevieve had other interests. But you, you were Marissa’s little shadow. You loved the candy making business almost as much as she did. At one time, you loved Coyote Wells just like she loved it. If any of those things are still true, she’d want you to help me. She’d want you to get at the truth about what happened to Collette and Marnie, maybe even find out the truth about what happened to her.”

  “But I don’t know the first thing about police work, nothing. I’m a corporate lawyer, or was. You need one of those private investigators out of San Francisco.”

  Vince’s face fell. He shook his head, clearly disappointed. “Ah, so you still refuse to help me. Is that it? Now that I’ve met you, you’re nothing like Marissa. You don’t have the same fire in the belly she possessed, the same determination around the eyes.”

  “It isn’t that. Don’t you understand? I wouldn’t know the first thing about where to start. I’d be more of a liability than a help.”

  “Your lack of confidence is telling,” Ballard stated before sliding off the stool and storming out the door, leaving Gemma to wonder if she’d ever really known Marissa Sarrazin at all.

  For the first time since moving back, Gemma began to doubt her decision. Coyote Wells was a very small town with a small population and even fewer secrets. It was impossible for anyone to keep anything to themselves for any length of time.

  But as she went back to work mixing the ingredients together for the truffles, she couldn’t help but think back to that day Lucinda had called screaming into the phone.

  “Your grandmother’s dead,” Lucinda Fenton had said. “Your grandmother’s gone.”

  Those words echoed in Gemma’s head as she replayed the telephone call. There had been something odd about the way Luci
nda had described what she’d seen that night in the garage over the phone, the way her grandmother had been found on the floor with her neck broken. It deserved a few questions and answers from one Mr. Lando Bonner.

  As she continued to form the chocolate into a workable consistency, thin enough to pour into the candy molds, doubt swirled around her. If she moved on what Vince Ballard had suggested, she’d need to dig deeper into her grandmother’s death. On top of that, she’d need to find out more about Gram’s purported psychic ability---a lot more.

  Gemma was sure Vincent had probably overblown the whole thing. But as she began to clean up, she tried to think back to her childhood, tried to remember anything that would have waved a flag about that kind of power or gift.

  The only thing that came to mind was a very memorable visit to Mystic Falls. A scenic place her grandmother talked about a lot. She’d taken Gemma there to celebrate her eighth birthday. That day, Gram had packed a lunch for the trip and made it seem like they were going to Disneyland. When they’d reached their destination, Gemma hadn’t been disappointed. There had been an aura about the picturesque cove from the moment she’d set eyes on it.

  What she remembered most about that day wasn’t the birthday cake, but the eerie light that had appeared out of nowhere. It had spread out from one end of the thick forest to the valley wall, and stayed to guide their way into the narrow tunnel that connected the path to the rocks. Beyond that, was the magical, mystical waterfall itself, cascading down an eighty-foot drop off into the bluest pools of water she’d ever seen.

  Gemma recalled her grandmother’s reaction to the greenish light spearing down through the crevices, spilling onto the rocks. Marissa had soaked it all up as if they were taking a walk in the park instead of witnessing a radiant glow. Gram had remained calm, explaining it all in a reassuring voice that everything would be fine.

  Gram had gone on to say the light was simply the spirits calling out to the land, calling out to their ancestors, calling out to the dead, the dead who belonged there, the dead who lived within its surrounding dome-like intimate setting.