The Amulet

by Joanna Wayne

  The possibility of an intersection between the living and the dead was chilling. So were an unexplained aura glowing through a photograph and an old woman running through a hotel trying to save guests from a fire that had been extinguished seven decades before.

  But nothing was more frightening than a real live killer on the loose.

  She went to the table in cabin twelve’s small kitchen. Rich’s endless lists were spread out like a fan. She picked up the top one.

  Locals Familiar with the Layout of the Hotel.

  There were several names on the list, two of which they’d already interviewed. One was the plumber who’d laid the pipes for the fountains. The second was Owen Billings.

  They hadn’t discussed this particular list before, but she’d ask Rich about it when he returned from his visit to Tom. She hoped that was soon. Maizie had called and said that Tom was asking to see him, and that it seemed urgent. Carrie couldn’t wait to find out what that was about.

  Odd to be wishing Rich was around when a few days ago she’d dreaded every conversation with him. But then she’d believed him to be a stubborn, arrogant cop. Actually, she still thought that, but he ran a lot deeper than her original assessment of him. Just how deep hadn’t been determined.

  She sighed. Spending time thinking about Rich McFarland’s good qualities was a definite sign she was suffering from cabin fever. She got up and walked to the door, grabbing her parka and weapon as she went.

  Wearing a gun was second nature to her now, but there had been a time when she’d shuddered every time she touched one. She’d come a long way as a deputy. This case was proving that she still had a long way to go.

  HARLAN GRANT was watching when the female deputy stepped out of the cabin. She moved away from the door, but still in the glow of the outside light. She looked incredibly lonely. He knew that feeling well. Maybe they weren’t so different after all.

  She could be fantasizing right now, wishing she were with a real man. Her panties might be getting wet. Red thong panties. He’d thought about those a lot today. Thought about them so much that sometimes he’d forgotten that he’d created them in his mind. The deputy would be afraid at first, but when she realized he didn’t mean to hurt her, she’d relax. And then he’d start to touch her and she’d get excited.

  He’d have to take her by surprise, spring on her before she could pull her gun. He was ready, so ready.

  C’mon, deputy. Make this easy on me. Walk this way. Follow the path until it skirts right by where I’m standing just like you did the other day.

  She took a few steps in his direction as if she could hear him, as if she were thinking the same things that were running around in his mind. As if she wanted it just like he did.

  He stripped off his gloves and stuffed them in his back pocket. He’d need his hands free.

  She was closer now, only steps away. She pushed the hood of her parka back and turned all the way around as if she were listening for something.

  He stooped and picked up one of the large rocks at his feet.

  She was only three steps away. Two steps away. One step away.

  And here!

  CARRIE JERKED around, swinging her arm and blocking a blow to her head. She went for her gun, but the man was too quick. Before she could pull it, he’d wrapped his arms around her and pinned them to her side.

  “Scream, and I’ll kill you.”

  She twisted as much as she could, finally getting a glimpse of his face. “Harlan Grant.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Then it was you who killed Elora?”

  “No. I just want to be with you.”

  Carrie didn’t plan to give him a chance. She yanked her elbows backward as hard as she could, but his hold on her held tight. He dragged her off the path and into the woods. But the gun was still at her waist. All she needed was half a chance, and she’d have it pointed at Harlan’s head.

  She dug her feet into the dirt.

  “You aren’t cooperating, deputy.”

  “I will. Stop here and I’ll cooperate.”

  He kept dragging her. Carrie screamed, more to rattle him than in expectancy anyone would be close enough to hear.

  Harlan threw her to the ground. She went for her gun, but he kicked her hand so hard that the gun slipped from her fingers, falling a few feet away.

  She rolled toward it, almost getting her hands on it again before his foot landed in the small of her back, shoving her face into the frozen ground. He picked up the gun and pointed it at her.

  “Take off your clothes.”

  “Never, you bastard.”

  “Take off your clothes or I’ll take them off myself.”

  “The way you tore off Elora’s before you killed her.”

  “I told you I didn’t kill her. I’ve never killed anybody yet.”

  “Then why did you run?”

  “’Cause you would have pinned it on me. That’s the way it works. I messed around and got into trouble. I got a problem, but I didn’t kill nobody.”

  She had to buy time. She unzipped the parka and slipped it from one arm. Something crashed in the woods behind them. Harlan turned toward the sound.

  Instinctively, she spun around, slinging the half-freed parka into his head at the same time she kicked the back of his knees, taking him down.

  She jumped to her feet and took off running toward what she hoped was the cabin. If she moved through the trees fast enough, she’d make a poor target.

  She could hear him behind her, gaining on her. His footfalls echoed in the night, sounding as if two or maybe more men were chasing her.

  Her lungs burned, but she couldn’t stop. If she did, she’d end up dead and Harlan Grant would escape again. She was not going to let that happen. But he was gaining on her and she was running as fast as she could on rough and rocky ground with trees blocking every path.

  And then she heard a bloodcurdling shriek, as if someone’s heart had been ripped out. The footsteps stopped.

  She stretched her neck to see behind her. No one was there. She fell against a tree, struggling to catch her breath. Finally she saw Harlan, or at least she saw his head. He was a few feet behind her half-hidden in the trees, lying dead still.

  She stepped closer. He was facedown and blood was pooling around his head. Using the toe of her boot, she nudged him over to his back. The blade of a knife was buried in his neck.

  She knelt and felt for a pulse. There was none. Slowly it all sank in. She’d been saved by a freak accident. Harlan Grant had fallen on his own knife and killed himself.

  IT WAS TWO in the morning before things had settled to anywhere near normal. Powell had brought two more deputies with him to help Carrie and Rich work the scene. Even though Harlan had killed himself, Powell wanted every tidbit of information he could get. Harlan’s death was too closely tied to the larger investigation to let anything go overlooked. Fortunately, they also found her gun.

  Finally, at a few minutes after one, they’d released Harlan’s body for delivery to the morgue. At one-thirty Powell and the other two deputies had headed back to town.

  Carrie had decided to make use of the cabin for the remaining few hours of the night, mainly because she was too weary to think about leaving. Rich opted to stay as well. She was glad. The guy was growing on her. She’d make sure he didn’t find that out.

  Now all she wanted was a hot, hot shower. She shed her clothes and stepped under the spray. Slowly her muscles started to relax. Unfortunately her mind didn’t. She couldn’t get the freak accident out of her mind. What were the odds that Harlan Grant would fall on his knife at that exact moment and that it would lodge in his neck?

  If Fernhaven Hotel were haunted, it must have a few law enforcement friendly ghosts in residence.

  She used one of the fluffy towels to dry off and slipped into the Fernhaven green terry robe the hotel provided. She made a turban of another towel and wrapped it around her wet hair. Tired as she was, she was still too wired to slee
p, so she padded into the living room to see what kind of refreshment she could find in the minibar.

  She chose a Merlot from Washington State.

  Rich strode in from the other bedroom, still in his work uniform, and looking more haggard than she’d ever seen him.

  “I thought you’d be sound asleep by now,” he said.

  “I’m still too keyed up. Join me in a glass of wine?”

  “Sounds good. Here, let me open it.” He took the corkscrew from its holder on top of the minibar and did the honors while she curled up in the easy chair next to the window.

  He poured the wine and handed her a glass, holding his for a toast. “To the deputy of the day.”

  She clinked. “I didn’t do a lot except almost get myself killed.”

  “Your methods were a little risky, but you got our man.”

  “Not according to him.”

  “Not unusual for a molester, rapist and killer to also be a liar.”

  “I guess.” She wasn’t totally convinced, but she might see things clearer tomorrow. “I almost forgot in all the excitement. What was it that Tom was so eager to discuss with you?”

  Rich perched on the arm of the sofa nearest her chair. “He was finally ready to talk about what happened in the mountains.”

  “The day we found him or the day Maizie claims he saw whatever it was that blew his mind?”

  “Both. They’re related.”

  “That’s a big development.” She shed her slippers and tucked her feet into the chair with her. “What did he say?”

  “Apparently some woman had approached him when he was in the mountains. She told him some bizarre story about having died in the fire that destroyed the original Fernhaven Hotel.”

  “No wonder he was freaked out.”

  “There was more. According to Tom, she begged him to help her find someone in Seattle. She said she had to give him something.”

  “And she expected Tom to believe she’d hung around the mountains all those years?”

  “Her explanation was that she’d been in some kind of transient state and only reentered this dimension with the rebuilding of the hotel. She had a limited time to do the task she’d been given, and then she’d leave this world forever.”

  “What did Tom tell her?”

  “He said he was too stunned to react. He walked away, and when he turned back she was there one minute and then just disappeared.”

  A frigid knot settled in Carrie’s chest. “Poor Tom.”

  “Yeah. Sad thing is, he still believes his hallucination was real. He claims he saw her again that day we found him. He said he offered to help her, but she told him it was too late. This time, she started to vaporize right before his eyes.”

  Carrie shivered, suddenly bone cold from the inside out.

  “What do you make of that?”

  “Tom’s getting old, and he’s lived with those fears and superstitions for so many years that they finally got the better of him.”

  The answer was too easy, or else Carrie was just too tired to think clearly tonight. She didn’t want to believe in ghosts or disembodied spirits. But right now, she just couldn’t be sure.

  “What did Maizie say?”

  “He hadn’t told her. I suggested he not tell her or anyone else. At any rate, telling me and accepting it himself seems to have made a difference. He’s making sense for the first time in two months, and that’s good enough for Maizie.”

  But now the woman was on Carrie’s mind. And so was Harlan Grant and the fall on the knife that couldn’t have happened at a better moment.

  Her mind went back to the symbol, and she doubted she’d get a wink of sleep tonight.

  CARRIE AND RICH had spent the first two hours of the morning in meetings with hotel management explaining the situation that occurred on their property the previous night as best they could. It was obvious that management’s main concern was to avoid any responsibility in Elora Nicholas’s death.

  But they had hired Harlan Grant without a background check, and Carrie was certain the press would run with that. Not that it was illegal to hire him. He’d done his time.

  Carrie came out of the ladies’ room and looked around the lobby for Rich. She found him on the phone. She caught his eye and made hand signals that she was going for coffee.

  She got her latte to go, then carried it into the gar den. The temperature wasn’t much above freezing, but the sun was out, and there wouldn’t be many more days like this until the spring.

  The bench next to the fountain was empty. Carrie hesitated when the image from Jeff’s photograph flew into her mind. She forced herself to sit down, but with the first sip of coffee, the hairs on the back of her neck seemed to stand on end.

  She could have sworn someone was standing right behind her.

  Her nerves were shot, she reasoned. That was all. The case had been a tough one, complicated by stories of ghosts and people who refused to die.

  But the case was solved. The man who’d shot her partner was dead, and that gave her some very welcome closure. She needed just a bit more.

  Carrie took out her pen and notebook, and each word she wrote felt as if it were a knife being plunged into Katrina’s heart.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Dear Bart,

  I never expected to have to face so much without you by my side. I was confused and shaken, at times almost debilitated by things I couldn’t make sense of. I kept wishing you were here to ease my mind and make me laugh at myself.

  I miss you, partner. I miss you very, very much.

  Katrina backed away as tears filled her eyes and made it impossible to keep reading. It didn’t matter. She’d read enough to realize that Carrie was in love with Bart. Why hadn’t she seen that? How had she spent so much time near Carrie and never realized what was in her heart?

  Katrina’s only task, her only reason for existing in this dimension, was to deliver the pendant to Car rie. Instead she’d lost the necklace and made love with the man who’d been meant for her great-granddaughter. How could she be so irresponsible?

  She’d been weak seventy years ago. She’d lain on the floor dying while Jonathan had started a fire that had killed over a hundred people. Now she was worse than weak. She was a failure in every way.

  Bart belonged to Carrie. Katrina belonged to another world. It would claim her soon, the same way it would claim the few remaining guests of the original Fernhaven who’d been granted limited time to fulfill their earthly missions. The only thing she could do until that finality came was continue to search for the pendant and pray for a miracle. And stay away from Bart Finnegan.

  She staggered away, consumed by a pain that had lodged in her soul. Losing Bart hurt more than the blow from her husband. More than the fire. More than death.

  But if she had to do it all over again, she wouldn’t hesitate for a second. One night in Bart’s arms was easily worth an eternity of unrequited love.

  CARRIE DIDN’T get away from the hotel nearly as early as she’d hoped. A group of the hotel’s investors from Seattle were driving up and had requested a meeting with her, Sheriff Powell and Rich McFar land. So there was nothing to do but have lunch and stick around the hotel until they arrived.

  The meeting didn’t actually get started until three-thirty. By then Carrie had a splitting headache. Lack of sleep might not be the sole cause, but it was definitely a contributing factor. Rich noticed her downing pain pills and suggested she take his car and go home. He’d catch a ride with Powell.

  Powell nodded his agreement. That was all the encouragement Carrie needed. It struck her as she drove out the gate that if she never came back to the Fernhaven Hotel, that might still be too soon.

  Weariness set in big time as she started the drive home. With the fatigue came all the dark thoughts that had clouded her mind last night. The intersection of the undead and the living.

  Had it happened to Tom? Could what he saw have been more than a bizarre and frightening hallucination?

/>   Had Marjorie Lipscomb actually been visited by a woman who’d died in the hotel fire over seventy years ago?

  Had Jeff Matthews captured phantasmal phenomena in the lens of his camera?

  Had Selma intersected with a ghost who frightened her so badly she’d lost her grip on reality?

  Carrie took a hand from the wheel and massaged the back of her neck. She was too tired to think. That’s why she was letting these frightening suspicions creep back into her mind.

  It was over now. They had their killer. He’d denied it, but all the evidence pointed to Harlan Grant.

  But if he’d killed Elora, why had he chosen that symbol as his signature? He had no ties to the superstitions of the mountains. He was from Kansas.

  The doubts tumbled about in her troubled mind. She was dead tired, and the headache was almost blinding now. But the cold hard knot had settled in her stomach again and the symbol seemed to be searing itself into her brain.

  She passed the sign for the cutoff road that led to the Billings’s house. She fought a crazy urge to turn back and make another call on Selma. There were a dozen reasons why she shouldn’t. The case was closed. Layers of foggy mist were already settling on the mountain. Carrie was dead tired and had a pounding headache.

  But Selma had wanted to say more that day. Maybe now, with the case closed, she would. Carrie pulled onto the shoulder and made a U-turn. Call it crazy. Call it a hunch. But she wouldn’t rest easy tonight unless she at least tried to talk to Selma.

  THE DOGS that had met the car before didn’t show up this time. Carrie waited a few minutes to make sure that they weren’t just lying in wait or slow to spring into action. When there was still no sign of them, she crawled out of the car cautiously and started walking to the house.

  She was already on the steps when she heard singing coming from around back. The song was haunting, the voice low but incredibly, sweet and clear.

  “Selma. Is that you?”

  There was no answer. Carrie made her way around the clapboard house, avoiding the weed-clogged flowerbeds and an upside-down washtub.