by Lisa Unger
“But none of it has ever bought that family a moment’s peace,” said Marilyn with a slight smile. “Even now.”
“And what about Annabelle Hodge?”
Marilyn shrugged and shook her head. Lydia saw a quick shift of her eyes, though. She registered it but said nothing.
“Why didn’t you mention her the last time I was here?”
“You didn’t ask.”
Lydia looked hard at the librarian. “What do you know about her?”
“Nothing, really. Maura got pregnant late in life. She’d never married but had the child anyway. Annabelle was home-schooled, went off to college a couple of years ago.”
“So who’s her father?”
“No one knows, really.”
“A town this small, a woman bears a child out of wedlock, and usually there are rumors, at least.”
“Well, if there were, I didn’t hear any of them,” she said primly, straightening her back.
“Seems like there’s not much you don’t know about this town,” said Jeffrey gently.
“Maura is not well,” said Marilyn.
“We were just at the Hodge house and saw the book she’d written about the curse,” said Lydia. “Seems like she believed that the ghost of Austin Steward impregnated her.”
Marilyn lifted her frail shoulders and nodded. “That’s what she believes.”
“Still?”
“Still. Or so she says.”
“What about Annabelle? What does she believe?”
“If you ask me, Annabelle doesn’t know what to believe. She’s a puppet, more or less, to Maura’s whims. Maura totally isolated that child; she never even went to the school here. Maura educated her at home.”
“I can only imagine what that lesson plan looked like,” Jeffrey said from the door.
“And you, Marilyn,” coaxed Lydia. “Who do you think might be Annabelle’s father? Any thoughts at all?”
“Honestly, Miss Strong, when it comes to those families, the less you know, the better.”
“Okay,” said Jeffrey back at the wheel of the Kompressor. “So I get why Maura hated Eleanor Ross, why she might have been motivated to kill Jack Proctor, and even Eleanor, though why she’d wait all this time to kill her is beyond me. I also get the whole curse thing, and why that might motivate someone to kill Julian’s husbands, you know, if they believed it was their ancestral duty or whatever. And there’s a lot of money at stake, we know that. But how these things fit together … it doesn’t make sense.”
“If it was just about revenge, about the ‘curse,’ why take the children? They’re not part of it.”
“What if it’s about the money?”
“Yeah, but the kidnapper isn’t going to inherit the money if Julian is declared incompetent. We talked about who had the most to gain and how it seemed like Eleanor.”
“But now Eleanor is dead.”
“Maybe it’s not about money; maybe it’s just about hatred pure and simple. Maybe someone just hates Julian Ross.”
“Then why not just kill her?”
“When you hate someone enough, maybe death seems like an easy way out.”
Jed McIntyre’s face flashed in front of Lydia’s eyes and she heard his threat to her, Life will be your punishment. She’d given a lot of thought to something else he’d said, as well. When she ran from him in the tunnels and he’d finally caught her, he’d said, I could have shot you in the back anytime I chose. Ask me why I didn’t. She hadn’t asked him, because she already knew the answer. He didn’t want to kill her because he wanted to possess her. That’s why he’d gone after her grandparents, why he’d taken Dax and Jeff. He wanted to destroy everything she loved so that she’d have nothing left; he wanted to strip her bare. Imagining that when she was a shell of herself, he would be able to control her, own her. Insanity had a way of making the ridiculous seem possible.
She thought then of Julian Ross, about the image in her drawing of the naked woman sprawled in the darkness.
“Julian Ross has been stripped bare,” she said, turning to look at Jeffrey, who had his eyes on the road. “She’s nothing but a ghost of herself, her life in shambles.”
“Yeah.…”
“So maybe it’s not about the money, or about the curse, or even about hatred and revenge. Maybe someone just wants to destroy Julian’s life,” she said, shifting forward in her seat.
“But why?”
“Because when you’ve lost everything, what do you become?”
Jeffrey shrugged.
“Whatever you have to be to survive,” Lydia said.
“So who hates her that much?”
“I think the better question is: Who loves her that much?”
“Let me guess where you’re going with this,” said Jeff.
“James Ross is alive.”
He paused a second. “I thought we were looking at Maura and Annabelle.”
“They might be a part of it. But look at who is the real victim here. It’s Julian. She’s the one who’s lost everything. Her husband, her mother, her children, her sanity. Maura and Annabelle hated Eleanor enough to kill her. But did they hate Julian enough to wreak such havoc on her life? It had to be someone else, someone intimate to Julian. And I think that’s James Ross.”
“Did you forget that we have a death certificate on him?”
“None of this makes sense without him.”
He released a sigh at her stubbornness.
“What about the DNA evidence?” she said.
“The DNA evidence only proves that someone who was at the scene of the Tad Jenson murder was also in the basement of the Ross home.”
“And how many candidates do you think there are for that?”
Jeffrey considered the question for a minute, then shrugged. “The police chief, the hospital records, and Eleanor, even the librarian, all say James Ross is dead.”
“But the man who signed his death certificate, Dr. Wetterau, he could have told us that when we were in his office. But he didn’t. Why?”
“I don’t know,” Jeffrey admitted.
“Well, I think we’d better find out. Because when we find James Ross, we’re going to find Ford and the twins.”
In an investigation, Lydia noticed, no one was ever as friendly or cooperative on your second visit. And even though they’d visited him for a completely different reason the first time, Dr. Wetterau looked like he’d seen a vision of the Headless Horseman himself when he entered his waiting room to find Lydia looking over Jeffrey’s shoulder as he flipped through the December issue of Cosmopolitan.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. He looked over at the door that led to the outside. “Wasn’t that door locked?”
“Not well,” said Jeffrey pleasantly.
“I’m calling the police,” he said, reaching for the phone that stood on the reception desk.
“No need,” said Lydia, standing. “I’ve already called them.”
“What? Why?”
“Because you falsified a death certificate for James Ross when you knew full well that he’s alive. And I want to know why. I doubted you’d tell me, so I figured I’d see if the police have any luck when they take you in for questioning regarding the murder of Eleanor Ross and the disappearance of her grandchildren.”
Jeffrey had always admired that Lydia could lie with such complete self-righteousness.
“That’s ridiculous,” said the doctor, who suddenly seemed to need the doorjamb for support. “I’ve done no such thing.”
“Then explain how I was attacked by James Ross just a week ago when I have this document,” she said, pulling a copy of James Ross’s death certificate from the pocket of her coat. “With your signature on it.”
“You can’t prove that the man who attacked you was James Ross.”
“I have the DNA evidence to prove it. I recovered a candy wrapper from the basement with his saliva all over it.”
This half lie hit the doctor right between the eyes. He caved like
a good man who’d done a wrong thing and worried every day since that it might catch up with him. What Lydia said was nothing less than his worst fears realized.
“Oh, Christ,” said the doctor, his giant shoulders sagging as he put his head to his hand.
“Now tell me what you know and you just might keep your medical license.”
The lighting in his office was dim and the room smelled of bandages and antiseptic. He leaned on the edge of his desk, which was covered with files, pictures of people she assumed were his kids and grandkids. Predictably, there was the Norman Rockwell print that every doctor has hanging on the dark-paneled wall of his office. His computer screen saver had turned on and a galaxy sped past.
“Eleanor Ross wanted her son declared dead,” he said, sitting down in one of the chairs across from Lydia and Jeffrey.
“Why?” asked Lydia.
“Because there were funds and properties held in trust for him that she couldn’t touch until he’d been declared dead.”
“Did she have money problems?”
“Not really. More than the money I think it was a matter of her wanting to put the past behind them. And also because of Julian.”
“What about Julian?”
“She dreaded him. He was her worst nightmare. Her fear of him led her to periods of deep depression. And Eleanor believed that if she thought he was dead, it might alleviate some of her suffering.”
“So how did it work out?”
“A drifter hung himself in the Ross home last year and there was suspicion that it was James Ross; he was about the same size and build. The body was so decayed as to be unidentifiable. Eleanor was informed and she came to me with her request.”
“And why would you oblige?”
The doctor shrugged and gave a sad shake of his head.
“She offered to pay you?”
“It wasn’t just the money. I wanted to give some peace to an old …”
“Flame?”
“Friend,” he said, glancing toward the door that led to his house. “And I thought, if it helped Julian, more the better. She’d suffered so much.”
“Part mercenary, part altruist. You’re a complex man, Doctor,” said Lydia.
“When Richard Stratton was murdered, did you think about coming clean?” asked Jeffrey.
“I thought about it. But that’s why Eleanor hired you.”
“What?”
“She and I agreed that if the evidence indicated that James was still alive and responsible for Richard’s murder, we’d come clean about what we did. Hopefully, you or the police would catch him and put him away for good. And we’d bear the consequences of our actions.”
“But when we came to you the first time, you could have lied. You could have said he was dead, but I noticed you stopped short of that.”
He shrugged. “Maybe part of me wanted the truth to come out.”
“And if we found someone else to be guilty?”
“The secret would die with us.”
“Good plan. You’re halfway there.”
He nodded his head slowly and he looked someplace inside himself.
“What can you tell us about Maura and Annabelle Hodge?” Lydia asked.
“I can tell you that they are two women with a lot of hatred in their hearts for the Ross bloodline.”
“How do you know that?”
He gave her a flat look that she couldn’t read and lifted his hands. “It’s common knowledge.”
“Or is it just a myth, like James Ross haunting the woods?”
“I guess it’s not as easy to tell the difference as one might think. Anyway, as far as their involvement in any of this, I don’t have the first idea.”
Lydia didn’t know whether to believe him or not, but she did believe he’d said all he was going to. He looked at her with tired, resigned eyes. But there was relief there, too. He’d unloaded a burden, and for better or for worse, at least he wouldn’t have to carry it around on his back any longer.
“So, who’s Annabelle’s father?”
The doctor shook his head. “Now, that’s something that only Maura Hodge knows for sure. I asked her that question many times.”
“And she told you Austin Steward.”
“That’s right … the ghost of Austin Steward. Tell you what, she was so adamant about it that I started to believe it myself.”
“I guess ghost stories are like that. Part of us wants to believe in the fantastic, no matter how frightening and horrible it might be.”
The doctor walked around to the seat behind his desk and sank into the leather chair. He was pale, and dark circles had appeared under his eyes.
“I noticed the police haven’t arrived,” he said after they’d all been silent for a long moment, realizing maybe that Lydia hadn’t quite told him the truth.
“Must be caught in traffic,” said Jeffrey, looking at his watch.
Lydia got up and moved toward the door. Jeffrey followed.
“That DNA evidence you mentioned?”
Lydia just smiled. “Might be a good time to start considering retirement, Doctor.”
“I was just thinking that.”
They stepped out of the office and into the cold, Lydia pulling the door closed behind them.
“You’re an accomplished liar,” said Jeffrey as they got into the Kompressor and pulled to the end of the drive. They paused there as a pair of headlights approached from the right.
“Thank you,” she answered.
“I’m not sure I meant it as a compliment.”
“There are lots of different ways to get to the truth. Lying is just one of them.”
“Well, when you’re right, you’re right.”
“So where to?”
“To the only place we’ve ever seen James Ross.”
Jeffrey didn’t pull out into the road right away. Instead he put the car in park.
“What’s wrong?” asked Lydia.
“I’m just afraid of what we’re going to find up there.”
Jeffrey sighed and rested his head on the steering wheel. Cold air blew from the vents but started to warm as the car heated up. They sat in the darkness, with only the glow from the dashboard lights. Mick Jagger and the Stones sang “Start Me Up” softly from the radio. Lydia reached over and turned it off. She wasn’t sure what to say.
“There’s so much loss,” Jeffrey said quietly into the steering wheel. “How much more of this can we take?”
Lydia didn’t have the answer to that question so she said nothing, just moved her hand from his arm to the back of his head. The air coming from the vents had gone from frigid to lukewarm; still Lydia shivered.
“The pregnancy, Rebecca, now Ford,” he said. He turned to look at her then, his head still resting on his arm draped over the steering wheel. “I really wanted that baby.”
His words felt like a blow to her solar plexus and tears sprang to her eyes, more from the surprise and the pain than from sadness. “I know,” she managed.
Lydia had never seen Jeffrey like this. He was a man of action, believing that motion was the way to deal with fear, anger, sadness. Tonight he seemed to buckle under the weight of everything.
“It will be better when we try again,” she said, withdrawing her hand and looking away from him. “We won’t be living with the worry of Jed McIntyre, where he is, what he’s planning. Won’t it be better to bring a child into a life that isn’t controlled by fear?”
The car was filled with their breath and their sadness, quiet except for the vents blowing the slowly warming air. Lydia’s toes felt cold, and her heart ached, but she knew with an odd certainty that what she said was not just hopeful but true.
“You’re right,” he said, reaching out to touch her face and wipe the tear that trailed down her cheek. She turned back to him. “You’re right,” he said again. Jeffrey sat up and took a deep breath, seemed to shake off the mood.
“Good,” she said with a nod. She didn’t want to think about any of this anymore
tonight. “People need us right now, Jeffrey. We can worry about ourselves when they’re safe.”
He leaned in to kiss her softly on the lips. He put the car into gear and they moved toward the road.
“Ford, where the hell are you, man?”
With the moon behind thick cloud cover, the night was eerily black. No streetlights lit the road ahead of them.
chapter forty-two
They drove about half a mile past the Ross house and parked the car at the side of the road. From where they parked, they could see the outline of the dark house. The place had a definite presence and Lydia thought again back to Julian’s drawings. The home where Julian grew up had become a symbol of terror for her, her father had been murdered there, her brother allegedly tried to kill her by burning it down. Maybe she was right, maybe the past did live in the structures we build, radiated off them like an aura.
A deep sense of unease had taken hold of Jeffrey. He didn’t like that no one knew where they were or what they were doing.
“Call Dax,” he said. “Tell him what we’re doing.”
Before he’d finished the sentence, Lydia’s phone was chirping. She pressed the button on the dash that answered the phone.
“Do you want the good news or the bad news?” said Dax.
“The bad news,” answered Jeff.
“I just heard on the news that the Haunted police found Ford’s car in a river over there in Haunted.”
“Shit,” said Jeffrey, feeling a brew of fear, adrenaline, and sadness boil in his stomach. “What’s the good news?”
“The good news is he wasn’t in it.”
Lydia sighed in relief. “Well, that’s something.” Hope was always something.
“Where are you two?”
“We’re at the Ross house. We think James Ross is alive. We’re going to check it out.”
“I thought you were just going to be asking questions,” said Dax, sounding like the kid picked last for the dodgeball team.
“Listen, Dax. If you don’t hear from us in an hour, call the Haunted police. Okay?” asked Lydia, trying to keep him involved.
“Right,” he said sullenly. “Be careful.”
When they reached the bottom of the drive, the tall iron gate that had stood unlocked during their last visit was now shut tight, a new lock in place where the old one had rusted away. Jeffrey removed the picklock from his pocket and tried to work the lock, but he couldn’t get it. After a few minutes, he sighed and stood back, looking up at the gate, which was supported on either side by high brick posts. It hadn’t been designed with any real security in mind; it was probably partly for show and partly to keep curious or lost people from driving up to the house.
