by Mae Clair
“Yeah, I got it.” She held up a 35 millimeter as proof. “But I don’t want to end up on the menu.”
“Don’t worry, baby. We get a shot of that freaking bird-creature, we can buy our own restaurant and eat caviar.”
What idiots. Worse, they were headed in his direction, making enough noise to raise the dead. Looking around, he tried to decide if he could slip away without being seen. As an alternative, he weighed the odds of walking out and saying hello—doing the local yokel thing and sending them off someplace deeper into the TNT—when he heard the man swear abruptly. Not in anger, but excitement. Reaper watched the guy stoop and pluck something from the ground.
“Holy shit, Glenda, you’re not going to believe what I found!”
The woman pranced to his side. “What is it?”
Reaper couldn’t see the object in George’s hand, but the sick knot in his gut gave him a good idea what the man had discovered. Why the hell hadn’t he seen it when he’d trudged through that area a few minutes ago?
“A money clip.” George slipped the silver clamp from the bills and passed it to Glenda as if he couldn’t wait to be rid of it. Hurriedly, he rifled through the cash, his expression growing more animated with each swipe of his fingers. “Oh, baby! There’s close to three hundred dollars here.”
“Someone must have dropped it.” Glenda looked uneasy. “We should give it to the police.”
George balked as if she’d lost her mind. “Are you nuts?”
“What if it’s related to the man who was killed here? Maybe it was his, and it’s the reason he was murdered. It could be drug money or something.” She turned the clip over in her hand. “Look, George, there’s a name.”
Shit!
He was screwed. The woman was already thinking about giving the clip to the cops. Maybe he needed to play a bold card. Walk up and say he’d lost it. Problem was the guy would never believe him, and the woman would want proof. He had ID, but that opened a whole new can of worms. The two might head back to town and blab how they’d found the money clip near the pond. Ryan Flynn or Sheriff Weston would get wind and come sniffing around with questions. Seems odd a man like you would be out in the TNT. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about Amos Carter’s death?
No matter how he sliced it, he was screwed. Damn sloppy of him to lose that clip.
Reaching into his pocket, Reaper withdrew the .38. Things were getting messy. He couldn’t afford two more bodies, but was running out of options.
He watched as George stuffed the wad of cash into his pocket.
“Just leave the damn thing here,” he said. “I’m keeping the money.”
That’s it, George. Take the cash and get out of here. Make her leave the clip.
He could live with that scenario. He could even let them live with that scenario, as long as they kept their mouths shut. Odds were if George was keen on keeping the bills, he wouldn’t mouth off in town about finding the clip. That would be equivalent to shooting himself in the foot.
The woman seemed indecisive, biting her bottom lip as if weighing the correct thing to do.
Screw this. He couldn’t afford the risk.
Reaper tightened his hand on the revolver and moved from the trees. He’d only taken a single step when the woman looked up suddenly, blood draining from her face. He had the gun concealed behind his back, but she appeared terrified he was going to off her. Then he realized she wasn’t looking at him at all, but something that loomed behind him. Something that blocked the sun and sent a massive shadow scrolling over the ground.
Reaper felt the hair on his neck stand on end. He had only a second to dive into the brush, chased by the woman’s bone-chilling scream.
* * * *
Evening arrived and with it the planned excursion into the Witch Wood. Eve and Katie met Caden and Ryan at the Flynn house. While the men rooted for shovels in a storage shed, Eve and her friend said hello to Mrs. Flynn. They found Maggie’s mother in the living room, contentedly knitting in her usual spot, the TV playing an old black-and-white rerun of I Love Lucy.
“You won’t find the girl by the tree,” she told them the moment they stepped into the room. The click-clack of her needles overrode any sputtered reply they may have offered at her bizarre greeting.
“I’m not sure what you mean, Mrs. Flynn,” Eve said uncertainly. While Doreen Sue was “Doreen Sue,” Mrs. Flynn was always “Mrs. Flynn,” rarely ever “Elizabeth.” There was something about this particular woman that made Eve feel like a child, uncertain of her place. Or maybe it was simply that Mrs. Flynn was Maggie’s mother.
“Maggie said you have to go deeper, ten feet past the tree,” Mrs. Flynn told them. “Look for the big rock you used to climb as kids. Dig there.”
Standing inside the doorway, Eve exchanged a glance with Katie. Neither Caden nor Ryan would have mentioned the plan to their mother, feeding her eccentric behavior. If only Eve could speak to Maggie as Mrs. Flynn did so often and so easily.
“Mrs. Flynn,” she prompted.
The woman looked up and smiled. “Oh, hello, you two. It’s a pleasant day for a visit. Can I offer you some lemonade?”
Clearly befuddled, Katie stammered her thanks and declined.
Eve smiled pleasantly. The woman had been in one of her trances. “No thank you, Mrs. Flynn. We just wanted to say hello. Caden and Ryan are waiting for us outside. They’re going to help Katie and me with a few things at the hotel.”
“That’s nice.” Mrs. Flynn turned her attention back to her knitting, humming softly. Eve nodded to Katie, and the two left the room, heading for the front porch.
“That was creepy,” Katie said as they’d stepped outside. “Does she do that a lot?”
“Frequently.”
“How do you think she knew what we have planned? Do you believe she can talk to Maggie?”
“She was right about the igloo.” Whatever force directed Mrs. Flynn—Maggie or something else—it wasn’t to be discounted. “Let’s tell the guys what she said.”
Ryan scowled when they relayed the story, and Caden appeared uncomfortable. Eve guessed he didn’t like the thought of his mother communicating with Maggie when he was denied the chance to tell his sister how sorry he was.
The drive to the Witch Wood wasn’t long, but the hike between the trees took time. It had been years since Eve had played in the thicket, back in the days when Nana Flynn lived in the old home that bordered its northern edge. The house was still there, but it had new occupants now. Ones who cared little about its state of repair, judging by the peeling paint on the shutters and flowerbeds rife with weeds. A ratty wire fence had been erected at the edge of the yard to separate the overgrown lawn from the dense thicket behind it. As a result, they were forced to park elsewhere and enter the woods at a diagonal from a bordering lane.
It took Eve a while to locate the giant sycamore that resembled a woman reaching to the sky. “I can’t believe it’s still here.” She traced her fingers lightly over the trunk, assaulted by a flood of memories. Maggie spinning in a circle, head thrown back and arms outstretched to the sky, her laughter giddy and bright like a flash of sunlight on water. Then months later, a different Maggie huddled beneath the blankets in her bedroom, whispering the Mothman wanted to kill her.
Eve sobered abruptly, appealing to Caden with a beseeching glance. “We’re close.” He had to feel his sister’s spirit in these woods as much as she did. Maggie was here, held captive in the past. Whatever occurred that day fifteen years ago was the crux of everything that followed. Twining her fingers with Caden’s, she tugged him past the tree. “Ten feet, your mother said. Near the big rock.”
They found it exactly as Mrs. Flynn said they would. By then the sun had sunk lower on the horizon, bloodying the trees with bands of vermillion and copper-streaked brass. Twilight was still several hours away but the air had grown slightly cooler, ripe with the musky scent of ferns and soil.
“Let’s get
this over with.” Ryan sank the tip of a spade into the earth.
Not content to stand around while the men dug, Eve and Katie pitched in as well. The ground was soft, but buried roots and hidden stones made the chore tedious. Thankfully, Caden had added a digging iron and pick to the shovels, allowing the men to hack through the roots more swiftly. Eve packed several thermoses with cold water and they took breaks as needed, sweaty from the laborious work.
Finally, after what seemed an inordinate amount of time, Ryan straightened with a huff of breath. Sweat glistened in his bangs, matting several strands to his forehead. His blue T-shirt was soaked at the collar, and his jeans bore streaks of dirt. “How deep do we plan on digging?” The pit they had created already reached a depth of approximately four feet. “Sooner or later we’ve got to face this is a waste of time.”
Katie lobbed an irritated glare in his direction. “Quit if you want to, but I know Wendy didn’t run away. I’m not giving up.”
“Look, Katie, I know you’re upset, but—”
“Hey, I think I found something.” Caden tapped the point of his shovel carefully against the ground. “I think there’s something buried here.”
Ryan palmed sweat from his forehead. “Probably just another tree root or more rocks.”
“This isn’t rock.” Kneeling, Caden held the shovel at his side, using his free hand to brush away bits of loose earth. Gradually, something took shape under his fingertips.
The edge of another stone? A surge of disappointment flooded Eve, only to be replaced by a sense of delayed horror seconds later. As Caden continued to work away the soil, the shape beneath his hand formed into the upper arc of an eye socket.
“Holy shit!” Swiftly, Ryan knelt to help his brother.
Moving to Katie’s side, Eve wrapped her arm around the girl’s shoulders, the two of them staring down at the ugly skull taking form in the earth. It wasn’t long before the other eye socket and the dome of the cranium emerged.
Ryan grabbed his brother’s wrist, preventing him from freeing more dirt. “We can’t just dig this up.”
“You’re right.” Sitting back on his haunches, Caden dragged a dirty hand through his hair. “Even if this isn’t Wendy Lynch, the remains belong to someone. You need to let Pete Weston know so he can get a forensics team in here.”
“It’s Wendy.” Katie’s voice was flat, bordering on emotionless. The pain in her eyes spoke volumes. “Having Sheriff Weston exhume the remains won’t make a difference. I know it’s her.”
“Katie, I’m so sorry,” Eve whispered.
Caden stood. “If it is Wendy, she deserves to have her remains disinterred properly.”
“There could be evidence here of how she died.” Ryan seemed relieved to have his brother side with him but his words were plainly for Katie when he spoke. “We could damage the bones by continuing to dig and possibly compromise evidence that could brand this a crime scene.” He stepped closer, taking Katie’s hand in his. “If this is your sister, then she deserves whatever help we can give in finding her killer. Let me do this properly, Katie, through the proper channels.”
She hesitated, clearly torn between proving the bones belonged to Wendy and wanting justice for her sister. At last she nodded. “Promise me if it is Wendy, you’ll do all you can to find her killer.”
Ryan nodded, his gaze for Katie alone. “I swear.”
* * * *
Eve found it difficult concentrating on work the following day after everything that had happened. Fortunately, Katie had scheduled Sharon Tanner, their back-up employee for the front desk to work dayshift. With Roger Layton’s birthday party taking place that night, Eve’s business-savvy manager had left her and Eve free for any last minute party prep that needed to be addressed.
Walking into the lobby, Eve found Sharon behind the desk, her nose buried in a pop magazine with Steve Perry and Journey on the cover. Not up to arguing the merits of looking busy, especially when the hotel was quiet, she cleared her throat. “Have you seen Katie?”
The girl colored and lowered the magazine. “Oh, uh…hi, Eve. I think she’s in the kitchen talking to the cook—um, chef.”
Eve nodded, noting the correction. It was silly, but part of offering an alternative to the chain hotels across the river in Gallipolis had included hiring a head chef for catered events and the café. She had a lot riding on Roger’s party. As a bank vice-president, he’d be hobnobbing with city officials and businessmen of note who might bring other business if they enjoyed the event.
“Oh.” Sharon turned a page as Eve prepared to head for the kitchen. “By the way, Mr. Layton is in the ballroom. He came in earlier wanting to see the layout. Since you and Katie weren’t around, and since it’s his party, I didn’t see any harm in letting him up there.”
“Okay.” Eve would have done the same, though she most certainly would have accompanied him in the event he had questions or comments. Then again, Sharon wasn’t equipped to handle either and would have had to refer matters to her.
Finding Katie leaving the kitchen, she did a quick visual inspection of her friend, spying a telltale smudge of shadow beneath her eyes. Clearly, she hadn’t slept well, not that Eve could blame her. It wasn’t every day you came across bones that most likely belonged to your missing sister.
“Good morning.” She tried to sound cheerful, sensing Katie’s subdued mood. “How are things going with the party menu?”
“On schedule.” Katie offered a weak smile in return. “Jack has everything under control. With his culinary skills, I’d be surprised if Roger Layton has anything negative to say about tonight.”
Jack Devin, a Philadelphia transplant, was the hotel’s recently hired head chef. Fortunately for Eve, he’d fallen in love with a local girl and had shown up a week ago sniffing for employment after moving to the area.
“How about you?” She hooked her arm through Katie’s and steered her toward the lobby. “After everything that’s happened, do you still feel up to helping with the party?”
“Of course. Besides….” Coming to a halt, Katie tugged at her ponytail. It was a trait Eve had come to recognize as a nervous habit. “There’s nothing I can do for Wendy right now, and thinking about those bones in the Witch Wood will only drive me crazy.”
“Ryan’s working on it.”
“I know he is.”
“Did you say anything to your mom?”
Katie shook her head. “I won’t. Not until I know it’s Wendy for certain. I just hope the way rumors fly, it doesn’t leak out and she hears about it from someone else. At least everyone is busy chattering about the Mothman photo right now.”
“Mothman photo? Did I miss something?”
“You don’t know?” In the lobby, Katie crossed to the sofa grouping below the front windows and grabbed a paper from the table. Whatever she planned to show Eve, it apparently wasn’t newsworthy enough for Sharon to tear her eyes from her magazine. At the desk, the girl was still busy poring over Steve Perry.
“Here.” Katie produced the local newspaper with a flourish. “Today’s headline, courtesy of our hotel guests, George and Glenda Whitmore. They’re overnight celebrities.”
Eve’s mouth dropped as she stared at the front page. The headline emblazoned across the top read Mothman Captured in Photograph. Below that was a large grainy image of…something.
Frowning, Eve turned the paper, hoping to spy a form among the wash of charcoal, white, and gray which resembled nothing so much as an elongated blob.
“You have to tilt your head.” Katie demonstrated as she traced her finger over a corner. “This is a wing tip. See how it curves down? And this, part of the body.” Another trace of her finger outlined a thin cylindrical shape. “It’s a partial shot. According to Glenda, she was running and screaming her head off when she accidentally clicked the camera, certain she only had minutes to live.”
Eve looked at her friend. “I don’t really see…”
�
��I don’t either, but apparently it’s been picked up on a news wire and is being touted as the Holy Grail of Mothman evidence. While we were digging up bones last night, Glenda and George were at the police station sharing their story.”
“Which is?” Eve still couldn’t see anything in the picture. Maybe with a stretch of imagination, and if she tilted her head as Katie said…
“They were poking around the TNT out near the pond where Amos was killed when the Mothman made an appearance. According to Glenda, they barely made it back to their car. She said it chased them down Potters Creek Road, then veered off about a mile from town. They went straight to the sheriff—and then to the newspaper office. The lab developed the photo overnight.”
“Did anyone else see it?”
Katie shook her head.
“Hmm.” Undecided if she believed someone had managed to capture a photograph of the elusive creature, Eve couldn’t find it within herself to dismiss the sighting as folly. Not after what Caden had told her.
Even as the thought surfaced, the phone rang, and Sharon answered with a chirpy “Good morning, Parrish Hotel.”
“Sure, I can book those dates for you.” Sharon set her magazine aside in favor of the reservation book. “Yes. We’re only about five miles from the TNT.”
Katie raised a brow as they listened to the conversation. “It’s been on and off like that all morning. Mostly locals from neighboring towns, but I have a feeling it won’t be long before we’re flooded with people from all over hoping to catch a glimpse of the Mothman.”
“The hotel could use the business.” All the more reason for her to stay in Point Pleasant. The Parrish Hotel was beginning to feel like her legacy, not just her family’s. It was a business she wanted to succeed.
“It looks like we’re finalizing Roger’s party just in time,” she said to Katie. “Oh, and speaking of which…Sharon said he’s poking around the ballroom, checking things out for later tonight. Want to say hello with me?”
“To that man?” Katie frowned, but nodded nonetheless. “Sure. Why not?”
