"I see," John said uncomfortably, as Marcia slowly uncrossed her legs and crossed them the other way, ala Sharon Stone. He pointedly kept his eyes on a grotesque painting hanging on the wall above the students. "Is the nurse here?"
Both girls giggled; then the long-haired one said, "She'll be right back. She's helping the doctor with a patient."
John walked up to the desk and peered at the closed door behind it. His discomfort was growing by the moment.
''Are you a deputy?" one of the girls asked, behind him.
"I'm the sheriff," he replied, without turning around. At that moment, the door behind the desk creaked; then Sister Regina appeared and held the door open.
''All right," she said to someone within, then turned her head and saw John. Her eyes blinked slowly. "Sheriff, I trust you haven't been waiting long."
"Not at all," he said, as Dashwood and the headmistress came out, Sara Hawthorne between them, leaning on Dashwood's arm. She appeared pale and dazed.
''Ms. Hawthorne," he said, ''are you all right?"
She looked at him, red spots on her cheeks stark against the too-white skin. Her pupils were dilated, her gaze drifting past him. "I'm fine, Sheriff Lawson," she said in a soft, vague, drowsy voice.
''Miss Hawthorne will be perfectly all right, she's just had a little too much excitement for one day," Dashwood said. ''It happens sometimes. Sister Regina, please see her to her room."
''Certainly, Doctor."
“Miss Hawthorne," Dashwood said, ''stay in bed until dinnertime. Doctor's orders."
Sara nodded slowly; then Regina took her arm. The young woman placidly let herself be guided past John.
"Ms. Hawthorne?" he asked.
She hesitated, almost looking at him.
"Are you sure you're all right?" He'd been about to say something about Jennifer Blaine, then remembered that Sara hadn't wanted him to contact her at the abbey.
“Fine," she said faintly, and let Regina lead her out the door.
"I take it you know Miss Hawthorne?" Lucy demanded in her clipped tone.
"No, not really. She stopped in and asked for directions to St. Gertrude's the other day."
"That's odd," Dashwood said, "since she used to be a student here."
"Not at all, if you think about it," John countered smoothly. “'We never see your students in town. I'd guess that these young ladies here," he gestured at the oversexed blondes, ''would have no more idea how to get back to St. Gertrude's if they suddenly found themselves in downtown Moonfall than Ms. Hawthorne did. Isn't that right?"
The pair giggled and nodded.
Lucy gave John a hard look, then turned to Dashwood and smiled. It changed her face completely. "Doctor, I have an appointment with a student in a few minutes. I'll see you at six in the private dining room for our meeting."
''Of course."
Lucy exited the room is a flurry of black; then Dashwood turned to John. ''May I be of assistance to you, Sheriff?"
"Yes. I'm hoping you might be able to clear up something for me, Doctor. Can you spare ten minutes?"
"I think that can be arranged," Dashwood said, smiling at the two girls. "I'll be with you young ladies shortly. When Sister Regina returns, tell her that I said to prepare you for your appointments."
Another flurry of giggles. "Yes, Doctor," the blondes said simultaneously. They looked at each other and giggled harder.
"Now, Sheriff, how can I help you?"
"I'd rather talk in private, if you don't mind."
''Of course. Come with me."
Dashwood led John from the waiting room, down the hall to his private office. They settled in leather chairs, before and behind the physician's massive mahogany desk. John knew he had to be careful about what he said. ''I was reviewing the recent suicide at the Falls, and I have a couple more questions."
Dashwood sat back, relaxed. "I thought Miss Tynan's case was closed."
"For all intents and purposes, but something still doesn't set right with me. Call it a hunch."
The doctor smiled and locked his disturbing eyes on John's. "I understand, and I agree that the circumstances were certainly rather unusual. How can I help you?"
"Our records at the sheriff's department weren't kept as well as they should have been until the last few years. You know how it is. Moonfall is a small, quiet town and people occasionally get a little sloppy."
''Of course."
"I found a reference to a suicide similar to Lenore Tynan's, but it's little more than a note. We're currently inputting our records into a computer system." He chuckled, hoping it sounded convincing. ''As I said, Moonfall is rather behind the times."
"Another suicide?" Dashwood's eyebrows underscored the question. "Here? At St. Gertrude's?"
"In 1984. As I said, there was little reference to it, and I don't remember anything about it except that it happened; I was a rookie at the time and not involved in any investigation into the incident that might have been undertaken."
''I see." Dashwood sat forward now, showing interest. ''Like you, I was new to my job. My father had just retired and gone home to London, and I was very new here. I'd certainly remember an incident like that." He paused. "Do you have a name? Perhaps there was an attempted suicide. I could check my records."
''Yes. Jennifer Blaine."
If Dashwood recognized the name, he didn't betray the fact. Instead, he rose and went to his file cabinets, rich mahogany ones that matched his desk. "Blaine. 'B' as in boy?"
"That's correct."
The doctor opened a drawer and began rifling through the files. "Blaine, Margaret," he read. "Blaine, Emily. Aha, here it is. Blaine, Jennifer." He brought the folder to the desk and opened it. "Jennifer Blaine was a student here from 1981 through 1985. A few allergies, a tendency toward bronchitis, slightly nearsighted. She scored high intellectually and very normally on the psychological tests we administered." He looked at another page. ''The only times I ever saw her were for bronchitis, allergy shots, annual checkups, and a few stitches when she cut her arm on a broken glass. She graduated in '85. She had some scholarship money and was going to college up north. That's the last contact I had with her."
“Are you sure there was only one Jennifer Blaine?"
Dashwood nodded. "I have only one file. You said this note you found concerning her led you to believe that her alleged suicide was similar to Lenore Tynan's?"
"Yes."
“Perhaps the incident with the broken glass and the stitches turned into something it wasn't. Our students don't venture into town, though our teachers occasionally do, and maybe one said something that was misinterpreted." He smiled, turning his long-fingered hands palms-upward in helplessness. ''As you are probably aware, St. Gertrude's has quite a reputation among the people in town, what with all the stories about our ghosts and gargoyles. These things are blown out of proportion sometimes."
"May I see the file?''
"Certainly." Dashwood handed it across the desk and John leafed through it, saw everything the physician had said, but no more. There was a photo of the girl. She was very pretty, with long, dark hair and a sweet smile. "May I borrow this, or get a copy from you?"
"If you wish, of course. Do you have any other questions I might help you with?"
''To your knowledge, have there been any other suicides here? Or suspicious deaths?"
Dashwood appeared to think about it. "Not in the years I've been here. I believe there has been a suicide or two and a few accidental deaths over the years, but none of them occurred during my tenure. The only reason I'm even aware of them is because of the ghost stories which probably stem from them."
''Would this be the same ghost that Lenore Tynan spoke to you about?"
“One of them, I would imagine. There are several ladies in white said to roam the main building, and there is one sometimes reported in the dormitory. But as I told you before, I believe Lenore Tynan had a potential substance abuse problem and she used the ghost story as an excuse to try to ge
t me to prescribe tranquilizers."
"How long ago did these deaths occur?" John asked.
"The headless monk dates from St. Gertrude's days as a monastery, long before the sisters took over the abbey. Legend has it he was beheaded by his own order for being in league with the devil." Dashwood smiled and shook his head. "The good old days, yes, Sheriff?"
John nodded. "What about the female ghosts?"
"Well, there's one who's supposed to be a nun who was raped and murdered shortly after the abbey was reopened as St. Gertrude's in the later 1800s. As you might know, the place had been abandoned for many years, and legends grew during that time. As far as we know, that's when the gargoyle tales began. Between the imposing architecture of the abbey, its remoteness, and the fact that owls and other raucous night birds are indigenous to the area, it's not too surprising, I suppose."
''Seems reasonable. Can you tell me about any more recent deaths that might spawn the stories?"
"Very little. The nun is said to roam this building, as are two or three others. I believe those were all students who met early ends. One hanged herself in one of the classrooms, in the 1920s; another fell from a third-floor classroom window about ten years later."
"Murder?"
''Who knows? The only other ghost is the one Miss Tynan spoke of, the one roaming the dormitory. Its origins are unknown, but it's quite popular among the students. Frankly, Sheriff, I think it was created for fun."
"What do you mean, 'fun'?"
''Older girls love to frighten the younger ones. Longtime residents do the same to the newly arrived. Children can be quite cruel, as I'm sure you're aware."
"Yes." John started to rise. "Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate the time you've spent with me." His discomfort had grown under Dashwood's unwavering gaze, and now he glanced at his watch, eager to get away from the physician and St. Gruesome's. "If I can get that copy, I really need to head back into town."
''Of course."
"Doctor?" John asked, as he followed Dashwood into his outer office.
''Yes?" Dashwood had removed the clip from the papers on Jennifer Blaine and was feeding them into the Xerox machine.
He really wanted to ask about Sara Hawthorne, but stopped himself before the words escaped. ''I appreciate your cooperation." He had a dozen more questions, but he didn't dare ask them, not until he spoke to Sara again. Though he told himself it was silly to wait, that the new teacher was probably not credible, he decided to follow his instincts and question her further first.
"You're welcome. If there's anything else I can help you with, please don't hesitate to ask." He handed John the copies.
"I'll be in touch," he replied, shaking Dashwood's extended hand. Though it was a good, firm handshake, he shivered involuntarily at the doctor's touch.
Twenty-seven
The rapping on her door awakened Sara slowly. She had a headache and her mouth tasted of sleep.
"Miss Hawthorne!"
"Yes?" she called, her voice raspy and thick. What happened? Her mind was in a fog, but the youthful voice sounded familiar. ''Come in."
The door opened, and Kelly Reed slipped in, closing the door quietly behind her. Her shoulder-length red hair hid her face as she bent over her. ''Are you all right?" she whispered.
Sara sat up slowly and rubbed her eyes. "I-I was having a nightmare." She tried to smile, but it turned into a wince. She rubbed her temples. "I'm glad you woke me up, Kelly."
The girl smiled at the sound of her name, then perched on the edge of the bed and pushed her hair from her eyes. ''I heard Sister Regina tell Sister Bibi you passed out in the doctor's office. Are you sick?"
"My God, the exam," she said, her memory returning. Sister Regina trussing her up like a chicken, Dr. Dashwood releasing her, talking, examining. He had done a biopsy. That was all she could remember.
''What?"
''I guess I did pass out." She looked down at herself, saw she was dressed in her flannel nightgown, and vaguely remembered Regina helping her undress and get into bed. Kelly rose and stood back as Sara swung her legs off the bed and slowly, shakily, stood.
Kelly took her elbow when her knees started to buckle. ''Maybe you should sit down."
"Maybe I should."
With Kelly's help, she crossed to the easy chair and collapsed into it. She'd had a nightmare, or maybe not; maybe it was a pleasant dream? Suddenly, she was more confused than ever.
"There are some Pepsis in the refrigerator. Why don't you get us each one?"
Kelly looked surprised. ''Really?"
''Of course."
"The sisters don't let us have soda. If they find out, they'll punish me- and you."
"Well, we won't tell them, then, will we?" Sara's smile was genuine now. The girl, whom Mother Lucy had depicted as a troublemaker, was shy, awkward, and lanky, reminding Sara of a fawn. She was obviously a late bloomer and would one day, in the not-too-distant future, turn into a beautiful woman.
She watched as Kelly brought back the Pepsis. ''Thanks," she said, taking the cold can and rolling it against her forehead before opening it.
''I'm not supposed to be here," Kelly said, sitting on a dinette chair and opening her can. ''If they find me, I'm in big trouble." She held the can to her nose and sniffed, smiling with pleasure, before taking a tentative sip.
"Then we'll keep that a secret, too." Sara took a long pull on her can, swallowed, stifled a burp. "Mmmm."
Kelly's nose crinkled as she giggled "Thank you for not telling on me before. You aren't like the other teachers."
"Because I'm not a nun?"
Kelly smiled. ''Yeah, but I mean that you seem nice."
"Thank you for trusting me," Sara said carefully. "Is that why you're here?''
She nodded. "When you didn't show up at dinnertime, I sneaked out some food" She rose, crossed to the door, picked up a lumpy black sweater, carried it back to the table, then unwrapped it "I couldn't bring much this way. Nothing that would spill."
''This is great." Sara smiled at Kelly. She'd brought an apple, an orange, and a banana, some slices of cheese, and several dark wheat bread rolls. Revived by the caffeine, she stood and crossed to the table, sat down on the other dinette chair.
"May I ask you a question, Kelly?" she asked, peeling the banana.
"Sure."
"Were you trying to run away?"
"I think about it." Kelly looked at her hands. "I hate it here."
Sara nodded ''I understand."
''How could you?"
"I ran away, too, when I was a student here."
Kelly's eyes widened. "And you came back? On purpose?"
Sara nodded, her mouth full. She hadn't realized how hungry she was.
''Why?"
''Curiosity, I guess. Kelly, why do you hate this place?''
''The other girls, the nuns. I told you about the locket, and solitary." There were tears in her eyes, but a hardness, too, as she spoke.
"And you really feel that my warning the girls to leave you alone or talking to Mother Lucy would do you more harm than good?"
"Please! Never tell!" She calmed herself with obvious effort.
"They hate me. I know that sounds dumb, but it's true. Mother Lucy never believes me about anything. She always takes Marcia's side, and she'd love another reason to punish me."
Sara nodded, then peeled the orange and offered Kelly half. As she held the fruit out, she saw fear in the girl's eyes, then uncertainty. Finally, she reached tentatively for the orange, hesitating as if she expected Sara to snatch back the gift. Who did this to you? she wondered, her own emotions a mixture of anger and pity. Though she knew it was possible that the girl might be exaggerating her misery, Sara didn't think so; she'd been too unhappy herself to make such a judgment.
"Kelly?" she asked, when the girl had finished chewing a segment of orange. ''I'd like to ask you about something."
''What?"
''I heard Marcia call you 'Ghost Girl.' Can you tell me why?"
; Kelly flinched visibly and her fingers dug into the remaining piece of orange, squirting juice. "I-I'm sorry," she stammered, trying to wipe the table with her hand.
''It's okay," Sara said, reaching out and covering her hand with her own. Kelly stared at it, rigid at first, then relaxing as Sara added, "If you don't want to talk about it, that's okay, too."
''I have ... nightmares sometimes." The girl spoke haltingly. "And I wake up thinking there's a ghost in my room. I get so scared that I make noise and Marcia hears. It's happened a couple times. I know how stupid that sounds."
"Not at all," Sara said, the memory of her encounter in the showers coming back full force. She felt her hand trembling and removed it from Kelly's, embarrassed. Should she reassure the girl, or should she tell her about her own experience?
"It's dumb," Kelly said. "I'm dumb."
The comment made Sara's decision easier. "You're not dumb, Kelly. And you must keep this a secret, but I think I might have seen one last night, too."
Kelly's eyes widened "Really?"
Sara nodded. "In the shower room. I heard someone say my name, but no one else was there, and then I saw a white figure in the steam from the water. I recognized the face. It was my roommate who died here." She decided it would be foolish to alarm Kelly with tales of water spigots turning themselves on and the ghost's face becoming demonic. "I keep telling myself it was my imagination, but- "
''Was your roommate Jenny Blaine?" Kelly interrupted, her eyes bright.
Sara nodded, a chill in her belly. ''How do you know about Jenny?"
''Everybody knows she killed herself in my room, and that's who the ghost is. I looked her up in an old yearbook. Wow. You were really her roommate?"
Trembling harder, Sara nodded, unwilling to think that she was sharing more than imagination with Kelly. ''Maybe we both imagined her because we both knew about her," she said lamely.
Kelly shook her head. "I didn't tell you everything. I hear her when I'm asleep. That's how I wake up. And that's when I really hear her, Miss Hawthorne. After I'm awake."
MOON FALL Page 14
