She loaded up the buckets into Chase’s wagon—finally a good purpose for it!—and trudged across the still-dry front yard. You’re not in Manhattan anymore, Dorothy, she thought.
She knocked on the front door, but got no answer. She tried the doorbell, with the same results. He wasn’t home, but she wasn’t going to lug these containers back to the Delaneys, so she decided that she would leave them in his garage. She pulled up the garage door, and was surprised to see his Volvo parked there. Maybe he was asleep. She tried knocking again—still nothing—so she decided to call his office. She would let him know that she had left the containers, and suggest he return soon to save his valuables.
The receptionist informed her that Will was in Boston today for a conference. That cleared up why the car was here—he must have decided to take the train or bus. But it also created a quandary.
She called Mr. Delaney and let him know that Will was out of town. He was concerned—if the water reached the level of the floor, he was in for significant damage. He knew where the Alfords hid the spare key, and thought she should go in to check on the damage level. She was hesitant at first, thinking it was an invasion of privacy, but Mr. Delaney assured her that Will and the Alfords would thank them.
She found the key and entered through the garage. She called out, “Will? Are you here, Will?” even with the knowledge that he was in Boston. So it wasn’t surprising that she received no reply. She went room-to-room, but found little damage. Just a few scattered buckets placed under leaks.
She did find one leak that needed to be addressed. Water was dripping down on the kitchen table, and a puddle was growing on top of it. She grabbed some paper towel and soaked up the water.
There was a folder on the table that was in peril, but when she attempted to move it to a dryer area, it slipped out of her hands and fell to the floor. She scrambled to pick up the scattered papers. After gathering them, and trying to place them in some semblance of order, something caught her eye. The type was from an old-style typewriter, which reminded her that she needed to pick up her pace so that she got back to Gracie before she drove Murray crazy. But when she started to read one of the documents, those plans changed.
At first she didn’t know what she was reading, but then it started to come together. She needed to think fast—she took out her phone, and began taking photos of each page. She then emailed them to Gwen.
She was so focused on what she was doing that she didn’t hear the footsteps until it was too late. “I really wish you hadn’t done that, Allison,” Will said.
Chapter 75
It was a perfect morning as the sun rose over the imposing Mt. St. Helena in the distance. The only drawback was the whole “getting rid of the bodies” thing that was currently taking place. But thankfully, Archie and Joe Jr. were heading up that project.
I had my own business to take care of, which involved sifting through rows of grape plants, searching for an object I threw away. Sometimes you can see things much more clearly in the morning.
Gwen approached, carrying a peace offering in the form of a coffee.
“Did you sleep okay?” she asked.
“Um … no. I’m pretty sure I will never sleep again. You?”
“I could have used your arms around me.”
“I thought it was best that we had a cooling-off period.”
“Listen, JP—I handled yesterday terribly, and I wish I could take it back. But while my words came out wrong, I did mean what I said about marriage.”
I kept looking out at the rows of grapes. “I understand.”
She let out a brief laugh. “No you don’t.” Her expression changed back to serious. “But I do believe in us, and I’ll do whatever it takes. So if you need to get married for us to work for you, then I’ll do it. I’ll marry you, JP.”
I put my arm around her. “Part of the JP fairytale is that you don’t sound like you’re agreeing to a prisoner swap. And after last night I might be re-thinking everything … except how lucky I am to still have you in my life. I thought I was going to lose you, Gwen.”
The moment was interrupted by the return of the two gravediggers. Joe Jr. looked particularly shell-shocked—it’s one thing to have someone try to kill you, it’s another for your own family to be behind it. The assassins were revealed to be his niece and nephew, Nap and Louisa, who I’d met at the movie premiere. I found this to be a shocking development. Gwen, on the other hand, didn’t seem much surprised.
And neither did Uncle Joe, who referred to them as a “couple of sociopaths.” He brought up a time when they were suspects in an unsolved murder of a classmate at their school in Paris. But by the tone in Joe Jr’s voice, it had been solved in his mind.
He went on to explain, “This shouldn’t have caught me by surprise like it did—it’s what my family has been doing for years … just like we discussed last night. Calling on the next generation to enter the family business, and to protect that business at any cost. When that car was discovered in the river, it made anyone with knowledge of that night a target.”
Which made me very concerned for the safety of Poca.
Archie took over, outlining a plan that included the burial of the two bodies on the vineyard—nobody knew they were here, as they had rented their car with fake IDs, and made sure they had alibis set up far from here. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. So this would be the last place anyone would be looking for them.
Archie would drive their rental car to the San Jose airport and drop it off. Joe Jr. had determined that his brother’s spy, Vaz Salvador, led the killers here. So after a couple of well-placed phone calls, he would be getting a visit from immigration.
Gwen and I traded glances, thinking the same thing. We didn’t like the idea of not reporting this to the police. But Archie was a great example of the benefits of people believing you’re dead. And if we informed the police that the twins were dead, then it was unlikely they had carried out their mission to kill us, and it was in our best interests for those who sent them to believe that they had.
Joe Jr. tossed me a phone. “Listen to the voice mail.”
It was either Nap or Louisa’s phone, or maybe it’s a twin thing to share one. When I played it, I heard Woodrow Hastings’ eerie voice seeking confirmation of our murders. And since I didn’t want to ruin his day, I called. He answered on the third ring. And as he instructed in the message, I didn’t say anything. This took all my strength, and a little tongue biting. When the call ended, we were dead.
But for a dead guy I sure had a lot of work to do. First order of business was to warn Poca. I didn’t have a way to contact her, so I took a long shot and called Carter. Since he rarely takes my calls, I was surprised he answered. But his voice sounded much different. In fact, he sounded just like my mother.
“Um … Mom?”
“Hello, JP—I don’t normally answer other people’s phones, but I’m currently caring for Jeffrey, and I saw your name on it.”
“What do you mean you’re caring for him?”
“He had a little bit too much to drink last night and took a bad fall. He has a nasty gash on the back of his head, and the doctor believes he might have a concussion.”
For some reason I doubted she would have the same compassion for me if I ended up in a similar predicament. I also thought that there was much more to this story, but I didn’t have time to delve into it, as my mother declared that she was late for work, and would pass on a message to Carter to call me when he arose.
But before she left, she asked, “Where have you been, JP? I haven’t seen you in days.”
“I’m actually dead, and I don’t know if you know it or not, but heaven is located in wine country.”
She laughed. “It sounds like you’ve had a little too much wine yourself. Isn’t it a little early for that?”
“I’m actually just drinking coffee. Gwen and I flew to California to interview some Hastings family members on the Thomas Archibald story. Then we took a little
side trip up to Napa Valley, and spent the night.”
“Oh how nice. You’re father and I love Napa … it’s so peaceful.”
I made eye contact with Gwen. “Peaceful is one way to put it.”
“Well, you two have a safe trip back.”
That would be a nice change of pace. “Thanks, but it’s sort of a surprise trip, so don’t mention it to anyone, okay?”
“Even your father?”
“Especially him—the whole world will know then.”
She laughed as we ended the call.
I soon received another call. It was from Murray, which was unusual. But I remembered that Gwen no longer had a phone, and he was probably trying to reach her with the latest newspaper drama.
“Top of the morning to ya, Murray,” I answered. “Let me guess—you’re looking for Gwen.”
“I really need to speak to both of you,” he said, his voice serious. So I put him on speaker.
“Samerauk Elementary closed school today. We had a downpour last night, and parts of the building are flooded.”
That’s the big emergency? “Sounds like front page news to me … unless of course Thomas Archibald would happen to come back to life,” I said with a smile.
Gwen playfully hit my arm. “And you needed to talk to me and JP about this, Murray?” she asked.
“Yes—you see, because school is out, Allison brought Gracie with her this morning, before leaving to perform a couple of errands. Also, your little friend Eliot showed up—he said you told him he could come in and intern on his days off from school.”
“Are they bothering you, and keeping you from doing your job?” Gwen asked, still trying to flush out what was so urgent.
“Oh no, I enjoy the children—takes me back to my teaching days. In fact, Ella is also here now. They’re multiplying like locusts. It’s who isn’t here that’s concerning me.”
Ella, Gracie, and Eliot—good to see the band back together. I’d like to think my advice to Ella played a role, but it’s more likely that kids that age just have short memories.
Murray’s voice lowered to a whisper. “Allison was supposed to be back an hour ago to pick up Gracie and hasn’t returned. And we haven’t been able to reach her via phone.”
“She probably just got caught up in something, and maybe her battery is dead,” Gwen said, thinking he was overreacting.
“That was my first thought, until I happened to talk to Rich Tolland. And he mentioned … off the record … that Poca Dohasan was reported missing last night. And then this morning, Lewis Hastings’ wife called from a vacation because she hadn’t been able to locate him. He was supposed to be involved in the installation of an irrigation system at the golf course, but no such system was ever installed.”
My concerns for Poca continued to grow. But I couldn’t see a connection to Allison and Lewis. “So nobody has seen or heard from her?”
“It’s like she has vanished, except that I have confirmation that she has sent multiple emails to Gwen since she left,” Murray said.
Gwen reached for her phone, but remembered that it didn’t survive last night. “I have no access,” she said with a dejected voice.
“Which is why I brought up our young visitors,” Murray said, with pep in his voice. “They have educated me that Allison sent the emails to the Gazette account, instead of your personal account, which is how I know she sent them. It also means we received a backup emails on the computer here at the office. I had no idea how to access it, but luckily the three kids were able to work together to open it—Eliot just informed me that he has forwarded the emails to you, John Pierpont.”
My phone dinged with its arrival. The email contained photos of what looked to be typed documents of some sort. After enlarging the photo, we began to read. And as we did, we figured out who the third party was.
Chapter 76
Allison sat in a rowboat. But this time was much different from when she’d gone fishing with Will. Her fellow inmates, Poca and Lewis, sat on the containers that she’d dragged over to combat the flooding. So at least it wasn’t a totally wasted trip.
They heard each squeak of the stairs, as they awaited the doctor’s arrival. He entered the room wearing his blue scrubs and an eager-to-please grin. Allison could hear Marty laughing at her from above—not as easy to replace me as you thought, huh? She looked up at the ceiling and told him to shut up. Lewis and Poca gave her strange looks, but her pride had left the station a long time ago.
She focused on Will, who looked the same, but appeared much different to her. “I emailed copies of the diary entries to Gwen, so it’s just a matter of time before she sends the police.”
He pulled her iPhone out of his pocket and began scrolling through her emails. “But you failed to mention your location, or how you came across the documents. So the police are probably on a wild goose chase. And honestly, I’m glad Bette’s words are finally out for all to see—I hope Gwen chooses to print them on the front page. The truth will set all of us free.”
Allison chose not to mention that Mr. Delaney knew she had entered the house, and once he returned from the zoo and realized she was gone, this would be the first place he’d look. But she needed to buy time until then.
Will looked to Poca. “But of course, you already know the truth, since you were there.”
She didn’t reply.
“Why are you doing this, Will? I don’t understand,” Allison said.
In actuality she had read enough to have a pretty good idea.
He held up the phone, displaying the photos that Allison had emailed. “I found the diary hidden away in my father’s basement, when I was helping him move to his new place, about a year-and-a-half ago
“I didn’t understand its meaning at first. It started as the rambling thoughts of a young girl, then a large gap in time followed, until more recent years. But the later entries were different, in that they weren’t written out, but typed, and pasted into the diary. I also recognized my father’s notes in the margins, providing his insights to the tale.”
He again scrolled through the emails, until he found the one he was looking for. “You see, thanks to my father’s diligence, and Bette’s sheer will, she made a lot of progress over the years. But when she began to put together what happened to her, it became too dangerous for either of them to let it be known.”
He began reading the entry in which Bette had reconstructed the night of her accident. The story built to the part where Bette tried to save her friend, but ended up going over herself. But before she did, she was able to pull the mask off the assailant. It wasn’t a ghost … it was her older brother, Woodrow!
“Bette’s thoughts ended when she entered the water. But my father picked up at this point with his notes. How he was taken from his home in the middle of the night and brought to the Hastings estate to heal Bette, even though he was nothing more than a pre-med student. He begged them to get her to a hospital, but Woodrow and his father refused … and threatened retribution on him … and Bette … if he ever spoke of what happened that night. Why don’t you tell us why that was, Poca?”
She looked as if she’d be ill. “I didn’t know about that. It wasn’t part of the plan.”
But Allison knew the reason. “Because if Woodrow was identified as the ghost, then it would be assumed that he was the same bathrobe ghost that Thomas Archibald encountered, and he would have been a suspect in his disappearance.”
Will smiled at his star student, before moving on to another entry—this one about the night that Thomas Archibald went missing. “Since they considered Bette nothing more than a vegetable, they often talked in front of her—who was she going to tell, right? One of those times was the day they buried Joe Hastings Sr. on their property, in the plot right next to Archie’s car. They spoke openly of how Joe Jr. was the one who murdered Archie. Bette became distraught and overwhelmed by this news, which is why she wandered off later that day.”
Lewis looked overwhelmed, and Will noticed
. “Don’t worry, Lewis—your uncle didn’t really kill him. Poca was there—she’ll tell you.”
She hung her head. “I’m sorry to say, but that is true. Joe Jr. is the one who killed Thomas Archibald.”
Will broke into laughter. “Can we please stop the charade? It’s right here in the diary—Joe Jr. sensed why Bette had left that day, so he made it a point on his next visit to let her know that he didn’t kill Archie. In fact, he was very much alive! And since Poca continues to protect him, I’ll venture a guess that he still is.”
Now it was Allison’s turn to be shocked. Thomas Archibald is alive? And if so, who the hell was in that car they discovered in the river?
The Poca dam finally burst, “Fine—he’s alive! Joe Jr. and I have been trying to keep him dead for years to protect him from Woodrow, who was going to have him killed. That’s what the night of Bette’s accident was about.”
The room fell momentarily silent, until Poca continued, “Once the Archibalds sold their land, the rumors about the Hastings family took off. My main concern was keeping Archie dead, and the way I thought to do that was to validate the curse—legitimize it as a possible cause of Archie’s disappearance. It would also divert attention away from the Hastings family—as long as the rumors persisted, the story wouldn’t go away, and until it did, Archie would be at risk.
“I went to Woodrow with my plan, and he was for it, of course, as the rumors had grown too close for comfort for him. This time the ghost in the bathrobe would attack both of our families. If it happened to us, then we couldn’t be behind it, right?
“That was the thinking anyway. And to do so, we would need Bette to be the one to represent their family. She had a certain innocence about her, so while the town might be cynical of other members of our families, it would believe Bette when she described what she saw that night. And even though she wasn’t in on it, she was eager to reverse the curse, as she was very protective of her father.” She took a moment to gather herself. “But obviously things went horribly wrong, and I regret involving her every day. If I could take it back I would.”
Psycho Hill (JP Warner Book 3) Page 30
