by Diane Hoh
It wasn’t a letter. It was a bill. For medical care for one Victoria McCoy of La Jolla, California, at a facility called Brooklawn.
Embarrassed, Reed quickly refolded the bill and slipped it back inside its envelope. Then she didn’t know what to do with it. She couldn’t very well stick it in with the fan mail. If she did, it would get mailed without the check required. But if she left it sitting off all by itself on a corner of the desk, wouldn’t McCoy know she had opened and looked at it?
Well, so what? It wasn’t her fault the letter was mixed in with the fan mail.
Reed set it aside and began typing again.
When the sound came again, it was still distant, but loud enough to reach her ears over the clickety-clack of the old typewriter. A rustling, scratching sound. Squirrels, maybe? But not on the roof. This sound came from somewhere in the room. No, not in the room. Below it. Was there a basement? An old-fashioned cellar?
Squirrels in the cellar, was that what she’d heard?
There was a long, narrow window directly behind Reed’s desk. It was flanked on both sides by precariously tilting bookshelves. When she stood up, the brass raven looking down upon her from the top shelf caught her eye. If she had a ladder, she’d climb up it and turn the bird around so that she could no longer see its glittering eyes. But she didn’t have a ladder.
She walked back to the window and slid it open several inches to listen for squirrels scampering across the roof.
She heard nothing.
But the fresh air was a relief, diluting the damp, mildewy smell. Leaving the window open, she returned to her desk, donning her ski jacket against the cold.
She heard no more rustling sounds, only the noise of campus activities from beyond the trees. Tires squealing, an occasional shout, the marching band practicing. Those sounds were reassuring, telling her she wasn’t as isolated as the house made her feel.
When she had finished, boredom quickly set in. Only three-twenty. She could write a letter to her parents. Or file her nails. Maybe leaf through one of the hundreds of books slopping over the floor-to-ceiling shelves.
Or …
Reaching down, she pulled the bottom desk drawer open again. But she found no more notes.
She turned her attention to the bookshelves. She hadn’t looked for the missing photo album yet. Maybe McCoy had absentmindedly placed it on the shelves.
Reed got up and began fingering through the disordered books. The minute she touched them, two or three fell to the floor with a noisy thunk. When she bent to pick them up, one spit out several newspaper clippings.
She was about to stuff the clippings back into one of the books when a headline jumped out at her.
STUDENT DIES UNDER MYSTERIOUS CIRCUMSTANCES.
Reed picked up the clipping and read it. The text, beside the picture of a smiling, pretty girl wearing glasses and a Salem University sweatshirt, read:
Police in this community are baffled by the unexplained death of nineteen-year-old Katherine (Sunny) Bigelow of Massapequa, Long Island, a student at Salem University. Bigelow’s body was discovered on the riverbank behind Butler Hall, the administration building, three days ago. The fatality was at first believed to be the result of an accidental drowning.
Police now speculate that foul play may have been involved, but will have no further information until the medical examiner returns from a seminar in Buffalo.
The investigation is ongoing.
University officials say the student was popular and had no known enemies. She was an honors student, a member of the marching band, and a part-time employee of Salem’s writer-in-residence, Victoria McCoy. When asked to comment, Ms. McCoy praised Bigelow and was quoted as saying, “Who would do such an awful thing?”
Reed let the clipping fall from her hand. Her heart began pounding wildly, and her spine tingled. A girl who worked for McCoy had died mysteriously on campus?
When?
She picked up the clipping again with her fingers clammy, and read the date.
September. Early September.
Before Carl.
Before Karen.
Before Reed.
There were two more clippings. Reed took them back to the desk and sat down to read them. She checked the dates, circled at the top in black ink, to make sure she was reading the news releases in the correct chronological order.
The second read:
There are no further developments in the Bigelow case. Police say they have received dozens of leads, none of which have panned out.
But it has been reported that Victoria McCoy, the writer who employed Bigelow, has been called to the Twin Falls police station several times in the past week. Police deny that McCoy is a suspect.
Reed read on, the third and final clipping:
Twin Falls police captain Erik Lansing has announced that the medical examiner’s conclusion in the death of Salem University student Sunny Bigelow is accidental death. No further details were available at press time.
Although Bigelow’s parents have publicly expressed dissatisfaction with the investigation, police captain Erik Lansing has announced that the case is closed.
When Reed had read all three clippings, she laid them on the desk in front of her to study them again.
“Accidental death.” The girl named Sunny Bigelow had died accidentally.
That should have been reassuring. But there was that added phrase, “No further details were available at press time.”
Did that mean there were other details?
None of the information rang a bell with Reed. She couldn’t remember hearing anything about the death of a student early in the first semester. She had never heard of Sunny Bigelow. But that time on campus had been so horrendous, trying to get acclimated to a new place, a new schedule, rush week. Hectic. If there had been rumors, she hadn’t heard them. Since the death had been declared accidental, there might not have been that much of a fuss.
Maybe there were more clippings.
Reed got up and moved back to the bookshelves flanking the window. She chose the left side and began flipping through one book after another, shaking the pages in search of more clippings.
A thick, dog-eared copy of Roget’s Thesaurus seemed promising. She picked it up and turned away, intending to carry it back to the desk. As she turned she felt, rather than saw, movement above her. She looked up to see the brass raven’s eyes on her face, and then, as she took a step backward, the wings seemed to spread outward, like the wings of the vulture in her dream.
Even as Reed realized that the shelves were pulling away from the wall, that a shower of books was about to rain down upon her, she remained transfixed by the heavy brass raven tilting forward above her.
She took another step backward, her heart pounding wildly in her throat, her eyes fixated on the brass bird. The head tilted toward her then, and as the shelves toppled and came away from the wall, sending the contents flying out into the air, Reed thought that she heard a shrill, bloodcurdling shriek coming from the open mouth of the brass bird as it swooped down, down, straight for her.
Chapter 13
IN A DESPERATE ATTEMPT to escape the weight of the falling raven, Reed dove toward the desk. The top of her head slammed into the heavy wooden wall of the kneehole. Something heavy slammed into her exposed left anklebone. She screamed in pain as books rained down upon her with a thunderous roar.
When the last book had fallen, the room was seized by a sudden, heavy silence, as if in shock.
Reed waited. The pain in her ankle was excruciating, making her dizzy. When she could stand the pain no longer, she backed out of the kneehole.
A cackle to her left. She turned and found herself looking straight into a pair of bright, glittering eyes. Reed screamed and scuttled backward on the carpet until she was at a safe distance.
Wings flapped crazily, another caw, then a shrill, “Get out, get out, get out!”
Poe.
His cage had been overturned by the falling s
helves and the door had come open, granting him freedom.
Her ankle hurt.
It was bleeding profusely. The other bird, the heavy brass one, lay near the desk, blood on its beak.
That’s my blood, Reed thought dully. The bird had attacked her, after all, landing on her exposed ankle when it dove off the shelves.
“Alert, alert, alert!” Poe screamed, and began flying around the room, flapping his wings wildly.
Reed expected to hear McCoy’s voice at any moment, shouting, “What have you done?” Even earphones couldn’t have drowned out the noise of those bookshelves crashing to the floor.
But, though Reed sat on the floor surrounded by chaos for what seemed a very long time, the author remained closeted in her office.
Reed’s head throbbed. Her ankle had stopped bleeding, but was beginning to swell.
It could have been so much worse, Reed told herself, using the desk chair to pull herself to her feet. If the desk hadn’t had a kneehole, if I hadn’t heard the sound, if I hadn’t moved fast enough. The bookshelves were metal, and very heavy.
She sat on the floor, holding her injured ankle, looking up at the wall where the shelves had been stationed. That bird, the statue … it had moved first, before the shelves gave way. She’d seen it move with her own eyes. Its head, its wings, as if it were about to fly off the shelf.
But that couldn’t be. It was a statue. Brass. Not alive, like Poe.
There was a knock at the door, sharp, insistent. Someone called her name.
Link.
“Get out, get out, get out!” Poe shrieked. He had stationed himself on the top of a lampshade.
Reed didn’t want Link to see this mess. He’d have a fit. She opened her mouth to answer, but couldn’t speak.
Why had those shelves fallen?
“Reed! Answer me!”
The door burst open, and Link came rushing into the room. “What the hell … ?” he began.
“It was an accident,” Reed said, finding her voice. “The shelves toppled. They were pretty shaky, and I was going through some books, and they fell …”
“On you?” He was still focused on the mess in front of him. “All of that fell on you?” He turned then, to face her. “Another accident? First the well, now this! Are you okay?”
She nodded, and forced a small laugh. “Yeah, I dove under the desk. Wish I had a video of that dive. Olympic quality, for sure.”
“Mind your own business!” the bird cackled.
“Oh, shut up!” Link said heatedly. His eyes had moved away again, toward the open window behind the desk. “Are you sure the shelves fell?”
“What?” Her own eyes went to the window then, and she realized what he was implying. It made her angry. Why did he always have to think the worst? But … hadn’t she seen the bird move, with her own eyes? It couldn’t have moved by itself.
“Someone could have reached in that open window and pushed those shelves over on you. Just like someone could have deliberately removed the cover from the well. If the shelves were shaky, and you said they were, it wouldn’t have taken much of a push.”
“That’s ridiculous! I would have heard something, I …” Reed stopped, drawing in her breath. She had heard something. Shortly before the shelves came crashing down upon her. She had thought it was squirrels. But it could have been someone in the bushes outside.
No! She wasn’t going to think that way. Stupid, stupid! It was an accident.
The word “accident” rang in her head. The phrase “no further details” from the newspaper column about Sunny Bigelow’s death danced before her eyes.
Reed’s hands suddenly felt clammy. Her heart began hammering in her chest like a drum.
“Where’s your boss, anyway?” Link asked, making his way through the mess on the floor. “Isn’t she here?”
Reed followed him to the desk area, trying to take deep breaths to calm herself. “Yes, she’s here. In her office.”
Link turned around, gave her a skeptical look. “She didn’t hear this? What is she, deaf?”
“She wears headphones while she works,” Reed said defensively. “Probably didn’t hear anything over the music.” But even she found that hard to believe. How loud did McCoy play that horror music, anyway? “As long as you’re here, you can help me put the shelves back in place.”
They had the shelves back in position and half the books scooped up in place when McCoy entered the room.
“What in heaven’s name?” she cried.
Reed, crouched on the floor, gathering up books, turned around. “The shelves fell,” she said simply.
Link cleared his throat.
“They fell,” Reed repeated, standing up, her arms loaded with books. “I’m surprised you didn’t hear anything. It made an awful racket.”
Instead of answering her, the author said sharply, “Why is that window open? It’s very cold in here. And that’s very dangerous, leaving windows open. Someone could climb in through it and steal things.” She hurried over to the window, slamming it shut and locking it. “You mustn’t do that again,” she told Reed. “People do take things, you know. If you’re not careful.” Then she noticed Link and said abruptly, “What is he doing here?”
She hadn’t asked if Reed was all right.
“I’m helping Reed clean up,” Link said, adding, “She could have been killed by those shelves, in case you’re interested.”
McCoy’s reaction was not what Reed expected. “Killed?” she repeated, her eyes shining with an odd, eerie light, “killed?” And she threw her head back and began laughing insanely.
Chapter 14
REED AND LINK STARED as McCoy let peal after peal of wild laughter ring out.
“Alert, alert!” Poe shrieked.
The author’s laughter stopped abruptly at Poe’s shriek. Her eyes filled with confusion, then cleared suddenly. Her face shifted into a calm, composed expression and she said in a perfectly normal tone of voice, “Why, of course you could have been killed. That would have been terrible.” Her eyes on Reed’s face, she asked, “Are you all right, dear? Edgar would be so angry with me if anything happened to you.”
Dumbfounded by the astonishing change in McCoy’s demeanor, it took Reed a moment to comprehend the name. Edgar? Oh … Rain.
“You really must be more careful,” the writer continued, beginning to wring her hands in agitation. “How would I ever explain to Edgar?” Her eyes took on the distant expression that Reed had seen before. “I like it here. I want to stay. But if Edgar saw this …” She waved her hands over the chaos in the room. Then she looked up at Reed and begged, “Please don’t tell him. You won’t, will you?”
“Mind your own business, mind your own business!” the mynah shrieked as Victoria McCoy’s face went white and her eyes went to the floor.
Rain’s voice just behind them demanded, “What’s going on?”
Taking pity on her, Reed said quickly, “She didn’t do anything, Rain. The bookshelves fell, that’s all.” But, remembering the noises she’d heard outside the window just before the shelves toppled over on her, there was less conviction in her voice than when she’d told Link the same thing earlier. “Your mother didn’t even know anything about it until she came in here from her office.”
“Fell?” Rain echoed skeptically, moving forward, his dark eyes on his mother’s face. “The bookshelves all of a sudden just keeled over? Had a heart attack, did they?”
Reed forced a small laugh. “I guess so. Maybe it was my fault. I was looking through some books. …”
Victoria McCoy’s head came up, fast. Her eyes narrowed and the pupils dilated. “You were snooping? Looking for my new manuscript, were you? Well, I don’t keep it in here, for your information! I know better now, thanks to the others.”
The sudden switch in her demeanor caught Reed off guard. The others? Was she talking about Carl and Karen? Maybe Carl and Karen hadn’t quit, after all. Maybe McCoy had caught them “snooping” and fired them, and they’d be
en too embarrassed to tell anyone. That would explain why no one had known they were leaving.
“I wasn’t looking for anything,” Reed said stiffly, and then remembered the clippings still displayed on the desk. She had been looking for something. In the uproar, she’d completely forgotten. If McCoy noticed the clippings, she’d guess that Reed had indeed been snooping, although not for the new manuscript.
“I’ll just get my things,” Reed said, and moved swiftly to the desk. Surreptitiously she scooped up the clippings and thrust them in her pack.
Rain’s voice was stern when he addressed his mother. “Apologize to Reed, or you’re going to have to go shopping for a new assistant again. You know how you hate that.”
“Yes, yes, I do,” McCoy said vaguely, her eyes on the bookshelves. “So hard to find people to trust. …” Turning back to Reed, she said, “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, my dear. It was upsetting, seeing my beloved books scattered across the floor. You understand. You will come back, won’t you?”
Reed hesitated at the desk. Did she really want to come back? The house might be perfect for someone writing horror novels, but it didn’t seem so great for other people. She wasn’t learning anything about writing, or about how McCoy brought forth the dark side of her characters. Unless … unless she had been witnessing with her own eyes the dark side of the author herself. Those mood changes …
It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been warned. She’d had plenty of warnings, and she’d ignored them all.
Give it up now, she told herself. Before something worse happens.
But that part of her that had been drawn to the house in the first place stirred within her, binding her to the house. Don’t leave, it whispered, don’t leave.
Besides, if she quit, Debrah or Lilith would take her place so fast they’d be sending off sparks. If someone from the Victoria McCoy fan club was going to be working here, it might as well be Reed Monroe.
“I’ll be back,” she said. An involuntary shiver slid down her spine. Was she making a mistake? Suppose Link was right?
