The Curse of Misty Wayfair

by Jaime Jo Wright

  He spoke, and she couldn’t help but watch his mouth move.

  “When they pass, they are unremembered,” Simeon whispered. His carved lips moved with a gentle certainty that emphasized his words. “No one wishes to remember.”

  He looked past her to the table, to the photograph of his sister, Mary, then brought his eyes back to hers. “You have immortalized her on paper. Help me bring life to the others.”

  A stirring shifted within Thea. She closed her eyes, because the pleading in his was too much for her soul. Desperation. Too many souls lost in the shadows of the asylum, in the legends of Pleasant Valley, in the line of the Coyles. Too many stories never finished. A chapter just cut off, with no ending to bring resolution to the life of a person who had been born but whose life held no purpose.

  “I do not want to find my mother there.” Even as the words escaped her lips, Thea could almost see the truth of them suspended between Simeon’s face and her own.

  A whisper between them.

  Simeon’s eyes narrowed with feeling. He swallowed. His hand released her forearm and yet Thea stood rooted to the spot, her shoulder touching his, their faces turned toward each other.

  “I know.” His response was fraught with meaning, and Thea understood.

  The stories she would uncover behind the walls of Valley Heights would not end pleasantly. For there were no happily-ever-afters in an asylum.

  “What a shame. What a dreadful shame.” Coffee poured from the kettle’s spout as Mrs. Brummel filled Thea’s cup. She was joined at breakfast by another boarder. A gentleman of smaller stature with a balding head and a mole just to the left of his nose. Mrs. Brummel moved to his cup and poured more of the dark liquid.

  “Mr. Amos,” she explained to the newcomer. “Dropped before Miss Reed’s very eyes, he did.” Mrs. Brummel hustled back toward the kitchen, chattering over her shoulder, “I saw Dr. Kowalski yesterday. He was quick to say it’ll be touch and go for a bit. Poor Mrs. Amos, what with her arthritis and all.”

  Thea stirred some honey into her oatmeal. She would visit Mrs. Amos. Be sure the old woman was cared for. Maybe even attempt to help her clean or—or something. They couldn’t be left on their own, with grown children miles away. They were too elderly, and Mr. Amos—his portrait studio would need tending. Perhaps that was how she could best help the couple who had, in a relatively short period of time, wheedled their way into her affections.

  The man to the right of her spooned a bite into his mouth and said nothing, staring ahead as if reading something on the table. Only there was nothing to read.

  Mrs. Brummel returned, her black skirts rustling on the floor as she sat down in front of her own meal. Thea questioned whether it was customary for a boardinghouse matron to eat along with her guests. But apparently, for Mrs. Brummel, she ran things however she pleased.

  She reached for the small silver vessel of honey. Her sharp eyes swept over both Thea and the new guest.“Mr. Fritz,” she goaded with a click of her tongue, “did you sleep well?”

  “Yes, thank you,” he mumbled politely, dipping his spoon for another bite.

  “I’m sure you’re wondering why all the bother about Mr. Amos.” Mrs. Brummel scooped some raisins from a bowl and dropped them in her oatmeal.

  Mr. Fritz’s head came up, a bewildered expression on his face. Thea bit her lip to hide her smile. She was sure he wasn’t wondering at all.

  “While we’re all horribly upset about Mr. Amos,” Mrs. Brummel continued while shoveling her spoon into her bowl, “word has it that Edward Fortune was quite put out. Especially with the appearance of Simeon Coyle, who came to Mr. Amos’s assistance.”

  Mrs. Brummel skewered Thea with a very direct look. “We’re all quite confused as to why he was even there in the first place.”

  Thea’s oatmeal went down her throat like a square block.

  “Who is ‘we’?” she countered, aware she sounded quite rude.

  It earned her an appreciative glance from Mr. Fritz, and pursed lips from Mrs. Brummel.

  “Why was Simeon Coyle there? Mr. Fortune stated he was quite unwelcome, and that in his malady Mr. Amos even tried to wave the man off.”

  “No!” Thea’s spoon clattered to the saucer beside her bowl. “That isn’t true. Simeon works—” She bit her tongue.

  Mrs. Brummel’s eyebrow had risen over her left eye, accentuating her angular features. Mr. Fritz had even stopped to look between them, now apparently interested in the little drama unfolding.

  “Yes?” Mrs. Brummel prodded.

  Thea folded her hands in her lap. This was all going very badly. “Simeon—was needed.”

  “Simeon.” Mrs. Brummel clucked her tongue and shook her head. She waved her spoon in Thea’s direction. “Do be careful, my dear. I’m not certain why you would be on such personal terms with any of the Coyles, and it is disturbing, to say the least, that it seems Mr. Amos has business with them. We all know the detriment that can bring.”

  “Detriment?” This time it was Mr. Fritz who inserted a question. He took a swallow of coffee. “I don’t believe I understand.”

  “You wouldn’t.” Mrs. Brummel gave a sniff that indicated she would take it upon herself to inform him, even if it was distasteful to recall.

  Thea wished to excuse herself but something rooted her in place.

  The woman laid down her spoon and folded her hands primly. “The Coyles do not have a pleasant history. With luck or blessing.” She shifted her eyes to Thea. “Their father passed several years ago. A freak accident when he fell from the loft in their barn and landed on a pitchfork.”

  Mr. Fritz blanched.

  Mrs. Brummel continued the story of the Coyles just as though it were a story bandied about like common folklore. “Their mother passed, and not long after, so did the grandmother, Mathilda, leaving behind the three younger Coyles.”

  “And then Mary,” Thea whispered without thinking.

  Mrs. Brummel gave a quick nod. “Precisely. And as I told you when you first arrived, before any Coyle passes, Misty Wayfair is always spotted.”

  For added measure, Mrs. Brummel gave Mr. Fritz a thin smile. “She was murdered, Misty Wayfair was. She dares anyone to befriend the Coyles. Apparently wants to thwart them of love and friendship as she was. Very few have tried, and those who do either flee Pleasant Valley or . . .” She raised her brows pointedly. “Or they die. A shame really. One should never befriend a Coyle.” She gave Thea a long look. “Be careful, Miss Reed. I would hate to see you follow in Mr. Amos’s fate.”

  Thea rested her spoon beside her oatmeal. The feel of Simeon’s breath on her face as he’d pulled her close. The realization she had already fallen into some sort of kinship with the Coyles, if for no other reason than on Mr. Amos’s behalf. And then came the vision of Misty Wayfair, dancing down the street, far less a ghostly vengeance and more a frightened spirit.

  “Excuse me.” Thea pushed back her chair and moved to exit the room.

  “Well!” Mrs. Brummel’s voice followed her. “Too late for that one, I’m afraid. Simeon Coyle has cast his spell, and mark my words, Misty Wayfair is sure to follow.”

  Chapter 16

  Heidi

  It had been a week since her anxiety attack in the grocery store parking lot. A week since Brad had found her at the park down by the river, staring across it and into the forest beyond. A week since she’d pocketed the mysterious note and said nothing—to anyone. A week since Vicki had loaded her down with so many chores around the lodge, she hadn’t time to consider anything but laundry, cleaning floors, checking in new guests, and retrieving extra TP on request. In a way, she was grateful. It was a distraction from the whirling what-ifs in her mind.

  Heidi hadn’t visited her mother once. She’d refused to open the old photo album. The mysterious note left on her windshield was still stuffed in the pocket of her jeans from that day. Maybe she should’ve called Detective Davidson or Officer Tate. Involved the police somehow. But, in the end, Heidi didn�
��t want answers. She wanted to forget about it. To move on. Besides, she’d heard once that fingerprints were difficult to pull from paper, so what could the police even do?

  Heidi snapped open a bedsheet and let the white cotton fall over the twin bed mattress. The cabin had been cleaned from top to bottom, and all that was left to do was put fresh linens on the bed and fluff pillows cased in red patchwork shams. It was the last cabin to be cleaned since the guests had checked out earlier in the morning. It was Sunday, and Brad and Vicki had gone to church. Heidi opted out. She wasn’t sure her attending church would do anything but exacerbate old, hard feelings rather than bring the hope it espoused. She knew it was somewhat of an excuse, but for now, that niggling nausea of barely controlled worries in her stomach told her she couldn’t afford more.

  The sound of crunching gravel and a vehicle’s engine stirred Heidi’s attention. She gave the end of the bedsheet a quick tuck and fold under the mattress before moving to the window of the tiny cabin’s kitchen.

  Rhett Crawford and Emma.

  Heidi studied the handsome profile of the mechanic. He really was something. Impressive, confident, commanding . . . and outright unlikable. But in a weird way, Heidi admired that about him. His unlikable nature was due to his protective guard over his sister, so it had merit. Heidi eyed him briefly before reaching for the door. If her family had shown an ounce of the loyalty Rhett showed Emma, how different might her life have been? She hesitated. If she’d shown any loyalty to her family . . .

  She pushed open the screen door, the squeaking of its hinges drawing Rhett’s attention from the front entrance to the lodge.

  “Not churchgoers?” Heidi teased as she made her way across the circular drive. She hoped her smile more than made up for the way her heart picked up speed when Rhett looked her direction. Rüger, the dog, sniffed the ground and the grass by Rhett’s feet.

  Heidi focused on Emma, whose sideswept bangs and shoulder-length straight hair framed a face that was the feminine version of her brother’s.

  “We go to church.” Emma’s expression matched the sincerity behind her words. “Every Sunday. From eight in the morning till ten.”

  Heidi gave Emma a smile that welcomed her as an equal. The younger woman could probably run circles of intelligence around her, and yet some people were determined to treat those with autism as different. She wouldn’t be one of those people.

  “Church is over, then?” Heidi gave Rhett a flicker of a smile but addressed Emma. That probably meant Brad and Vicki were on their way home.

  “Don’t you go to church?” Emma asked, her gaze direct and honest.

  Heidi probably wouldn’t have even squirmed at the question if Rhett hadn’t been standing there, staring at her with an element of disinterest and vague suspicion all at the same time.

  “I haven’t been in a while,” Heidi admitted to Emma, an apologetic nod accompanying it. She reached down and scratched Rüger’s brown-and-tan fur that flopped between his eyes as he nudged her leg.

  “You should come with us next week.” Emma turned to Rhett. “We can give her a ride?”

  Rhett shoved his hands in his pants’ pockets. “If she wants to come, I’m sure Heidi can drive herself.”

  His words reminded Heidi of the car accident. She hid the twang of hurt at Rhett’s snub and turned a bright smile on Emma, changing the subject. “How is Ducie?”

  Emma returned the smile. “He is good. His leg is healing.”

  Heidi couldn’t help but feel relieved. “Wonderful!”

  She kept her tone even, her words short. Regardless of how she felt about Rhett, his comment that too much chatter would be overwhelming for Emma had stuck in Heidi’s memory. She wanted Emma to like her. For some reason, she longed for Emma’s approval. Probably because she’d almost taken from the woman the one creature that brought her comfort. Heidi could relate. She almost wished she had a dog for a companion.

  Heidi bent to give Rüger a healthy rubdown, relishing the feel of his longer hair, the warmth of his body. Yes, a dog might be just another creature to some, but Heidi could understand why they played such a vital role in people’s lives. They were your friend—unconditionally.

  “What brings you to Lane Lodge?” This time Heidi didn’t try to avoid Rhett’s eyes. In fact, she felt her chin tilt up and a tiny smile tease her lips. Almost challenging him to make her feel inferior or stupid.

  He did neither. Just gave her a shrug instead. “Emma wanted to see you to ask if you’ll play a game of Risk with her again sometime.”

  Warmth spread through Heidi. She reached out to give Emma’s arm the lightest touch, but then drew back, unsure how Emma would respond to physical expression coming from someone other than family. “Thank you.” She captured Emma’s gaze. “I really mean that.”

  For a brief second, something passed between her and Emma. An understanding of sorts. A realization that for all their differences, they were also very similar.

  Emma’s eyes lit up, and she tugged at the scarf around her neck. “Can you come to my house? Tomorrow? Dad is going to be at work, and Mom was going to stay home, but I’d like you to come instead. Then Mom can go to work.” She turned to Rhett, who looked completely caught off guard. “I’ll be fine if Heidi is there.”

  For a man of few words, Rhett appeared to have misplaced the remaining bits of his vocabulary. He stared at Emma. Heidi could only assume it wasn’t her usual behavior to trust someone she didn’t know so quickly. Especially someone as prone to accidents as Heidi was, and the one responsible for turning Emma’s ordered world upside down.

  Feeling a bit daring and rather enjoying the idea of stirring the pot, Heidi jumped in before he could formulate an excuse. “I would really enjoy that, Emma. I’ve no plans tomorrow.”

  She did actually, but she could catch up on the lodge’s laundry after she got home.

  “We’ll see,” Rhett finally said. It was a noncommittal response for Emma, and an obvious no for Heidi. What had seemed a gesture of reconciliation from Rhett to bring Emma here proved to fall short when faced with the reality of Emma’s request coming to fruition.

  “Seriously, I’m fine with helping out,” Heidi pressed, not caring how Rhett felt. She owed the Crawfords—owed Emma—that much and more.

  “We don’t usually—” Rhett broke off when Emma interrupted, surprise registering in his eyes.

  “I’ll ask Mom.” Emma spoke, and it was so.

  Rhett worked his jaw back and forth and gave a little nod, his granite expression locked with hers, and Heidi saw the distrust in his eyes. Every particle of Heidi’s being rose to the challenge. Just as she had when she was younger and her parents—Vicki—implied she was incapable or inadequate.

  Sometimes the best way to counteract her anxiety was outright, reckless stubbornness.

  And if the title of Most Stubborn was at stake here, then Rhett Crawford had a war on his hands.

  Heidi couldn’t blame Connie for being reticent about leaving her alone with Emma. The fact of the matter was, they didn’t really know her well, and leaving Emma with someone untrained to help care for her was a bit of a question as to how Emma might react once the familiar and trusted elements were removed. But, Emma had been adamant that Heidi come, Connie had stated on the phone. Adamant that she wanted Heidi there. To play Risk. So, day one had been a test day. Connie hadn’t gone to work as Emma had suggested she could, but instead she worked outside in the yard in case anything was needed. The second day, on invite from Emma because she wanted a repeat, Connie had ventured to work. She had also snuck home three times to make sure things were going well. Heidi couldn’t take offense to it. She wasn’t a mother, but she was sure she’d have done the same thing. The last time home, Connie’s shoulders visibly relaxed. They were fine. Emma was fine.

  Heidi shifted in her seat again. It was the third day in a row she had come, but she hadn’t the heart to refuse, nor did she want to. Emma’s company was refreshing. The game of Risk, however, was
progressing well—for Emma. The board game was completely covered by her players, and Heidi was on the verge of surrendering Brazil. They hadn’t done much beyond labor over the game, and they had reached a companionable silence. Ducie, with his cast-encased leg, was resting on the floor beside Emma, always eyeing Heidi with suspicion. Not unlike Rhett.

  Heidi was growing restless. Sitting for hours playing a board game had been a blessed diversion at the start, yet she’d never been one to sit still for too long. Now that she’d come as well to collect her emotions and quell her anxiety, Heidi couldn’t help but revisit her mother’s letter.

  She’d reread it that morning before coming to the Crawfords’.

  We lived in a house of ghosts, the letter had said. Unspoken voices. The past and the present colliding with such force, we could only survive by ignoring it.

  Please come.

  Heidi, you are the reason the voices are never heard.

  “Your move.” Emma’s voice split through Heidi’s subconscious.

  “Oh!” Heidi hesitated. Jean, the cashier, had implied that Emma knew all sorts of old history about Pleasant Valley. The asylum, for starters. Was it coincidence her mother spoke of madness at the same time someone had seen fit to leave Heidi their creepy calling card? Officer Tate, the night of the break-in, hadn’t seemed to dismiss Heidi’s claim of seeing a woman looking through her window.

  Misty Wayfair.

  The name scrawled on the back of the antique photograph.

  “Emma,” she spoke before thinking it through, “do you know anything about the legend of Misty Wayfair?”

  Emma blinked, then pulled on both sides of her infinity scarf, patterned with tiny little yellow dogs on a blue background. “Yes.”

  That’s right. Closed-ended questions got a closed answer. Heidi restructured her question for Emma. “Would you tell me what you know about Misty Wayfair?”

  Emma leaned back in her chair and draped her hand over the arm to brush the broad forehead of Ducie.