“Sleep, Effie. Rest,” she whispered.
The hallways were empty again. Thea hurried toward the stairs, her head feeling as if it were too heavy to hold up. Her heart pounding from the shock of the revelation. She was a Fortune! Effie and Penelope were the elusive ghost of Misty Wayfair!
But then who had taunted Thea from the woods outside the asylum? Certainly not Effie, not in the middle of the morning! And why had the Coyles died, one by one, so suspiciously? Penelope could not have been responsible for all that. She couldn’t have! Thea reminded herself that her mother had passed away well before Mary Coyle. Even so, she couldn’t avoid the niggling sense of worry. She would need to revisit the dates of Simeon’s parents’ passings and Mathilda Coyle herself. If her mother, Penelope, had been bitter enough to hover in the woods and watch the Coyles every night she could escape her prison, who was to say she hadn’t?
Thea palmed the wall as she took a step down the stairs. She choked back nausea, holding her hand to her mouth. The stairwell seemed to narrow and then expand. Thea squinted, attempting to see the next stair, when movement at the bottom captured her attention.
Simeon.
He stared up at her, an inquisitive look on his face. Then he cried her name as blackness swamped her vision and Thea sensed her foot slip.
The world built around Misty Wayfair’s cursed life went dark.
Heidi
Kramer Logging. The place where it had all started so many years before. It looked like a modern-day logging company. Warehouses for lumber. A lumberyard. Dump trucks, front-end loaders, trailers, and other strange trucks that Heidi didn’t even know the names of. Men and women were scattered about, busy at their various tasks. The whole place smelled like fresh-cut wood. Heidi hiked toward the central office, Emma by her side. She wasn’t sure where Murphy, Emma’s father, worked, but Emma seemed to be keeping an eye out for him.
The door opened, and a bright office greeted them. The front desk resembled a doctor’s reception area, and an older man sat behind it, eyeglasses perched on the end of his nose as he finger-punched a computer keyboard. He looked up. Smiled.
“Help you?”
“Yes.” Heidi nodded. “I was wondering if I could speak with Mr. Fortune.”
The man choked. “Mr. Fortune? You must mean Ms. Fortune. She runs the company, but uh, well, you realize she doesn’t work from here?”
“Oh.” Heidi’s resolve sank.
“She works out of the head office in Wausau.”
The reference to the closest city, about two hours away, pretty much sealed Heidi’s intention of outright confronting the Fortunes with historical facts and lineage and asking them if they had any idea about their family. She had a tough time reconciling that Kramer Logging would be behind the recent incidents.
“Are there any of the Fortune family here I could speak with?” she asked.
The man hesitated a moment before answering, “Well, there’s Bonnie.”
“All right.” Heidi nodded.
He blinked. “Can I tell her who’s here?”
“Heidi Lane, please, and Emma Crawford.”
The man groused as he got to his feet. “Be right back.”
Apparently, they didn’t have an interoffice phone system. Or more than likely, he just didn’t know how to use it.
He returned a few minutes later, accompanied by a tall woman with a kind smile on her face. Her graying hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Her dress was stylish but simple. She extended her hand.
“Hello, I’m Bonnie Fortune Pierce. Vice President of Kramer Logging. My older sister is the president, so I apologize she’s not here to meet with you.”
“Oh—I didn’t have an appointment,” Heidi admitted.
“Well then.” Bonnie Fortune looked between them. “What can I help you with?”
Suddenly, Heidi was at a loss for words. She’d been so intent on coming here, the revelation of family history. But now . . .
“Heidi is your relative.” Emma broke the awkwardness.
“Oh!” Bonnie’s voice rose in high-pitched surprise. “Perhaps we should go into the conference room.” She led them to a quiet room just off the lobby. “Please. Have a seat.”
Once seated around a small table, the door closed, Bonnie’s face grew a bit sterner. “I will admit, we’ve heard this before. Many people would like to find ties to the Kramer-Fortune legacy.”
Heidi ducked her head. Barging in and declaring a direct-line relation probably hadn’t been the smartest thing to do. She could almost see Rhett’s expression of mildly entertained disbelief if he were here with her.
Emma filled the silence for Heidi. “Heidi’s great-grandfather was Simeon Coyle. Who married Alice Fortune. In 1911.”
Bonnie blinked.
Emma continued. “They had children. Their eldest son had a daughter, Loretta, who is Heidi’s mother.”
Bonnie brightened. “Oh! Loretta! You’re Loretta’s daughter?”
Heidi drew back, surprised at the instant recognition and friendliness. She nodded. “I am. Her youngest.”
“Oh my,” Bonnie nodded. “Yes. I’ve known Loretta for some time now. Several years ago, she came to me and introduced herself. Obviously, she wasn’t after any part of the company, and legally we’re protected anyway, but it was an interesting conversation. To say the least.”
Heidi glanced at Emma, who adjusted her infinity scarf. She cleared her throat. “I didn’t realize my mother had spoken to you.”
“Oh, yes.” Bonnie tapped the table with her fingers. “She did. In fact, your sister—Vicki? Yes, she was with your mother during our meeting.”
Heidi stiffened. Vicki? Her sister who had denied knowing anything about their family heritage? A twinge of betrayal resurfaced. Heidi bit the inside of her cheek.
“Such a fascinating history,” Bonnie went on, “and all of it tied to that story of Misty Wayfair. What a sad story. And what a pity she’s been sensationalized so. Her tale—the stories of our families—is quite unfortunate.”
“You know what happened to her? To Misty Wayfair and the Coyles?” Heidi tilted her head in confusion.
Bonnie gave her a questioning look. “Didn’t your family tell you?”
Heidi shook her head. “No.” She opted for honesty. “Mom is unwell, and my sister and I aren’t close.”
“Ahh, I see.” Bonnie seemed to consider her words now. Caution flickered in her eyes. “Well, I know some of it. I know they long ago uncovered who killed Misty Wayfair. I believe it was—well, they say anyway—Mathilda Coyle. In a jealous fit.” Bonnie gave Heidi a regretful look. “Sadly, it wasn’t anything she should have been jealous about.”
“What do you mean?” Heidi asked.
“According to the story as my family tells it, Mathilda found out the day of her wedding to Fergus Coyle that Misty Wayfair had an illegitimate child. A daughter who was already a toddler. Because Mr. Kramer, Mathilda’s father, believed an affair had gone on between Fergus and Misty, his telling Mathilda might have been a last-ditch effort to stop the marriage. But Mathilda married Fergus anyway. Although apparently her plan was already sealed with intent to kill her rival, Misty.
“But, it wasn’t a Coyle who had fathered Misty Wayfair’s child. Mathilda had no reason to be jealous. None. Unfortunately, it was a Fortune. Your mother’s and our mutual great-great grandfather, Edward.”
“A child? And Edward?” Heidi raised an eyebrow. “How do you know this?”
Bonnie gave a small shrug. “Edward kept a diary. Our family hasn’t published it, of course. The town has fun with Misty Wayfair sightings and—well, frankly it does add a bit of pizzazz for the tourists. Old legends die hard, anyway. Besides, everyone except the very superstitious knows Misty isn’t real. She never was—well, not after she died. But her child was. Her child was very real. Penelope Wayfair. If you investigate the historical records of the asylum, you’ll find more of her story. Regardless, it’s a sad chapter in the Fortune history that we
share.”
“And telling it was never an option?” Heidi tried to control the irritation in her voice. Had the truth been told, the Coyles would have finally had the stigma removed from them as cursed and ostracized. The Fortunes, in all reality, would have a century-old scandal that very few currently would care about. It seemed unfair that Bonnie and her family had let the legend continue uninterrupted.
Bonnie gave her a look of surprise. “Well, I suppose we could. But it’s messy and old and irrelevant.”
“Or not irrelevant,” Heidi offered. The message on her mirror, the note card, the arson, but more so, the strange woman both she and Emma had seen. “I’ve had—sightings,” Heidi began, knowing she sounded rather delusional herself.
“Yes?” Bonnie waited.
Heidi glanced at Emma. The young woman met her gaze, expecting Heidi to continue. “There was an arson fire at Lane Lodge recently. One of the cabins. A woman, she pulled me from the fire. She looked exactly like me, and she strongly resembled a photograph I found in an old album. A photograph of Mary Coyle, Simeon Coyle’s sister.”
Bonnie’s expression grew serious. She looked down at her hands folded on the table and clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “I . . .” She searched for words. “Listen, I know we’re distant relations. And after your mother and sister visited me, well, let’s just say I carefully vet my potential relations. In doing so, I discover many things. Private investigators are quite nosy, you know? I would suggest strongly that you speak with your sister.”
Heidi frowned.
Bonnie gave her a sympathetic look. “Sometimes we search all over for answers when really they’re very close to home.”
Vicki.
She’d known all along then. Whatever the truth was.
Heidi pushed back her chair, attempting to tamp down her fury, her betrayal, and once again that horrific panic that twisted her stomach into knots.
“So you’ll say nothing more?” Heidi offered up a weak challenge.
Bonnie drew a sigh in through her nose and let it out with a regretful shake of her head. “I’m truly sorry, Ms. Lane, but it isn’t my place.”
Heidi nodded. “Thank you for meeting with us, Ms. Fortune.” There was an edge to her voice. Bonnie Fortune was kind, in a distant way, but not in a way that indicated she would offer any reconciliation or closure to the past.
Bonnie graced her with a parting smile. “If you ever need anything . . . I mean, I know the Fortunes may not be known for their past benevolence, still, you are family—no matter how distant. And I honor family.”
Heidi managed a smile in return.
If only Vicki honored it too.
Chapter 37
Heidi
Emma’s cries jolted Heidi into a full-on charge through the Crawford kitchen. She left her phone on the table, ignoring the fact she’d just texted Rhett to see if he’d go with her to Brad and Vicki’s when he got off work. It was time to meet with her sister face-to-face. But now Emma’s wailing distracted her from waiting for his reply.
The family room TV had been muted. Murphy was kneeling on the floor in front of Emma, who sat on the couch rocking back and forth. Tears stained her face. Ducie had sidled up to his mistress, his broad nose resting on her knee. Connie rocked with her, holding her tight, whispering consoling words.
Connie glanced up in dismay as Heidi entered the room and skidded to a halt. The concern on Heidi’s face must have been enough to garner an answer.
“She lost her Ducie scarf.” Connie’s explanation meant nothing to Heidi, yet she was aware how losing a precious item would affect Emma.
Emma released another sob. Her lack of words sent an empathetic ache through Heidi. She eased carefully onto the floor by Murphy, hoping Emma hadn’t taken on her own anxiety after they left Kramer Logging. She’d tried to remain calm, to hold in her mounting hurt and betrayal. Emma had seemed fine. But—a scarf? There was still one around her neck.
“Where did you last see it?” Connie asked gently of her daughter.
Emma blinked and swiped at her eyes. Her rocking increased, and Connie adjusted her hold on her daughter, applying comforting pressure to help ease the anxiety.
“I saw it around my neck.” Emma’s chin quivered.
“Okay. That’s good, Emma.” Connie nodded. “When did you see it there?”
Emma sucked in a watery gulp. “When we went to the asylum.”
Heidi wished she could forget that day when she’d upset Emma by taking her out of her routine. When she’d incensed Rhett.
“I’ll go look there,” Heidi stated.
Connie gave her a quick glance. “It’s almost seven.”
“It’s okay.” Heidi stood. “I can get there and back before dark.”
The recollection that Emma claimed to have seen the woman who’d pulled Heidi from the fire came to mind. She quelled the unease at the idea. Emma needed her. She needed her Ducie scarf.
Connie nodded. “The scarf is patterned with dogs. She doesn’t wear it all the time, but when she wants it, it is always hanging on the pink hanger in her closet. Emma went to get it tonight, and the scarf was missing. There’s no coming back from a missing favorite item.”
Heidi gave Emma an empathetic smile. “It’ll be all right.” She hurried back through the kitchen, snatching up her car keys and phone from the table.
Far be it for the ghost of Misty Wayfair to keep Emma’s dog-patterned scarf from the woman. Heidi owed Emma one. She owed the Crawfords too. She owed them everything.
Heidi’s car slowed to a stop in front of the asylum ruins. Dusk was fast approaching, and for any other reason, there was nothing that would’ve inspired Heidi to come here alone. She glanced up at the line of windows on the remains of the second floor. Emma had seen the woman in one of those windows. The dead Mary Coyle? The ghost of Misty Wayfair? Or someone who needed more explanation, specifically from Vicki?
She wanted to interrogate her sister. That would come in time. Rhett had texted Heidi that they’d talk when he stopped by his parents’ place. Before she’d lost a signal, Heidi had sent back a quick OK. Rhett would know what was going on soon enough.
Heidi got out of her car, phone clutched in her hand. Lot of good it would do if she needed it, but the flashlight app was helpful at least. Heidi flicked it on and held up the phone. Though there was still plenty of light, the woods didn’t help any with their ever-deepening shadows. Heck, she had to be honest with herself. The flashlight just made her feel better.
Heidi revisited the events of the afternoon she’d visited here with Emma. Neither she nor Emma had gone inside the asylum. In fact, Heidi had returned later with Rhett. She would have thought, if the scarf had been dropped at the asylum, it would be lying on the old cobblestone walk. Why had Emma removed the scarf to begin with? A pointless question now. Maybe Heidi would return to the Crawfords’ empty-handed, and the scarf would show up elsewhere. But Heidi had to do something.
She stood on the cobblestone walk, trying to ignore the asylum and the breeze that whistled through the crumbling roof. If, theoretically, the scarf had fallen on the walk, the breeze could have easily blown it somewhere. Heidi began searching the nearby undergrowth, the bushes, and along the fence line.
Some of the cast-iron fence still stood, leaning out from the asylum as if the years had made it tired. She weaved back and forth across the old hospital yard toward the side of the asylum and finally to the back. Heidi stopped. This was ridiculous. The scarf wasn’t here. She held the flashlight up and sent the beam toward the woods at the back of the asylum. There was no way the scarf would have blown back there. No way at . . .
A flutter in the far bushes caught Heidi’s eye. Her insides gave a jolt. Nervous energy and hope all wrapped into one. She glanced behind her to see if someone was following her. That prickly sensation she’d read about in books? Yeah. She was feeling it now.
Heidi hurried toward the flutter. “Ah ha!”
Weird. The scarf
was looped around a fence post, like someone had picked it up and draped it there. She reached for it and paused. The remnants of a trail led beyond the fence. It was more than a deer trail, or any other trail made by animals. It had the appearance of once having been often traversed. Perhaps by patients or staff of the asylum.
She pushed through some shrubs, detaching a branch with thorns on it from her sleeve. Raising her flashlight, Heidi noted a small opening. Without giving it much thought, she shoved down the trail, maneuvering around branches and another thornbush.
“What the—” Her whisper drifting into the woods. Unanswered except by the chatter of a squirrel.
Heidi stared at the rows of gravestones. Mostly half buried by the earth now, but a taller pillar stood out in the far corner. She ran the toe of her Converse over one of the markers. The name was all but lost now, with weather and time having eaten away at the carvings that must not have been deep to begin with.
An asylum graveyard.
Heidi shivered and tiptoed around the stones toward the taller one in the back. One peek and then she was getting out of here. The unsettling feeling had become thicker now, especially since dusk seemed to be waving its farewell far too quickly for Heidi’s taste. Rhett would have a fit if he knew she’d come here alone.
She ran her hand over the face of the gravestone. A name of a man she’d never heard of. The next side.
Penelope Alice Reed Wayfair
Wayfair. Alice? Was this Simeon Coyle’s Alice?
The next side was guarded by an evergreen that had grown up against it, its branches scraping the side of the stone. Heidi shouldered her way in and lifted her phone. The shaft of light touched the first name, and Heidi sucked in a breath.
Misty Wayfair
Nope. She was not doing this in the near-dark, outside of the asylum ruins. Time to grab the scarf and get the heck outta Dodge.
Heidi spun toward the asylum, hurrying her way as speedily as she could along the abandoned path. She focused on the dim outline of the fence. The post with the scarf.
The Curse of Misty Wayfair Page 32
