Ivy watched the girl. She was hooked up to two IV lines, had on her face a ventilation mask. Every five minutes or so a nurse or a doctor would come in the room, check the numbers, check the fittings, watch, listen, write something onto a clipboard. Each time they met Ivy’s gaze with a look of grim purpose, a flat-lined smile that communicated a shared hope, a cold reality.
When Ivy’s phone buzzed, she nearly jumped.
She stepped out of the room and into the small alcove at the end of the hallway, looked at the screen. It was Walt.
‘Hey, Walt,’ she said.
‘How’s the girl? Any change?’
‘No. Are you still on scene?’
‘I’m about a half-mile north. Right near a cliff that overlooks the river. Do you know it?’
‘I do,’ Ivy said. ‘What do you have?’
‘I took Frankie over to where the vase was found. It took her about two seconds to pick up a scent. She led me here.’
‘Anything?’
‘Unfortunately, yes. We have a body, Chief. Looks to be male. By the looks of some of the scrub growing out the rocks, the snapped branches, he either fell off the cliff, or was shoved off. Can’t see much from up here.’
‘Who do we have en route?’
‘Akron FD is the closest with the equipment we need. Their ETA is about forty-five minutes.’
‘What can you see?’
‘Hang on,’ Walt said.
A few seconds later Ivy heard the tone that signaled new email. She looked at the screen, swiped over to the app. It was a photograph of the scene, the vantage looking down the face of the rock wall. In it she could see the legs of a subject: black pants, black shoes. The upper body was obscured by foliage. One arm was twisted at a brutal angle behind the body.
‘Did you get the picture?’ Walt asked.
‘I did.’
‘I’ll update you when we get the body up.’
When Ivy clicked off she entered the room, walked quietly over to the chair next to the bed.
She thought:
I’ll make you a deal, Julie Hansen. If you find the will to survive, to open your eyes and return to this life, I will bring this to a close. I’ll do it for you and your sisters. My sisters. I’ll do it for Josefina and Paulette and Elizabeth. I’ll do it for all the girls who so innocently walked into the darkness, never again to emerge into the light.
Find the light, Julie.
69
The light was perfect.
In the dream she was in the ballroom of Godwin Hall. A string quartet was playing a waltz. She reached out a hand, touched the beautiful silk wall covering. In the dream it felt real.
Was she actually walking around Godwin Hall?
Although she would never admit it to her father, she’d had a few instances of sleepwalking. It was a common enough side effect of Ambien. She’d once read that some people had even gotten into their cars and driven while in a hypnotic trance, which was what Ambien did to you.
She couldn’t remember if she had taken a second pill or not. It felt as if she had.
She had read Eva Larssen’s journal, cover to cover. And then a second time. All the people seemed so real. Especially Willem. And Dr van Laar. Evil Dr van Laar.
But the great revelation was that Eva Larssen was an artist. The journal was full of wonderful drawings.
Detta found herself back in her bedroom.
Then came a sound. A scratching beneath the music.
She heard it again. It wasn’t in the dream. It sounded like a tree branch, a real tree branch, scraping against the window.
Somehow she found herself standing at the window, peering onto the Fairgrounds below.
When she lifted the pane she saw that it wasn’t a tree branch at all. It was Billy. He was standing just below her window, and he was wearing a suit. On the ground below the window were a handful of small white stones.
Is this real?
‘What are you doing here?’ Detta asked in a loud whisper.
‘I forgot to tell you,’ he whispered back. ‘I have a midnight landscaping company. Just doing a little trimming.’
Detta tried not to smile. ‘Not funny,’ she said. ‘You can’t be here.’
‘Now, did Juliet say anything like that to Romeo?’
‘I think she did.’
‘Yeah, well, how did that turn out?’
Now Detta did smile.
‘There’s something I want to show you,’ Billy said.
‘When, now?’
Billy stepped forward. ‘Yes.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
Detta opened her mouth, but said nothing. She really didn’t have a good reason.
‘What are you wearing?’ she asked.
‘Do you like it?’
It was a dark suit. The shirt had a high collar.
‘Is that a costume?’
Billy grabbed his heart, feigning an attack. ‘A costume? This is my best finery, young lady.’
Detta laughed. ‘Okay.’
‘I’m taking you to the ball. You have to dress up.’
‘The ball? I don’t have anything fancy, Billy.’
‘The dress,’ he said. ‘The antique dress you were wearing in that picture you gave me. You look beautiful in that.’
Detta ran to the closet, took down the peach gown she had found in the steamer trunk. Eva Larssen’s gown. She slipped it on. She did not have any shoes that would be appropriate, but she somehow knew she didn’t need them.
Detta took out her pen, tore a page from her Strathmore pad. She needed to leave some kind of note for her dad. She tried to think how best to word this. Her father was not as full-blown paranoid and nervous about her well being as he had been even a month earlier, but he did worry. If he came in her room and she was just gone, he would panic.
Went for a walk. Took a pad and some pencils. Hope to sketch. I have my phone. Text later. Love you!!
Detta quickly made her bed, put the note on her pillow, then stepped over to the window. As she slipped into the warm night Billy took her by the hips and carefully lowered her to the ground. She was amazed at how strong he was.
‘You look beautiful,’ he said.
‘I’m so dead if we get caught.’
‘We won’t be long.’
She looked behind Billy. On the ground, behind him, was a beautiful wicker basket, wrapped in scarlet cellophane.
‘What’s this?’
Billy picked it up. Detta could now see that the basket was full of fruit.
‘My gift to you.’
They hurried across the Fairgrounds, hand in hand.
More than once Detta turned around and looked at Godwin Hall, silhouetted in the moonlight.
It looked like something out of a Hawthorne novel.
70
The deputy securing the Rawlings address was young, perhaps twenty-five or so. Ivy didn’t know how much he knew about the current cases, or the urgency of the moment.
Ivy pulled up, parked her SUV. She exited, showed the deputy her badge.
‘Evening, Chief.’ He pointed at the shack. ‘No one in or out since I’ve been here.’
‘Have you tried to make contact?’
‘No, ma’am,’ he said. ‘Orders were to secure.’
Ivy looked a little more closely. Shack was being generous. The small structure looked to be no more than fifteen by twenty feet. The small front porch was caved in, with a half-sheet of plywood nailed over the opening. Even that was delaminating. The surrounding area was littered with junk.
‘Hang tight,’ Ivy said.
‘Yes, ma’am.’
Ivy crossed the yard of shin-high grass and weeds, sidestepping the rusted car parts. She found a section of the porch that looked secure, stepped over to the door. She knocked. ‘Police,’ she said. ‘Need to speak with you, Mr Rawlings.’
Nothing. She knocked again, put her ear near the door. Just silence. No TV, no radio. No dogs, so far.
She walked around back. Once there she drew her weapon, shouldered open the back door, and stepped inside.
The interior made Lonnie Combs’s place look like Architectural Digest. The main room had a pair of dirty mattresses on the floor. The kitchen sink was piled high with crusted dishes and flatware.
After a brief search she found that the house was indeed unoccupied. Ivy holstered her weapon, took out her phone. She needed more than one person to begin a grid search of the premises. There was something in here that tied Dakota Rawlings to that vase, to that clearing and, in some way Ivy had yet to determine, to the attempted murder of Julie Hansen.
There was little doubt that Rawlings was the burglar she had sought for a while. Scattered everywhere were small appliances, clothing, empty pill vials, DVD players and at least a dozen game consoles in some state of repair.
As Ivy made a note to check the pawn shops with Rawlings’ picture, her phone rang.
It was Walt again.
‘We’ve got the body up from the ravine,’ he said. ‘BCI just did a field print on him.’
Ivy knew what he was going to say.
‘It’s Rawlings, Chief. The body is Dakota Rawlings.’
Ivy looked at her watch. It was just after midnight. It was the beginning of the most hectic day of the year in her little village and there was a madman on the loose.
As she waited for her officers to show up, her phone trilled. She answered. It was a woman’s voice.
‘Chief Holgrave, this is Stella Eames.’
‘Yes, Ms Eames.’
‘Sorry to be calling so late. You said to call if I had any more information. I thought I’d get your voicemail.’
‘Not a problem,’ Ivy said. ‘What do you have?’
‘I talked to my stable master, John Gilman. We went back over the books and he told me that we did indeed get a delivery that day from an independent delivery truck. He said it was a white F-150.’
‘Do you know why it wasn’t logged on your calendar?’
‘I do. The delivery was scheduled for the day before, but for some reason was delayed. John never updated it. It didn’t seem important.’
‘Does he recall what the delivery was for?’
‘It was apples,’ the woman said. ‘Apples from Zeven Farms.’
71
They stood beneath the sugar maple in the center of the Fairgrounds, surrounded by the silent booths and stalls and kiddie rides that were set up for the festival the next day.
To Detta, it looked magical, a celebration frozen in time.
Billy spread a blanket on the ground. He opened the basket, reached in, removed one of the small apples. He handed it to Detta. When she took a bite she found it sweet and firm and juicy. She’d never had anything like it. Or maybe it was the moment.
‘This is wonderful,’ she said.
‘I grew up on them.’
Detta looked down, at the now familiar Z logo on the cellophane that wrapped around the basket. She’d seen the logo around the village.
‘So you are from around here,’ Detta said.
Billy said nothing for the longest time.
‘Okay,’ Billy said. ‘Confession time.’
‘What?’
He pointed at the basket. ‘This was already at your house.’
‘It was?’
‘It was sitting by your front door. I would have bought one for you myself, but I am, alas, just a poor country boy.’
‘It’s okay. I kinda thought that the—’
Billy leaned forward and kissed her. It wasn’t a small peck like he had given her once at the library, but a deep, slow kiss.
When he pulled away he said, ‘We were supposed to meet, you and I.’
‘We were?’
Billy nodded, brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. He then reached into his pocket, removed something. Detta looked down. It was small, delicate feather. A white feather. He gently placed it in her hair, over her right ear.
‘What did you want me to see?’ Detta asked.
Billy waited a moment. He looked at his watch.
‘This only happens once a year.’
‘What does?’
‘I want you to close your eyes.’
‘Uh oh.’
‘Trust me.’
Detta did. For some reason, she felt no fear, no apprehension. She closed her eyes.
Billy took her by the hand, led her a dozen or so steps to the left, toward the river. The grass was warm beneath her bare feet. She found that her heart was beating with anticipation.
‘Okay,’ Billy said. ‘I want you to count to five, then open your eyes.’
‘When do I start?’
‘Right now.’
Detta counted slowly. Her mind raced with the possibilities. When she reached five she opened her eyes.
‘Oh my God.’
At that moment the moon was directly behind the finial on the gable end of Godwin Hall. The tip of the pinnacle touched the moon at its center.
The beauty of it, the perfection, seemed magical, as if it was the work of a painter or sculptor. Or maybe it was the way she felt.
She turned to face Billy. ‘I’ve never seen anything like—’
There was no one standing behind her.
‘Billy?’
No answer.
Detta called his name a few more times. He did not respond. She walked down toward the river, back up the gentle slope. She was alone. Time passed, but Detta did not know how much. Everything had taken on a soft focus, a surreal quality.
Suddenly, a cool breeze swept over the grounds, ruffling the lace on her dress. It was the first chill of fall. In that moment the empty rides and silent booths took on a menacing appearance.
She heard a sound from just beyond the trees.
‘Billy?’
A long shadow drew across the field.
‘Eva,’ came the voice from behind her.
Detta spun around.
It wasn’t Billy.
72
The vendors arrived at just after 5 a.m. and began to put the finishing touches on their tables and stalls. They parked their trucks and vans in the diagonal spaces that crosshatched the outer rim of the Fairgrounds.
At just after 6 a.m. Will opened his eyes to soft sunlight filtering through the blinds, and the sound of a calliope.
Will dressed in his best country innkeeper outfit – LL Bean shirt, chino slacks, suede chukka boots – and walked upstairs to his daughter’s room. He knocked.
‘Honey?’
Nothing. He put his ear to Detta’s door.
‘You up?’
Silence.
Will edged open the door. His daughter’s bed was made. Before he turned to walk downstairs he saw the note on her bed. He crossed the room, read the note.
When had she gone out?
Will checked his phone.
There were no texts from Detta.
73
The music came to her first, sifting up like steam through a city street. It sounded like the soundtrack of an old movie, the kind of movie where the men wore suits while they ate dinner, and all the women wore beautiful hats and lace gloves.
Detta opened her eyes. She was in a field, a vast expanse in some strange, silvery world, a world that resembled Abbeville, but was clearly other. The shadows and highlights were overexposed, highly saturated. There was a forest in the distance, lined with trees that had shimmering platinum leaves. Above them was a bright sky with soft clouds.
But there was no color. The world was black and white.
How could she be living in a black-and-white world?
She turned her head to the right. This image was of a broad field, a meadow with low bushes and tall tufts of grass.
When she looked down at the ground she realized she was not outdoors at all. She was in a strange room that had bright, life-size images on all four walls.
She looked to her left, saw a beautiful tea service with delicate cups and saucers on a mahogany tray
.
When she looked more closely at the cups she thought she had to be mistaken. She wasn’t wearing her glasses, and had to be seeing things.
They were the same china cups that were in their house when she was small.
74
The Fairgrounds buzzed with activity. Every so often a horse-drawn carriage would circle the midway. It began its journey at Veldhoeve, circled to Godwin Hall, and back. The driver was dressed in period clothing from the early 1800s, complete with top hat.
In addition to the stalls and booths and games of chance there was an antique tractor tent, a wood carver tent, a midway stage that promised a variety of musical acts, as well as a milking parlor. In addition, any number of food concession stands promised everything from funnel cakes to fried cheese to prime rib on a stick.
Will had been to a handful of county fairs in upstate New York, but this was the first one in which he had participated, the first one in which he had any kind of stake.
Reuben and his brother had done a wonderful job creating the small kiosk for Godwin Hall. It looked a bit old-fashioned by comparison to the bright colors of all the other concessions on the midway, but that was probably a good thing. If this festival – one hundred fifty years old this day – was about anything, it was about a reverence for the past.
The fair was set to open at 10 a.m., and by nine-thirty Will had everything in place. He strolled the north side of the Fairgrounds, stopping to chat with a few of the vendors. Every so often he would scan the crowd looking for Detta. As he made his way around the far end of the midway he decided to poke his nose into the library and see if she was there.
She was not. In fact, he was told that the library would be closed for the day.
He typed up a text and sent it off. He found himself staring at his phone, waiting for a reply. His daughter usually texted back within seconds, as did almost everyone her age. After a full minute he began to type a follow-up text, then stopped himself. He was needlessly worrying. She’d left him a note, she was responsible, and he really had nothing to worry about.
Still, it was with a slight sense of unease that he returned to the Godwin Hall booth at the Appleville Festival, stepped behind the counter, and officially opened for business.
Murder Scene Page 29
