by Etta Faire
Resting a hand on her knee, she pulled herself up to a standing position. “You know. It’s the strangest thing,” she said, motioning to the jars with her feather duster. “I haven’t sold any bird repellant since Paula. Not a one. Do you think they’re all waiting to see how it goes with her?”
I thought about that one. That awful bear shifter was probably doing some sort of test with it, on some known bird shifter in the community. I wondered who it was going to be, and what.
“Probably,” I said, not at all surprised by how shaky my voice sounded.
“Damn it. Let’s hope she doesn’t get herself attacked by birds. That will ruin sales.”
I resisted the urge to say, “I told you not to sell that stuff to just anyone.”
The wind chimes rang and Delilah Scott slowly made her way into the store in a green summery dress that probably cost more than my entire outfit, including my phone.
She strutted straight over to the main counter, gently set her brown designer purse next to the cash register and waited for us to acknowledge her.
Rosalie looked at me in a “what gives” kind of way but went over to the counter.
“What can I help you with, Delilah,” she asked.
I realized I was holding my breath. Delilah was a bird shifter, and one that did not get along with Paula Henkel.
If there was anyone Paula would have tried her bird repellant on, it was Delilah.
“I have a bone to pick with you, Rosalie,” she said, never one to mince words.
She pulled out her phone and flicked her finger across the screen again and again, finally stopping and turning it toward my boss. I rushed over to the counter so fast I ran into one of the gem bins, half-expecting to hear crystals clattering across the floor, relieved when I didn’t.
Delilah’s screen was filled with what looked like a beautiful backyard. Flower gardens lining a green lush lawn, a bright white gazebo next to a Greek fountain.
But, upon further examination, I saw that large black dots littered the scene. The cobblestone walkway looked as if someone had tossed tiny gray and black sacks everywhere.
I squinted at it.
She stretched her fingers along her phone, zooming in slightly, and I could tell the sacks weren’t sacks at all. They were birds. Hundreds of them, lying on their backs with their little feet up in the air, same as the illustration in Rosalie’s book.
Some were on their sides, their cold dead eyes open and staring off. They were all along the hydrangea bushes and the top of the gazebo.
My stomach sunk and I thought I was going to be sick.
“This was my backyard this morning,” she said. “As you know, my daughter is staying with me and we were both very concerned to see this. She’s threatening to leave. She is convinced someone is poisoning the birds in Landover.” She leaned into Rosalie. Her tone was cold and serious. “And you are the only one I know selling a special-blend bird repellant to the general public.”
I turned away, biting my lip so I wouldn’t scream at Rosalie. I knew she hadn’t meant for this to happen. But I should have tried harder to stop her.
“We can’t sell any more of this stuff,” I said, stating the obvious.
“Are you sure that happened because of my bird repellant?” Rosalie asked, hands on her hips. “I mean, it’s horrible, don’t get me wrong. But I only sold my special blend to Paula Henkel. One person. Why would Paula Henkel spread her bird repellant all over your yard?”
Rosalie didn’t believe in bird shifters, and Delilah was never going to give herself up as one, so there was no point in stating the truth right now. That Paula Henkel was trying to hurt Delilah Scott, or drive her out of town like Lila had tried to do with her unwanted house guest.
Delilah pulled a sleek leather wallet from her purse. “Regardless, I am under the impression this happened because of your special blend. And, I will not let this happen again. I am prepared to buy every last one of those jars…”
Rosalie’s eyes brightened. She rubbed her hands together and I think she may have drooled a little.
“No, we’ll pull them off the shelf without you needing to purchase anything,” I said, turning to Rosalie. “Isn’t that right, Rosalie? Because we are monitoring the situation, and this is not about money…”
“Let the woman talk,” Rosalie said to me, then bunched her lips up. She turned back to Delilah. “Carly’s right. I didn’t mean for any birds to get hurt. I’ll pull the repellant, and I’ll rework it. I already know where I went wrong…”
Delilah tapped her credit card on the counter. “I would like to purchase not only the bird repellant, but the promise that you will not sell or make anymore of this special blend,” she added.
“But what about the people who actually get attacked by birds and need the strong stuff?” Rosalie asked.
I touched the back of my neck where the tea-tree-oil version still sat. I hadn’t even tried the extra-strength one yet, but both versions were different than the original.
“And with all due respect, Delilah,” Rosalie said, “somebody needs to help those people.”
Delilah put her credit card back in her wallet and snapped it closed.
“W-W-wait. We’re still talking,” Rosalie said when she saw her put the card away.
Delilah pushed a blondish-gray strand of hair behind one of her ears, then looked Rosalie in the eye. “I was hoping not to have to go the legal route. This bird repellant is obviously too strong, and I think any environmental lawyer would agree…”
“Okay,” I said, turning to Rosalie. “You have to admit, each version you make of this stuff is different. Not just the potency, but the side effects. What if we go back to the original recipe, as awful as it smells…” I coughed a little thinking about it. “And only give it to the people who truly need it? Not sell it anymore. Keep it off the shelves and in the back room.”
“That works for me,” Delilah said, taking her credit card back out again. “Do you agree?”
Rosalie sighed. “Okay, but these jars are full price,” she said, putting her hand out. “Let’s shake on it.”
Delilah didn’t shake Rosalie’s hand. Instead, she pulled out a folded piece of paper from her purse and a pen. “You’ll see the terms of our agreement are spelled out. Just sign at the bottom.”
“You had your lawyer make this out?” Rosalie asked, throwing me a look, like this was somehow my fault. But she snatched the pen and signed her name at the bottom of the paper. I looked behind the counter and grabbed a handful of bags to put the jars in.
“Please double-bag up my purchase,” Delilah said. “I don’t want any more birds harmed in Landover, or anywhere else.”
I triple-bagged them, then helped her out to her car, mostly because she refused to touch any of the bags.
She opened the trunk of her vintage green jaguar and I placed the bird repellant in there for her.
“I’m so sorry that happened,” I said, thinking about the birds all along Delilah’s backyard. “I tried to tell Rosalie it was a bad idea, that people were using them as…” I lowered my voice. “As weapons. Were any of those birds… you know… more than birds?”
I couldn’t get myself to say the word “shifters.” It had always been known, but unspoken, between us.
She shut the trunk. “Don’t worry. A little bird told me what Paula was up to. Not sure what she was thinking. There are so many little birds all over this lake, keeping an eye on things. More than she will ever know.” She laughed like the numbers had been growing for a while. “When she came to my house, they were ready for her. Plus, I have cameras all over. I simply watched from my home.”
“They attacked her?”
“Let’s just say she left faster than an unwanted relative at a guest house.”
“But what about all the dead birds?” I asked.
“My dear, birds are very good actors. They’ve been starring in horror movies for quite some time. No birds were actually harmed in the staging of that
photo.” She went to the driver’s side but paused at the door handle. “Please make sure Rosalie keeps her end of the bargain. I’ll know if she doesn’t.”
I watched her drive away, but the only thing I could think about were horror movies and staged photos.
It was time I confirmed my suspicions about the killer and that staged photo from Mandy’s crime scene. And, as much as I hated doing it, it was time I filled Caleb in on everything too.
I flicked on my kitchen light and tossed my keys onto the counter, remembering that it was Lilith’s birthday, and I needed to make the call.
I knew who the killer was, or at least I thought I did. I still needed to confirm things and tell the police.
It was Ned Reinhart. There was little doubt. He had a leather bracelet with a hippo on it in most of his photos before Mandy’s death, and that was the bracelet I was guessing the Lockes retrieved from the murder scene.
After grabbing my laptop and my landline phone, I plopped down on the sofa, prepared to find photos of the bracelet, and to tell Caleb my suspicions.
I thought about the blue notes in the movie and how Graham told Mandy that you had to remind people about the things you held over their heads. Otherwise, they wouldn’t remember that they owed you.
No wonder the notes had been written to be “telling.” No wonder Mandy had been made to look like Alice Wellington in the sorority-girl horror movie in the 70s. Graham was constantly reminding everyone about the blackmail, and he’d somehow gotten everyone to blame poor Mandy for it.
It was similar to the way the police had treated Mandy’s case and her sister.
I set my laptop off to the side and punched in Lilith’s number first. It wouldn’t hurt to tell her before Caleb.
I would just tell her not to say anything to anyone until I had a chance to prove my case and take it to the police.
While I waited for her to answer, I looked around for Jackson and Mandy. The extra-strength ghost repellant was starting to make me concerned.
Rex rustled by his bowl in the kitchen, and I went to get his past-due dinner as Lilith’s phone continued ringing. She’d probably gone out to eat with her big, wonderful family for her birthday. Kids. Grandkids. Probably no paranormal life getting in the way.
“Rex. You hungry?” It was a rhetorical question. He was always hungry.
I didn’t hear him. No dog claws scraping against wooden floorboards or even a whimper, just my own footfalls.
But I’d heard him in here…
That’s when I saw it. A blue folded note on the kitchen counter.
Chapter 34
Making Contact
I didn’t even reach for the note. I gasped and ran straight out the door to my car, realizing last second I’d left my keys on the counter in there.
Lilith’s answering machine picked up, and I screamed into it like a crazy person. “Call the police. Mandy’s killer is Ned Reinhart, and I can prove it! He’s here! Call the police!”
I hung up and quickly dialed 911, realizing too late my landline was no longer working. The killer must have heard me yelling to Lilith.
Damn landlines. It was way too easy to yank a cord from a wall.
A warm summer breeze blew across my face as I let the phone drop down by my feet. Somewhere, in the distance, I heard my dog bark.
“Rex,” I yelled back, making his barking get louder. Judging from where the sounds were coming from, I could tell he was outside, toward the back of the house, somewhere.
I was just about to look for him when my kitchen door swung open, and I knew it wasn’t Mandy or Jackson because ghosts didn’t use doors.
A dark figure staggered out into the shadows of the veranda. Masked, just like he’d been when he killed Mandy. I reminded myself Mandy’s killer was a 70-something-year-old man now. I could handle a 70-something-year-old man. Probably.
Still, my keys were inside, and the fact my dog wasn’t rushing over to me must have meant he was tied up somewhere.
The sun had already set, but the last flickers of light were still illuminating the sky, a reminder that things would be dark soon. I couldn’t stay out here forever, and Jackson and Mandy were nowhere to be found.
“Ned, it’s over,” I yelled, like I had the upper hand here somehow. “You strangled Mandy with a ski rope, then ruined the Camp Dead Lake film because you were resentful about the favor being held over your head. You tried to frame the custodian with the glove. But it’s over.”
I tried to think of a plan, but the only plan that came to mind was just to run around my house like crazy, tire the senior citizen out, and hope he didn’t have a gun.
One hand was behind the figure’s back. He brought it forward like he could read my mind, revealing a long shotgun in his hand.
I realized my plan was very far from foolproof.
I screamed for my ex and Mandy as I took off into the bushes and trees surrounding Gate House, praying my dog was going to be easy to find because there was no way I was going to let this guy take his anger out on Rex.
Branches tore through my arms like they were trying to prove the point that I needed better plans in both my real life and my paranormal one. A gun blast interrupted the sound of cicadas, and my heart felt like it stopped mid-beat.
I looked back, even though I was terrified to look. What if he had shot Rex? Squinting through the branches while ducking down in my hiding spot, I saw he’d shot the tire of my car.
I breathed a sigh of relief until I remembered he had all the time in the world now. Old horror movie directors made the smartest killers. Cut the phone line. Shoot the tire. Incapacitate the dog.
How was I going to outwit a professional and live through this?
I reminded myself that somewhere I had ghosts on my side. And that anyone who hadn’t cut the phone line first thing when they entered the house was a little bit rusty on their horror-movie tactics.
And there was still the off chance I had help on the way, if Lilith got around to listening to her messages and knew who had called her. I tried to remember if I had even said my name.
I watched the killer jabbing his gun into the bushes surrounding my property. If I ran now, I was announcing where I was and the fact I wasn’t nearly as far away from the house as I should have been.
The figure pulled the gun out of a group of bushes and pushed it into another, saying nothing along the way.
I had to think. Was this really Ned? Would Ned be driven to kill Mandy thirty years ago because of the blue notes he thought she’d written and the favor that was being held over his head?
I thought about those “telling” notes.
You must pay for your secrets. You all go down together. She can’t come out because she’s dead…
She can’t come out because she’s dead… She can’t come out because she’s dead…
I hadn’t been able to place that one before, but it made sense now. The one when Olivia’s character found the girl in the freezer. I repeated it to myself, knowing instantly what was on the 1962 film now, even though I hadn’t seen it.
Graham had burned the 1962 film, just like he said he would when the favor was over, but the favor he asked Ned to do wasn’t directing Camp Dead Lake. The favor was killing Mandy.
“I know everything, Ned. And I told the police all about it,” I yelled, kicking myself as the masked man shot up from his crouched position by the bushes and looked around, right in my direction. Another gunshot rang through the air. This time it was aimed at me.
Darn it. I really needed to save my “I know why you’re doing this” speeches until I really did have the upper hand.
I turned around and ran through the bushes again while I heard him reloading the shotgun. I ducked down as I ran, in movie-style fashion, so he wouldn’t see me too easily in the darkness of dusk. The branches scratched at my cheeks and a couple caught in my hair, tearing off strands straight from the root.
I was on the side of Gate House now. A motorcycle was propped on the ba
ck of the turret. At least now I knew how he’d made it up Gate Hill without me seeing a car.
“Alice Wellington was already dead when the fire broke out. That’s why she couldn’t escape. That’s what’s on the tape, isn’t it?” I yelled. “Maybe it was an accident. Maybe you murdered her. But, it was sure good timing. Because the more I think about it, Hippo wasn’t yours, was it? The one artsy movie that launched your career. So different than the rest of your crappy movies. About a kid being tormented in high school. But was that kid you? Was that script yours? You dropped out of college freshman year and made the movie right after the fire. Right after you befriended the film-geek girl who actually went through all of that torment in high school, and, as her mother said, liked to write about it before her death…”
I was totally guessing now, but I had nothing to lose, except everything. “You murdered her. You stole her script. And you killed Mandy because Graham needed a favor, and had Alice’s death on film…”
A favor.
But that favor to Graham was long over with. Why was he trying to kill me now?
I looked at the figure on the other side of the bushes. The shadowy guy was kind of tall for Ned Reinhart, kind of bulky, like he worked out… with kettlebells. And I knew from the channeling that Graham had taken up motorcycle riding during his 1980s midlife crisis. “You’re Graham,” I blurted out.
Even the cicadas went quiet. My voice rang out through the night. It was much louder than I’d intended.
I went on. “Your favor with Ned was for him to kill your wife, and you’d both cover for each other. You didn’t go to the Box Light Motel with Somer even though she had her own room because the motel didn’t have surveillance cameras set up, but the frat house did. And you needed to be on camera for your alibi. It was a good plan, but not perfect, because the Lockes picked up Ned’s bracelet.
“And now, I’m guessing Ned told you he wasn’t going down for you this time, so you needed to fix your own problem with me fast. Because, like you told your buddies yourself, you all go down together. That right, Graham?”
