“The killer was dressed up like a scarecrow. He almost killed me,” Thomas admitted. “Luckily, Jezebel fired at him and scared him away.”
“What?” Eve shouted into the phone. “You could have died! Thomas, what on earth were you doing?”
“I thought confronting the killer would give Morris a chance to get away,” Thomas said. “As it turns out, he was already dead.”
There was a small pause on the line.
“How could you do something so foolish? Now this psycho knows who you are!”
Thomas could see a pair of headlights approaching the newspaper office. He held the phone against his ear and mouthed a disheartened protest while peering out of the window blinds. “This isn’t the first time I’ve put myself in danger for a story. You know that.”
The car belonged to the sheriff. Thomas gathered his things, heading out to meet Jezebel as he continued to talk to Eve.
“Sorry,” he mouthed to Jezebel when he got outside.
“No problem,” she said, allowing him to walk alongside her on the sidewalk.
“Listen, I have to go. The sheriff needs me. Thanks for your help.”
“Thomas Brooks,” Eve retorted angrily. “Don’t you dare cut me off—”
He hung up and slid the phone into his pocket. Leaving their cars behind, the pair walked in the direction of Dina’s Coffee Diner.
“Sorry again,” he said. “That was a friend.”
“Didn’t sound friendly to me,” Jezebel replied. She looked amused. “It’s nice to see that I’m not the only person you don’t get along with.”
“Actually, that was my ex-girlfriend. Compared to you, she’s an angel.”
Jezebel punched him in the shoulder. Thomas couldn’t tell if the action was meant to be playful; it actually hurt his shoulder.
“Thanks for the compliment. How long has it been since you two split up? It sounded like you were talking about the case.”
“Eve works for my old paper,” Thomas confessed. “That’s how we met. She’s helped me out lately with some searches involving the murders.”
“That’s how you keep one step ahead. It must be good to be friendly with an ex.”
“To be honest, we haven’t been on friendly terms for a long time now. We’ve hardly talked since we broke up. Things ended badly between us.”
“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
“It’s no problem. I’m sure you’ve had similar experiences.”
“Not really,” she muttered.
Thomas opened the door to the diner, and the two walked inside, greeted by the pleasant aroma of coffee.
“While we’re being truthful, I haven’t really dated all that much, even before I became sheriff. And now, with all of my duties, I really don’t have time for it.”
Thomas took a seat across from Jezebel. He noticed her lay a book down on the table.
“What’s that?” he asked curiously. He pointed to the book, which appeared to be a black photo album.
“These are pictures I found at the Daniels Farm,” she said, opening the album. “In case you can’t identify the person with Jeffrey Daniels in the photos here, the man is Gary Davis. When he was younger, that is. They were friends, which explains the connection between them, if not their connection to the killer. Notice this third individual in these four photographs? His name is Rick Pepper.”
“Should I recognize him?”
“Probably not. Like Gary Davis, he went to school here in Gray Hollow. He was known for being a very violent bully, so much so he almost got kicked out of high school once.”
“What does that have to do with the murders? Being in the same old photo doesn’t make Rick Pepper a killer.”
“Maybe not,” she said. “That’s not the end of the story. One of the people Rick used to bully more than anyone was Salem Alistair.”
“Again with Salem Alistair,” Thomas said. “I looked up the story, just like you said. What is with the fascination around his disappearance?”
“Remember the scarecrow we found at the house of Gary Davis? I showed you a picture of it? Salem Alistair designed it.”
Thomas was taken aback. He had been prepared to tell her he believed the scarecrow was related to Gray Hollow’s pagan history. Now he was even more confused than ever.
“How can you be sure?”
“Salem was my age. He was . . . different and got picked on a lot. His parents’ farm was the largest in the town, and they had a big problem with crows. Salem built scarecrows to scare the birds away. At first no one thought anything of it, but the scarecrows were so enormously successful that other farmers began offering to pay him to make them scarecrows as well. We’re not talking generic scarecrows either. Salem’s creations were monstrous. Their grotesque appearance was matched only by their collective success in frightening away the crows.”
“So you think this bully, Rick Pepper, might be responsible for Salem’s disappearance? Now he is killing his old friends, dressed in a scarecrow costume? That’s hard to believe, Jezebel. I mean, for goodness sake, this kid’s body was never found. He could still be alive for all we know. Maybe Salem even came back to Gray Hollow for a little revenge. Were Gary Davis and Jeffrey Daniels bullies, too?”
“Gary was. I’m not sure about Jeffrey Daniels. And you’re wrong about Salem. Even if he did survive, the Salem Alistair I knew couldn’t hurt a fly. He was very kind and gentle. He loved animals. Salem said he could hear their feelings.”
Thomas raised an eyebrow. “You seem to know an awful lot about him. It doesn’t sound like you learned all this from the town gossip.”
“When we were little kids, I lived close to the Alistair farm. After my parents separated, my dad continued living in his old place until he died in a tractor accident a few years ago. Salem and I used to be friends. When I got older, it was harder. None of my other friends liked Salem because he wasn’t like everyone else. In retrospect, I wish I had tried to be closer to him. He didn’t have any other friends. I did try to stick up for him whenever I saw anyone harassing him.”
“Sounds like you feel you didn’t do enough,” Thomas said. Suddenly, he thought he knew the reason why Jezebel Woods went into police work.
“You’re right.” Jezebel looked away. “That year in high school, anyone could see Salem was having a really tough time. Instead of reaching out to him, I pulled back. Then he was gone. The police said they never found out what happened, but in my dreams I could see him all the time. He didn’t run away, Thomas. Someone killed him. And I could have done something.”
“Jezebel, there is nothing you could have done,” Thomas said. He leaned over the table, putting a hand on her shoulder. “You were just a teenager.”
“If I’d said something—anything—he might still be alive today. Now someone is leaving scarecrows behind at murder scenes. They’re taunting us.”
Jezebel thinks this could be her chance to seek justice for Salem Alistair, Thomas thought. She’s probably right. If Jeffrey Daniels or his friend, Gary Davis, knew who murdered Salem Alistair, the killer would have good reason to want them dead.
Thomas wasn’t convinced the killer was Rick Pepper, but Jezebel’s lead was as good as any.
“So what do you want to do next?” Thomas asked. “I’m completely on board with you on this. You’re not going to have to go through this alone.” Despite the assistance of her two deputies, Thomas had already figured out that she was severely understaffed, similar to his situation at the newspaper.
“Thank you,” she said, smiling again. “Maybe you’re a better man than I gave you credit for. When we finish here, I think we both need a good night’s sleep. Then I suggest we meet in the morning, track down Rick Pepper, and see where that leads.”
“Good,” Thomas replied. “In the meantime, I would like to hear everything else you know about Salem Alistair and his disappearance.”
“Fine,” she said. “But you’re in for a long story.”
&nbs
p; Part Two
Salem Alistair
Chapter Thirteen
1987
It was a typical fall day in Gray Hollow. Cool October winds swept over the orange-colored leaves remaining on the trees, and farmers all across town bailed hay in preparation for the winter season. Halloween was approaching, which as always prompted a wave of excitement throughout the town.
Jezebel Woods was excited, too. As the teenage girl hurriedly threw open the door to her house, she didn’t bother to remove her shoes before crossing over the white carpet. If not for the music in her ears from the cassette player she got last Christmas, Jezebel would still be able to hear the loud sounds of her peers on the school bus as it passed the two-story home. She paused and inhaled the rich aroma of freshly baked cakes in the kitchen.
Mom must have just left for work, she thought. Jezebel toyed with the idea of sneaking down to sample some of Emma Woods’ work. Since her parents’ marriage deteriorated, Jezebel had watched her mom struggle to keep them afloat financially. The paltry sum Emma received from her former husband in alimony and child-support was hardly enough to make payments on the new house. In fact, Jezebel once heard her mom speak to someone on the phone about possibly having to sell the house if business didn’t pick up.
Jezebel knew her mom kept quiet about her difficulties so that she wouldn’t alarm her daughter, but she wished her mother would open up to her. She didn’t want her mom to worry so much. Outwardly, Emma Woods was a constant optimist, always saying that her pastry business would pick up soon. Unfortunately, it had been ‘soon’ for almost a year now. Jezebel loved living in the new house, especially given its proximity to town. She vowed that if her mother ever forced her to leave, she would buy a house just like it when she left Gray Hollow.
As she danced down the hall, Jezebel quickly forgot about her mother’s financial woes while dwelling on the anticipation of Halloween. Although she hadn’t enjoyed Halloween since she was a child, she knew this year would be different.
My first high school party, Jezebel thought, almost singing the words in her mind. Along with most of her friends, she had been invited to a Halloween bonfire out by Cavern Lake. She never thought she would get the invitation. For one thing, the party was Friday night, just one day away. The prospect was exhilarating. Finally she had something to do other than bemoaning the lack of things to do in Gray Hollow.
Jezebel removed the cassette tape from the player and searched for another artist. She saw the bright blue truck pull into the driveway from her upstairs window, and she groaned inwardly. Jezebel remembered that she’d promised to help her father pick up hay bales for the horses. Her plans to call her friends and talk about the party were instantly dashed. The horn honked loudly. Through the blinds, Jezebel could see her father staring up at the closed window.
“I’m coming!” she shouted down, delving into her dresser drawers for an old pair of jeans. Jezebel kicked off her sneakers and grabbed a pair of gray boots on her way out the door. She thought about leaving a note for her mother but decided against it, hoping she would be finished before her mother returned home.
“It’s about time you got your butt down here,” Buck Woods said when she climbed into his truck. “I didn’t want to come in after you in these clothes, not with your mother’s obsession with cleanliness.” He stuffed a wad of chewing tobacco in his mouth.
Jezebel sighed, disgusted by the gross habit. She didn’t respond. She knew the real reason he didn’t want to go inside was that her parents still didn’t get along very well. It didn’t help that Buck was largely absent from Jezebel’s life, which led Judge Jeremiah Underhill to rule against giving him custody of the girl when the couple first split up. Although she loved her father, Jezebel was all too aware of his flaws. A rough man with a tendency toward outbursts of temper, Buck Woods was not easy to live with. The only thing the two really shared in common was their mutual love of riding horses, which seemed to bring out a gentler side of her father.
Jezebel gazed outside as the truck left the suburb. Gray Hollow was alive with activity. Buck slowed to allow a few pedestrians to cross the road. Eventually, the truck left the buildings behind for the soothing sights and sounds of nature in the countryside.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” her father asked as they continued down the winding road. “I rarely get to see you enough as it is.”
“What do you want me to say?” Jezebel asked, turning to face him.
Buck paused, as if deep in thought. “You know, I hadn’t really thought about that,” he said with a chuckle. He grabbed a spit cup for his tobacco. “How’re you doing in school?”
“All As and Bs, same as when you asked me three weeks ago,” she answered flatly.
“Wow. I don’t know where you got those brains from, but you sure didn’t get them from me.”
You said that last time, too. Wisely, Jezebel chose not to say it out loud. She knew her father meant well, and she didn’t want to start a fight.
“I already pulled the wagon in next to the barn before I picked you up, so we don’t have to stop by the house,” Buck said. He pulled the truck onto the familiar gravel road leading to the Alistair Farm. Like many small farmers in the area, Jezebel’s father purchased a lot of his hay from the large Alistair Farm. When Joshua Alistair ran the farm years ago, it was the most profitable farm in the entire
community. Joshua and his wife, Bethany, died in a car accident a few years ago, leaving control of the farm to Joshua’s aunt, Cornelia, and their fortune to their young son, Salem.
When the blue truck reached the barn, the pair could see a tall, elderly woman standing in front of the hayloft with her arms crossed. She wore a plain dress, which waved about by the wind, and a severe expression on her face. Cornelia Alistair approached Buck as they got out of the truck.
“Buck Woods, I thought I told you that you can’t have the rest of the hay until you pay for it.”
“Cornelia, when I have the rest of the money I’ll give it to you,” Jezebel’s father protested. “Right now, I need the hay for my horses.”
“That’s not my concern,” Cornelia said. Her arms remained crossed.
“Jezebel,” her father said. “Why don’t you wait in the truck while Ms. Alistair and I discuss this?”
Instead of obeying her dad, Jezebel walked off into the large field. She closed her eyes and stretched her arms out toward the warm sun. With her father and Cornelia far behind, she smiled as she passed a hill overlooking the cornfield. The tall grasses of the field were still a vibrant green, and everything on the farm seemed filled with life.
Ahead, she saw a teenage boy in the pasture. He was walking alongside a white fence. His eyes lit up when he saw her.
“Jezzie?” A wide smile formed on his face. He ran over to her.
“Hi, Salem,” she said, scratching the back of her neck. Salem, who was unusually tall for his age, looked down at her like he was surprised with an early Christmas.
“Hello,” he replied. In addition to being extremely tall, Salem was also very thin. He was so thin that the kids at school had given him the nickname ‘scarecrow.’ It didn’t help that it was well known that Salem built scarecrows for fun. No one dared call him that around Jezebel, however.
“What are you doing here?” he asked her.
She joined him on his walk. Salem’s thick black hair was disheveled, like he hadn’t combed it in days.
“You know, the usual. Dad is buying some hay from your aunt, and he asked me to come along.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” Salem said. “I saw you the other day at school,” he added quickly. “I tried to wave at you, but I guess you didn’t see me.”
“Sorry. I guess I was too busy to notice.” Jezebel looked away quickly, blushing. She had indeed seen and heard Salem. She suddenly felt guilty for lying to him. “What’s that?” Jezebel asked. She pointed to his right arm, where Salem kept his fist in a ball.
“It’s a secret. Would you lik
e to see?”
“Sure,” she said, a bit curious.
“Then you’ll have to catch me!” he said, running into the field while cradling whatever was in his hand. Jezebel watched him with a look of bewilderment.
“Salem, I’m not going to chase you!” she called after him. He gave no sign of having heard her. “Fine,” she muttered with a shake of her head. She chased him through the field and easily gained on the tall boy. The grasses and weeds brushed alongside her legs as she followed him to the edge of the cornfield.
“Caught you,” she said when Salem stopped, out of breath. Even when they were children, Salem had suffered from severe asthma. Panting, he held out his hand. Two pinkish worms crawled across a grainy clump of dirt.
“Worms? Why on earth do you have worms?”
They both laughed. Salem knelt down silently in the cool grass outside the cornfield. With his left hand, he formed a small hole in the soil. Then he steadily lowered the two worms into the hole, smoothed dirt over the top, and wet the mud with spit.
“It’s for the birds,” he said, walking over to the hill. She joined him underneath the calming shade of a big oak tree.
“Salem, I don’t think—”
“Watch,” he said, holding a finger up to his mouth. Only a few seconds later, a blue-colored bird swooped down from the sky and pecked at the soil.
“Salem, that was amazing,” Jezebel said. “How did you know to do that?”
“The bird likes it,” he shrugged. “Didn’t you hear it chirping when we were in the field?”
“No,” Jezebel replied. She wasn’t sure if he was teasing her.
“It was saying it was hungry.”
“You can’t know what birds are saying, silly,” she said, gently punching him in the shoulder.
“You can if you listen hard enough,” he replied softly. He looked at her with deep green eyes. “I’m not very good at it, but I’m getting better.”
Before Jezebel could respond, a large black crow flew out of the nearby forest. It plummeted down from the sky and spread its wings menacingly in front of the blue bird, which took off into the sky. The crow watched the two humans and picked the worms out of the soil.
The Keeper of the Crows Page 16
