Onyx Webb 8

by Diandra Archer

  When everything was ready, Beatrice directed each of the helpers to put on their serving mitts and grab a dish. The food was then carried into the dining room—which Beatrice had placed off-limits until that moment—and placed on an assortment of matts and trivets.

  “Where did you come up with the idea to have dinner catered?” Declan asked, putting his arm around Koda’s shoulder as Beatrice ushered them into the dining room.

  “I had to find out if she was any good before I committed to have her cater the Restoring Savannah Foundation event,” Koda said. “I also know you weren’t feeling well, and I figured the less work we all had to do, the better.”

  “You’re handling the event? When did that happen?” Declan asked, ignoring the comment about his health.

  “Right after Dad fired me,” Koda said.

  Declan pulled away. “What?”

  “Yeah, he didn’t tell you? He hired someone else to fill my spot as VP. He said he couldn’t wait any longer for me to recover. I guess dying doesn’t count as a serious illness.”

  “Don’t you worry,” Declan said. “I’ll talk to Bruce and—”

  “No, don’t,” Koda said. “The truth is I’m happy about it. I’m sorry, Grandpa, but I was miserable there. I hope you’re not disappointed in me.”

  “Disappointed?” Declan said as he wrapped his arm around Koda again. “The only way you could ever disappoint me is if you turned out to be like me—old and full of regrets with no time left to fix your mistakes.”

  Koda wasn’t sure what his grandfather was alluding to, but the moment didn’t lend itself to finding out as Koda noticed the overwhelming display of food on the dinner table. “I hope you’re hungry,” Koda said.

  “Famished,” Declan lied.

  In addition to the abundance of food and the amazing aroma that filled the room, Beatrice had executed the seating arrangements exactly as Koda had instructed. Attention to detail was a good thing.

  Declan was at the head of the table, then clockwise: Gerylyn, Reginald, Bruce, Simon Prentice, Graeme, Koda, and finally, Quinn.

  Bruce made his way around the table, pouring a dark red wine into oversized crystal goblets. “This is from the Napa Valley vineyard I’ve got an investment in. I’m interested in everyone’s opinion. I’m thinking of serving it at the charity event I’m hosting next month.”

  “I hope you haven’t invested too much time selecting wine for the event, Koda,” Declan said, allowing Bruce to pour him a glass, though he had no intention of drinking any. “It appears to me your father is interfering with your responsibilities.”

  “I’m not interfering, Dad,” Bruce said. “I’m simply taking my fair share of the workload.”

  “Yes, well in my day we called it meddling,” Declan said.

  “I haven’t gotten to the wine yet,” Koda said, looking over to the doorway where Beatrice Shaw stood watch over the proceedings. “I’m still working on hiring a caterer.”

  “Well, if the food tastes as good as it smells, I may never go back to Richmond,” Gerylyn said.

  By the time everyone had finished there was no doubt in Koda’s mind that Beatrice was his first and only choice to cater the foundation event—even if several people at the table ate very little.

  Or nothing at all.

  Though it was holiday, Quinn stayed true to Graeme’s strict calorie-restricted diet—which was a good thing. Had Quinn gone off his plan, Graeme’s workout would be even more brutal the following morning.

  Koda also noticed how little his grandfather had eaten. And how thin and frail he looked. Which worried him greatly. He would need to find out why.

  Koda also noticed that Reginald had eaten little, if anything, secretly dishing most of the food from his plate onto Gerylyn’s when no one was looking. That Which was the moment Koda realized Reginald was not Gerylyn’s nephew—he —he was Gerylyn’s husband.

  And he was a ghost.

  It was so obvious and yet Koda never stopped to consider it. Reginald was Raymond, the husband who’d been beaten to death by police at a protest rally in the early 1960s.

  Things were getting complicated at the Mulvaney mansion.

  “So, Simon, you’re a publisher?” Graeme asked.

  “Yes,” Simon responded. “Gerylyn’s new book is one of my titles—an enormous bestseller, I’m happy to say.”

  “An enormous crock, if you ask me,” Bruce said as he poured himself another glass of wine.

  “So, I take it you don’t believe in ghosts, Mr. Mulvaney?” Quinn said.

  “I apologize, but I’m a bit out of the loop,” Graeme said. “What’s the book about?”

  “It’s called Solstice Eclipse: Day of the Ghost Attack,” Gerylyn said.

  “I believe in things I can see,” Bruce snorted.

  “So, you’ve never seen a ghost?” Reginald asked.

  “That’s right,” Bruce said. “I don’t believe in nonsense, and I certainly don’t believe in peddling fear for profit.”

  “No, we just peddle land for profit,” Koda said.

  “As usual, my son is trying to make fun of me,” Bruce said. “But, yes, our family business is selling real estate, but at least we’ve made our fortune honestly.”

  “Take it down a notch, Bruce,” Declan said. “It’s Thanksgiving. No one here wants to talk business.”

  “You’re right, Dad, let’s talk about covering our mirrors so the ghosts can’t get in,” Bruce said. “When is this ghosttageddon supposed to happen again?”

  “The event will take place during the early morning hours of December 21,” Gerylyn said.

  “Why then?” Quinn asked.

  “That’s when the solstice eclipse happens,” Reginald said.

  “It’s a very rare event,” Gerylyn said. “The last time a full lunar eclipse fell on the day of the winter solstice was in 1638. You’d have to go back to before the birth of Christ to find the one before that.”

  “You said the morning of December 21?” Koda asked. “What time exactly?”

  “The event will peak at 2:38 a.m.,” Gerylyn said. “However, the records from 1638 are not specific as to when the ghosts will begin to make their way from Loll into the living plane. I’ve advised people to stay home and to cover their mirrors to protect themselves.”

  “Loll?” Graeme asked. “What’s Loll?”

  “Loll is the name given to the ethereal plane where ghosts wait before moving on,” Gerylyn said.

  “Wait, back up,” Koda said. “December 20 is the Dad, that’s the night of the we’ve scheduled the Restoring Savannah Foundation event. December 20.”

  “Then you must cancel it,” Gerylyn said.

  “Out of the question,” Bruce said loudly. “In fact, Ms. Stoller’s crazy theory has just given me an idea. We should capitalize on it. Koda, have the invitations been printed already?”

  “No, but—”

  “Let’s have some fun then!” Bruce said almost manically. “Let’s make ghosts the theme for this year’s event. We’ll call it The Solstice Eclipse Masquerade Ball—have people wear masks and dress up as ghosts to attend. Simon, this could be a great publicity opportunity for you and Ms. Stoller’s book.”

  “I agree. Are there any seats tickets still available?” Simon asked.

  “I think we’ve got a table or two left,” Bruce said. “Single seats are $10,000. Tables go for $75,000.”

  “Count me in for a table then,” Simon said.

  “You should reconsider,” Gerylyn said. “Koda, tell your father what a bad idea this is.”

  “Gerylyn’s right,” Koda said. “I don’t think—”

  “Koda, just do it,” Bruce snapped. “If this silly theory is getting the attention you all say it is, it’s smart marketing. Now, Simon, how about you and I head on out to the deck, drink some scotch, and smoke a cigar to celebrate? Anyone else want to come?”

  “Sure, I’m up for a nightcap,” Graeme said.

  Bruce stood and grabbed the bottle of 1926
Macallan off the bar. “You don’t mind if I take this with us, do you, Dad?”

  “No, Son, you enjoy it.”

  “I strongly advise against going forward with this event,” Gerylyn said after Simon, Bruce, and Graeme left. “Declan, certainly there must be something you can do to stop it.”

  “Bruce can be very stubborn, Dr. Stoller,” Declan said as he slowly pulled himself to his feet. “I’m afraid the apple didn’t fall very far from the tree in that regard. Now, if you will excuse me.”

  Koda stood and hugged his grandfather and then waited until Declan left the room.

  “I’m glad we’re finally alone,” Koda said. “Quinn and I have something we need to discuss—about Quinn’s sister, Juniper.”

  “Yes, certainly. Reggie, would you mind giving us a few minutes alone?” Gerylyn asked.

  “No, it’s okay,” Koda said. “Reggie can stay—or maybe it’s time we start calling you Raymond.”

  CHARLESTON, SOUTH CAROLINA

  NOVEMBER 25, 2010

  Christ, is everyone around here a ghost?” Quinn asked from his seat at the dinner table next to the young African-American man Gerylyn Stoller had been pawning off as her nephew.

  Gerylyn took Raymond’s hand in hers. “How did you know, Koda?”

  “I remembered the story you told Robyn and me on the jet after Dane’s funeral,” Koda said. “You said your husband was beaten to death by the police during a civil rights rally and told us how your parents reacted when they discovered he was black. Then tonight I finally noticed he never eats or drinks anything.”

  “Took you long enough, Colombo,” Raymond said.

  “Raymond, please,” Gerylyn said. “So, what is this about Juniper?”

  Koda and Quinn explained everything, up to the moment Quinn told Juniper she could stay in the living plane and she came out of the mirror and into the house.

  “Where is Juniper now?” Gerylyn asked.

  “She’s in the second-floor guest bedroom,” Koda said.

  “And you told her she could stay?” Gerylyn asked.

  “I did,” Quinn said.

  “Don’t blame Quinn. I’m the one who told them.”

  Everyone turned to see Stormy Boyd standing in the dining room doorway.

  “You told her she could stay?” Raymond said to Stormy. “I’ll bet dimes to donuts you didn’t tell her everything. Did you, Mr. Fancy Hat?”

  “No, not yet,” Stormy said. “But now that your little secret is out in the open, perhaps you’d like to be the one to tell her.”

  “Me?” Raymond said. “Why me?”

  “Look who’s trying to hide things now,” Stormy said.

  “I’m not trying to—” Raymond snapped.

  “I know about the hitchhiker, Reginald—I mean Raymond,” Stormy said. “And the housewife in West Ashley—the one you took less than a mile from here when you snuck out in the middle of the night.”

  “The hitchhiker was a druggie,” Raymond said defensively. “And the woman had terminal cancer. I was doing her a favor.”

  “Raymond, no!” Gerylyn said. “You promised not to take anyone until we returned to Richmond.”

  Raymond shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “What do you want me to say? I was low on energy, Geri. Hell, I was so low on energy I was afraid to come out of my room. I slipped out and took her. I don’t see the big deal.”

  Quinn’s mouth dropped open. “That’s how a ghost stays here? They have to kill people?”

  “Yes,” Stormy said. “But there is a code. A ghost only takes—”

  “Takes? Takes?” Quinn repeated. “Don’t try to soften it. You kill people. And you let me bring Juniper here without telling me?”

  “I should have told you earlier,” Stormy said. “But if you explain it to her the correct way—”

  “The correct way? There is no correct way,” Quinn said. “Juniper is the best person I’ve ever known. She would never even entertain the idea, let alone agree to it. Never.”

  Gerylyn stood and made her way around the table toward Quinn and placed her hand on his arm. “The important thing now is that Juniper be told the truth. It will be difficult, Quinn, but it will be better if it comes from you.”

  Juniper remained quiet once Quinn had finished giving her the devastating news.

  “Say something, Juniper,” Quinn said.

  “What’s there to say?” Juniper asked.

  “I’m sorry, June,” Quinn said finally. “I didn’t know, really. I had no idea.”

  Juniper leaned forward and gave Quinn a light kiss on the cheek. “I’d like to be alone to think.”

  Juniper knew she’d just lied. She had no intention of thinking about anything. What was there to think about?

  Juniper hunted around until she found a sheet of paper and a pen, then sat in one of the large chairs and wrote her goodbye note. When she was finished, she folded it and placed it on the table.

  “So, we finally meet,” someone said from behind her.

  Juniper spun around and saw the dark figure standing in front of the mirror. She knew it was the same figure she’d seen before, only never here—never in the living plane. Only in Loll.

  “Who are you?” Juniper asked.

  “I’m no one,” the dark form said. “I’m nothing. Part of the void, part the emptiness.”

  “What do you want?” Juniper asked.

  “What do you think I want?” the dark form rumbled. “I want you, Juniper. I want your light.”

  Quinn had just reached the bottom of the staircase when he heard what sounded like a scuffle, followed by glass shattering from the second floor above—where he had just left his sister.

  Quinn turned and dashed up the stairwell as fast as his legs would carry him, arriving at the door to the guest bedroom completely winded.

  Quinn turned the knob.

  The door was locked.

  “Juniper,” Quinn called.

  “Are you okay? Juniper!”

  Still he heard nothing.

  There was no response.

  Seconds later, Koda ran up. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know,” Quinn said. “The door’s locked.”

  Koda tried the knob and then took a step back. “Together, okay? On three. One… two… three…”

  Quinn and Koda rushed forward and simultaneously slammed into the door and it burst open.

  The room was empty.

  “The mirror,” Quinn said.

  Koda looked across the room and saw the tall standing mirror on the floor, shards of glass scattered everywhere.

  Then Quinn spotted the note on the table.

  LYNCHBURG, VIRGINIA

  DECEMBER 6, 2010

  Maggie dreaded the first Monday of every month, and not because her boss at the FBI would challenge every one of her thoughts and theories—that was a given, and something she was completely used to now.

  What Maggie dreaded was the last five minutes of every meeting—the five minutes when Pipi Esperanza would undoubtedly ask for an update on the situation with Newt.

  As usual, there would be nothing new to tell. Newt wanted nothing to do with the FBI. He wanted nothing to do with Pipi. And he wanted nothing to do with Maggie.

  Especially Maggie.

  Maggie couldn’t blame Newt a single bit. She had betrayed him in the worst possible way, pretending their initial meeting was by chance, gaining his trust and friendship—which is all Pipi had asked her to do—but then Maggie had gone and complicated things by falling in love with him.

  God, it was worse than a typical teenage rom-com: Hot guy takes nerdy girl to the prom on a bet, falls for girl, and then she discovers the truth. The guy is crushed, but in the final scene of the movie, the girl forgives him and they live happily ever after.

  But this wasn’t a movie. This was real life. There would be no happily ever after. Newt hadn’t forgiven her, and Maggie was fairly certain he never would.

  Three years was long enough to wait.
<
br />   It was time to move on.

  Maggie looked down at the engagement ring on her finger and saw it was leaning to the side as usual. It had been two months since Matt told her to look up during the seventh inning stretch at the Nationals game and she saw the words “Maggie, Will You Marry Me? Matt” on the scoreboard. It was the last thing she expected. The next last thing Maggie expected to do was say yes, but with twenty-eight thousand people watching and waiting for an answer, she had to say something.

  “Tell me about the Grim Sleeper,” Pipi said after Maggie got settled in her seat on the opposite side of Pipi’s desk.

  “You want details or just a topline overview?” Maggie asked.

  “Topline it,” Pipi said.

  Maggie spent the next several minutes running through the basic history of the case, which she’d been involved with long enough to know by heart.

  Three years earlier, a twenty-five-year-old woman named Janecia Peters had been murdered in Los Angeles. An analysis of DNA found on the body linked the killing to at least eleven unsolved murders in the Los Angeles area, dating back to 1985. A $500,000 reward was announced for information that might help catch the killer. The case was also featured on America’s Most Wanted, the perpetrator being dubbed the “Grim Sleeper” due to the long period of inactivity between murders.

  On July 7, 2010, an arrest had been made.

  The suspect, fifty-seven-year-old Lonnie David Franklin Jr., was a mechanic who’d once worked for the City of Los Angeles in the sanitation department. And briefly for the police. Detectives used a piece of discarded pizza obtained by an undercover police officer who pretended to be a waiter at a restaurant where Franklin ate.

  The DNA was a match.

  “I know all that,” Pipi said. “Is there anything new?”