Dreamcatcher sacrifice, p.29
Dreamcatcher: Sacrifice, page 29
Some choices were worth making.
Strange, she thought, how just a year ago I was in the middle of the worst crisis of my life—my life in shambles, no idea where I was going. I knew Thomas as a lawyer, but I’d never even met Cora. Now look at me. Sending lavender envelopes and managing the Wilton House with Amy. Life certainly is full of surprises.
There was a crisp, early morning chill in the air, and she was glad she’d brought a long-sleeved T-shirt and leggings for sleeping.
On the nearby oversized cushioned chair, Cora lay curled in a semifetal position under a cotton blanket, her head propped on the broad arm of the chair, her half-closed lids gazing out into space.
The lashes slowly blinked, and Katy realized that Cora was awake.
Katy had convinced the pregnant woman that she should take a warm, relaxing bath before they had a late-night snack of fruit and settled into their respective spots for the night. Then Katy, with a devotional book she’d been reading, and Cora, with her notes on Madame Chen, each read until around midnight when they both drifted off to sleep.
Solomon had expressed his distaste for the intruder by retreating up the stairs just after the women had made their makeshift beds and refused to share their peach slices. When she went up to check on him later, Cora found him keeping sentry at the foot of Jane’s bed, pouting amid the stuffed animals and toys.
Curled and purring, the feline showed no inclination to follow Cora back down the stairs, although she knew he’d come running quickly enough when she opened his food container in the morning.
She scratched him between the ears and forgave his grumpy mood.
After all, she thought, he’s missing Jane and Marjorie too. I’m a poor substitute for blind adoration and stinky cat treats.
The two women were lying there in companionable silence when Cora’s cell phone blared out shrilly from its charger on the side table.
“Hello,” Cora said, without checking the caller ID. She pushed her dangling dark hair out of her face and struggled to sit up. “Hello?”
Katy didn’t want Cora to think she was eavesdropping, so she wrapped herself in the afghan and went into the kitchen to put on the teapot.
When she returned with cups of steaming herbal tea, she could see that Cora was quite clearly disturbed.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Katy said, placing the floral cup carefully on the table at the older woman’s elbow. “It’s none of my business, of course.”
Cora fought back tears as she considered her options.
There were precious few people with whom she had ever shared her dreams.
Charlie, Thomas, Marjorie. And Dr. Floyd, the only one who had ridiculed them for what Cora knew they were. For what Inola Walker knew they were.
Walker was a gifted profiler too. A woman who had been able to connect the dots between Charlie’s ability to solve impossible crimes and Cora’s visions. A woman who understood about faith and the gift of sight—and had pledged herself to keep Cora’s secrets from being exploited and misused.
Last night James told her what to do. To trust others. Trust Katy. She took a breath and decided.
“That was Ed Brackett,” Cora said simply. “He’s kidnapped Thomas, and he’s holding him until I come to him.”
Katy sat down on the edge of the love seat and folded her quivering hands.
“Ed Brackett? Who is he?” she said.
“Someone I helped put away years ago. I think he wants to kill us both,” Cora said plainly. There was no reason to pull any punches with Katy. “He told me that they were in a place where he could see me coming—and if I come with anyone, he’ll kill Thomas as soon as he sees us.”
“Do you believe him?”
“Yes,” Cora said, swallowing her fear. “I believe he will do what he says.”
“Then we need to call Ben.”
Katy tried to reach for her phone, but Cora stopped her hand.
Here’s the part where I trust you, she thought. Here’s where I confirm the rumors and invite you into my deepest secrets.
“Katy,” she said, “there’s more. I need to tell you something you may not accept and you certainly won’t understand—but I need your help, and I need you to trust that I know what I’m doing.”
Katy squeezed Cora’s hand in return.
“Of course,” she said bravely. “That’s why I came. Tell me exactly what you want me to do.”
Chapter 77
A little over five hundred miles away, Charlie’s faded blue Volkswagen was making a final turn down the gravel driveway to his most infamous former crime scene.
Jim, perspiration gathering on his forehead both from the increasing heat and the confines of the front passenger seat, was oddly composed.
Jim got up extra early to enjoy the breakfast buffet to its fullest. Charlie had shown up right on time without attempting to help himself to the fruit bowl. Everyone was satisfied, including the watchful attendant.
“Where are we going?” Jim asked pleasantly, adjusting his sunglasses. His cell phone had dropped to two bars, and it seemed like hours since they left New Orleans and headed north into the sparsely populated countryside.
“It’s an old homestead,” Charlie explained. “Past Algonac State Park and the St. Clair River. The house is condemned. All the value is in the land. Acres of land.”
“Is that where—”
“Where Cora was buried,” Charlie finished, rolling his shoulders to release the pent-up tension. “In the basement of the dilapidated house.”
“I didn’t think there were basements around here, what with the water table and all. Isn’t there a danger of flooding?”
Charlie nodded. Trust the Rookie to do his homework.
“It’s uncommon to dig basements, but it does happen. Some turn-of-the-century houses have unfinished areas under the main floor, mostly dirt and used for storage. Chance of flooding, so there was never a question of anyone living down there or finishing it for human habitation. The bare floor made it easier to dig the shallow grave. Only about four feet or so deep. Cora fell down the stairs and someone rolled her into a makeshift coffin—a wooden packing crate lined with blankets to keep out the dirt.”
Jim couldn’t think of anything to say. He’d never seen Charlie quite so willing to talk about himself, or Cora. Listening seemed like a golden opportunity to hear a story he might never have the chance to hear again, although he did feel a bit like he was eavesdropping on a private conversation.
“She got the call in the middle of the afternoon,” Charlie continued, his voice fading and far away. He set the brake on the Volkswagen and stared out the window at the yard around the house.
As he talked, Jim’s mind began to wander. Despite his best intentions, the gloom and foreboding of his surroundings filled his mind with his own fears distinctly apart from the narrative he was hearing.
There were a number of stark trees, unkempt evergreens and scrub oaks, along with some pecan, mimosa, and chinaberry, that encircled the main building. The roof was high-pitched in the center with two narrow windows like gaping eye sockets.
The longer ground floor base extended out past the slope of the roof on either side with a door at each end and two smaller windows between them.
There were three or four narrow wooden steps, crooked and rotted, going up to the left door and a simple stone landing outside the right.
Behind the main building were two ramshackle sheds that might once have been storage for tools or firewood. Their windows, like the ones in the house, were broken and edged with jagged, dirty glass. The roofs, where they weren’t damaged and shingles missing, were laden with fallen branches, drifts of pine straw, and multicolored leaves.
The whole area was neglected and long ago abandoned. The scene a setting for some low-budget horror movie or eerie Southern gothic suspense film.
Toward the middle of the equally forsaken yard, Jim saw an old-fashioned water pump, the slender pipe rising from the well and the graceful, paint-chipped handle draped uselessly to the side. Nearby was a rusted metal bucket lying sideways on the ground and a handmade pine bench covered at the base with a bouquet of black-eyed Susan and milkweed. The yard itself was a crazy quilt of colors and textures. Clumps of assorted grasses were interspersed with a generous dash of dandelions.
Jim was visually overwhelmed, his first thought that this was the perfect habitat for copperheads and moccasins. And once past the dangers outside, the house inside would be full of brown recluse
spiders and their sisters the black widows.
He stared at the windows and imagined that they were covered with lacy cobweb curtains, the arachnids in the corners and the reptiles lurking beneath the floorboards, all ready to strike at the first sound of an intruder.
He swallowed his churning apprehension and looked over at a quizzical Charlie.
“When did you stop listening to me?” the detective said, a hint of unexpected amusement in his voice. “Or were you listening to me at all?”
“Are we going in there?” Jim said, ignoring the obvious criticism. He was only slightly ashamed of his inattention. He tried to tell himself that as much as he wanted to know, he had also been completely unprepared for such unabashed sharing from the avowed loner or for the sinking feeling in the pit of his ample stomach at the sight of the former crime scene.
The reality of the location, intermixed with the gruesome story, was a bit much.
“You don’t have to go with me,” Charlie said, reaching for the door handle. “I’d roll down the window, though. Mosquito season is pretty much over, so you’re safe from them, but it’s still hot and sticky for October. It’s going to be stuffy in the car. I won’t be too long.”
Jim reached for his own door handle.
“If you’re going, I’m going,” he said, remembering the Savannah mansion and its bizarre portrait, mahogany staircase, crystal chandelier, multiple rooms, and the hidden steps that led into the secluded attic. “This isn’t actually the creepiest place we’ve ever been, so I’ll manage. What are we looking for?”
“I don’t know,” Charlie said flatly. “I’m stumped without more information. Going forward isn’t working, so we’re going backward.”
More than five years ago, he’d combed every single rotting plank in the main building for clues—any indication for why Cora had come to this place or whom she had met.
Who had buried her and left her for dead.
Forensics teams came too.
But there was nothing of any consequence. At least not out in the open.
The vibration of Charlie’s cell phone startled them both.
“Hello,” Charlie said. “What’s up?”
Chapter 78
Casey arrived on the front porch of Cora’s house a few minutes before ten o’clock in the morning. Lisa had told him that it wasn’t necessary to call ahead. That Marjorie would likely be there and Cora would be expecting him.
Either way, there would be a friendly greeting and an invitation to lunch, or at the very least one of Marjorie’s famous homemade cookies.
He’d gotten off the third shift late, run by the apartment to shower and put on a fresh T-shirt and jeans, then grabbed a quick cup of extra-caffeinated coffee from the shop where Jack was working.
Casey loved his work, but he was tired—physically and mentally.
The Griffith ER had been relatively quiet for the night. Nothing life-threatening or critical. Concerned young parents came in bringing their firstborn—a fussy toddler with a high fever. An adventurous teenager was sneaking out of his second-floor bedroom after midnight to meet his friends to party and fell off the roof and broke his arm. His worried mom was more upset than her son and twice as vocal. And a man in his mid-sixties with mild chest pains was dragged in by his overly concerned and appropriately smothering wife.
Everyone was treated in a reasonable time and sent home with instructions, admonitions, and the appropriate medications.
The toddler was treated for a double ear infection. The teenager had a clean break and was rewarded with several stern lectures and a colorful cast. And several tests later, the man with chest pains was diagnosed with severe indigestion, probably from a third generous helping of his wife’s spicy homemade tacos.
Casey was still worn out despite the relative lack of activity.
Dealing with the emotional issues of his patients and their families was almost more exhausting than treating the injuries themselves.
He adjusted his medical backpack over his shoulder, his mind wandering to Ellie as he waited for someone to answer his knock.
He wished she could be there with him as he met Cora for the first time. He’d heard some pretty crazy rumors, and, not that he took any stock in rumors, he’d had just about as much of the extraordinary as he could handle for one day.
Ellie was grounded. Logical. Normal.
To Casey’s mind, those were the highest compliments.
She’d been helping him get to know people in the community and make connections. Not that he couldn’t have done that on his own, but being engaged to the daughter of a civic and business leader made him high-profile. Everyone seemed to know his name, and he needed a crash course to try to keep up.
He’d parked his car at the fire department just behind the police station and walked the short distance to Cora’s house, hoping the brisk air would help shake any cobwebs from his head after the sleepless shift.
He was still standing on the porch admiring the climbing vines of white roses when he saw a car pull into the driveway and park. A distinguished-looking man in khaki slacks and a sport jacket got out and started up the walkway.
“Good morning,” Casey said. He recognized Jack’s father immediately, although he hadn’t expected to see him in Cora Stone’s driveway.
Andrew Evans strode deliberately up the steps.
“Good morning, Casey,” the preacher said, extending his hand for a firm shake. “Didn’t expect to see you.”
“Same here, sir,” Casey said. “I’m subbing for the doc today. She’s out of town in Atlanta at a convention.”
Evans looked mildly puzzled, but Cora’s appearance at the front door forestalled any more explanations. He was overwhelmed by the change in her appearance from their first and only other meeting. The sight of her tiny form swollen out of proportion with pregnancy left him almost speechless.
“Good morning, Preacher,” the young woman said, opening the door and ushering them inside with a wave of her delicate hand. “I’m glad you called.”
She turned to the paramedic, who also seemed to be a bit taken aback by her appearance, although he was hiding it a bit better than the preacher.
“Hello, you must be Casey,” she said. “I’m Cora. There’s coffee in the kitchen. Katy’s making a call. Come along and have a cup, then we can all sit down and talk.”
Chapter 79
“I don’t think I heard you right,” Quincy said, holding the phone slightly away from his face. “You want me to do what?”
“I want you to meet me at Cora Stone’s house,” Katy repeated patiently. “I want you to drop everything. It’s important.”
The grizzled postman looked around the vacant mailroom and scratched his bearded chin, searching for any reason to refuse. The day’s mail had been sorted and bagged, his two new hires already out the door and on their way. There was literally nothing left for him to do unless he wanted to send his only other employee home and tend the front window himself.
The idea of selling stamps and listening to trivial conversation for the whole of the afternoon did not appeal to him, but he also didn’t know what to think about this high-handed call from Katy Wilton demanding a command appearance.
It seemed somehow disrespectful and presumptuous.
“Katy,” he said in his most dignified voice, “I cannot abandon my duty and responsibilities as a postman on a whim.”
“Well,” she said, matching his tenor, “we’ve found ourselves in a situation that could really use your expertise. Would you really leave us in our hour of need?”
Quincy didn’t like the sound of that either. Or Katy’s matronly attitude of authority.
Her words triggered a memory of Charlie’s demand that he bring his lock-picking tools and open a hundred-year-old chest. He knew then that Cora was involved. Maybe this was something like that. Maybe it had to do with Cora—and Thomas.
“Do I need to bring anything with me?” he said.
“Not just yet,” Katy said. “And don’t tell anyone where you’re going.”
Fifteen minutes later, Cora greeted the postman at her front door, but this time she didn’t hesitate to open it all the way, giving him full view of her bulging midsection.
“We’re all in the kitchen,” she said, waving him inside and waddling down the hallway. “Thank you for coming.”
He didn’t pause to consider who the we might be.
The sunlight in the kitchen was full and warm, cutting across the room in diagonal stripes from the window over the sink. Andrew and Casey were seated on stools on the same side of the island facing the doorway. They were deep into animated discussion that did not stop when the postman entered the room.
Quincy pulled up a stool across from the two men and politely made himself at home.
Cora rejoined Katy, who was making sandwiches at the counter.
“So,” the preacher said, nodding an acknowledgment of greeting toward the postman as he continued his conversation with Casey, “Jack said you’re an EMT.”
“I’m a paramedic,” Casey corrected him politely. “It can be confusing. All EMTs are not paramedics, but all paramedics are EMTs. I’m fourth level—EMTP. I can push IVs, administer drugs, and perform invasive interventions.”
Andrew’s face clouded over as pieces of information began to come together in his mind. He glanced over at Cora and saw that she was watching him.
While Katy had given Casey coffee in the kitchen, Andrew had followed Cora into her office. He opened his mouth to explain why he had called her and the dam broke, his words flooding the room. When the water leveled off, he realized that she knew exactly what he was talking about. They were kindred spirits with a common bond.
