Something was glinting. She made it down to the bottom... She touched it. Tugged and pulled at it. And then...it and something else came free.
Stunned, she sucked in water. Her lungs burned; she was going to die.
She shot for the surface, and came up, ripping away her mask and snorkel, treading water furiously as she coughed and sputtered.
Belinda came up right by her.
“Hey! We’ll get you on the boat—”
“No! Down. Get the others. Down there—just below.” She had to stop to cough again. “Please get down there. Please! Now.”
“Because—”
“There’s a rotting body down there. They dislodged the bricks when they went by. Now you can see...there’s a body!”
*
“I believe that we’d have eventually found her,” Wendell Harper said, his voice a monotone. “Maybe not. Whoever—whoever put her down there did a good job. What you saw...what glinted first,” he told Vickie, “was a very old and heavy anvil—probably lost by a blacksmith way back when. Nothing that can be traced to anyone today, certainly. The boat was over an area that had been a farm.” He paused and cleared his throat. “She was beginning to disarticulate, so body pieces might have floated up.”
They were still out by the water. Many officials had come and gone.
Most notably, of course, the medical examiner.
It had been a very long day.
The remnants of the body had been brought up. The search area had been expanded, and the immediate area searched more thoroughly.
Nothing else had been found, and the body was now with the medical examiner.
One thing that Vickie couldn’t shake was the fact that—although little had been left of the flesh on the face—the skull had still been topped with a headful of long, blond hair.
Was she the woman that Vickie had been seeing?
Was she Helena Matthews?
There had been no apparition in the water; no one to take her hand and lead her to the remains.
“The skull seems to be intact. Hopefully, we’ll find something from her DNA or dental records.” Harper cleared his throat again. “There’s no possibility of fingerprints at this point.”
Of course not. There were too many creatures who lived in the water. And water itself...
“The ME reckoned that she’d been down there about two weeks,” Griffin said. “Have you heard of any disappearances in the area in the last two weeks? Have you seen or heard anything?” Vickie noted that Griffin sounded frustrated.
“The Quabbin area is just short of 120,000 acres,” Harper said. “Water, forests—and there’s even more land surrounding the area that is privately held. We will get the state police out in force now. But...here’s the thing. You had a man attacking people in Boston. The Quabbin supplies water for Boston—but this isn’t Boston. You were out at Fall River. Miss Preston was attacked with blood from a woman who actually disappeared in Fall River. Professor Alex Maple disappeared from Boston. This is all over the place—there’s no reason to believe that whatever is going on is actually going on here.”
“Sir, we just found a body,” Griffin pointed out.
“Yes, and we’re looking. And now you agents are here,” Harper murmured. He sighed, drumming his fingers on the table. “We’re looking,” he said, sounding helpless—and defensive.
“This Quabbin area is so huge, so much could go on with no one knowing,” she said. “And, of course, it’s possible that someone is in a nice normal house somewhere, creating a mantra of hate, causing all these things to happen, and just living in plain sight. The thing is, people are missing. And people are...dead.”
“You think this woman might be Helena Matthews?” Harper asked them.
“She has the blond hair, but at this moment, it’s impossible for us to know. Obviously,” Griffin said.
“Well, I’m letting my people go,” Harper told them. “I’m calling it a night myself. I’ll get a fresh dive team out in the morning. We’ll see what else...who else might be down there.”
They bid him good-night and headed back to their car.
They all, naturally, wanted to shower.
They were quiet on the way in, all wondering if they had found Helena Matthews.
“There was no suggestion that...Alex is down there,” Griffin noted softly.
“And no suggestion that he isn’t,” Vickie said.
“Do you think that he’s dead? Or do you think that maybe, just maybe, he’s working with some kind of ESP? That he is calling out to you? You don’t see Alex in your dreams—you see...a blonde woman,” Devin pointed out.
“Maybe,” Vickie said, trying to sound hopeful.
When they reached their bed-and-breakfast, Mrs. McFall was on the porch with her other guests: a young couple from Georgia, an older man from Arizona and a fortysomething executive on break from his stressful job in New York City.
Mrs. McFall had teatime for her guests each evening, offering them tea, of course, coffee, sodas, beer or wine and little appetizers.
Mrs. McFall jumped up, and the group on the porch fell silent and waited for Vickie, Griffin, Rocky and Devin when they saw them approaching.
“They’ve heard something,” Griffin murmured.
“It’s all over the news!” Mrs. McFall called to them. “The body in the Quabbin. Of course, that’s all that they’re saying. They don’t seem to know much. There was an interview with a police liaison, but that’s all that anyone said. Oh—and that it was a woman!”
“That’s all we know, too,” Griffin said, coming up the steps.
“You look cold and tired, and your hair is damp,” Mrs. McFall noted. She gasped. “You were in there. You were in the Quabbin. Oh! They let you in the Quabbin. It wasn’t my Nell, was it? The young lady I told you about? The one who disappeared—and no one would believe had really disappeared?”
“Mrs. McFall,” Griffin said gently. “We have no idea. No one knows anything yet. I’m sure there will be more information out tomorrow.”
“Tea!” Vickie said, walking ahead of him. “I would love tea!”
In the next few minutes, Rocky and Devin escaped to shower. Vickie and Griffin stayed long enough to field the same questions, and to have tea and some miniscones.
Vickie was starving, she realized.
Sandwiches had been brought out to the Quabbin in the afternoon, but she hadn’t been able to eat any of them.
At that time, she still couldn’t get the ravaged face she had seen out of her mind.
She tried to change the subject, asking the young couple about Georgia, the younger man about Arizona and the executive about his life in New York City.
Then she and Griffin managed to get away, as well.
They showered quickly; they were both anxious to find a place for dinner. Mrs. McFall recommended a family-run place on West Street.
“It’s an inn and restaurant!” she told them cheerfully. “The food is very good, but don’t you all go deserting me for the inn!”
“We never would,” Griffin promised her solemnly.
The restaurant was charming and friendly. They all started with lobster bisque, which was creamy, rich and delicious.
They had just finished with the meal—and were still quietly discussing the day themselves—when Griffin said, “Hey. That’s our executive from the B and B over there at the end of the counter. He’s watching us.”
“So he is,” Rocky agreed. “I noticed that he was still on the porch, in one of the rockers, when Mrs. McFall was telling us about the local restaurants.”
“You think that he’s following us?” Vickie asked. She smiled; she was at the edge of the booth and she quickly slid out and stood, determined to walk over and find out.
She opted not to ask permission from the agents; if she was ever going to really be of value among them, she needed to become proactive.
She tried to remember his name; Mrs. McFall had introduced all her guests. This man’s name was something unusual...
Isaac. Isaac Sherman.
“Mr. Sherman!” she said. “Nice to see you here. Frankly, it’s interesting to see, as well, that you’re watching us. Did you follow us here? Did you want to speak with us?”