The Winter People

“So you really moved to West Hall just because that was the last place Gary visited?” the older girl—Ruthie—asked, disbelieving. “I mean, no one ever moves to West Hall. Not willingly.”

 

 

“Don’t interrupt her,” the blond woman said, then gestured at Katherine with the gun. “Go on,” she ordered. “And don’t leave anything out. You never know what might be important.”

 

Katherine told them about finding Visitors from the Other Side hidden away in Gary’s toolbox, and Lou Lou’s telling her about Gary’s lunch with the egg lady.

 

“Egg lady?” Now it was the little girl who spoke, her eyes two huge brown saucers. “You mean our mom?”

 

So she’d been right! These were the daughters of the egg lady. But where was she? And what was her connection to Gary?

 

“I guess so. Lou Lou didn’t know anything about her—just that she sold eggs every Saturday at the farmers’ market. I went today looking for her, but she wasn’t there. Then I found pictures of your house in a book I picked up at the bookstore.”

 

“That Historical Society book? Oh God, Mom was so pissed that our picture was in there,” Ruthie said. “She tried to get them to take it out, but they’d already printed hundreds of copies.”

 

Katherine went on. “When I saw that picture of you three in the garden, I wondered if the gray-haired lady could possibly be the egg lady I’ve been looking for, so I decided to take a ride out. I parked by the road and came in on foot to get closer. I saw you holding a gun on these girls,” she said, eyeing the woman with the gun, “and knew I had to act.”

 

The woman laughed. “You did one hell of a job, lady,” she said.

 

The girls stared at her, wide-eyed. Katherine was sure she saw a trace of disappointment there. You? You were our last chance! And look what happened.

 

“But why would this lady’s photographer husband be meeting Mom at Lou Lou’s?” asked Ruthie. She rubbed her eyes, which had dark circles beneath them. “And why does Mom have his bag? It doesn’t make any sense.”

 

“He had his backpack with him when he left the house the day he was killed,” Katherine told them. “It wasn’t in the car after the crash. I asked the police and paramedics, but no one remembered seeing it.”

 

There was silence. They all looked down into their cups of untouched coffee. The little girl clutched her bundled doll tight against her chest.

 

“So the camera will have a record of the last pictures taken?” the woman with the gun asked.

 

“Yes,” Katherine explained. “They’ll be stored there. Unless someone wiped it clean.”

 

“Well, let’s turn on the camera and check it out,” the woman said.

 

“What is it you think might be on the camera?” Katherine asked.

 

“I don’t know. Maybe a clue about where Alice Washburne has gone and what she’s done with the pages.”

 

“Pages?”

 

“Candace here thinks my mother has some of the missing diary pages of Sara Harrison Shea,” Ruthie said. “The written instructions for how to bring the dead back to life.”

 

Katherine replaced the charged batteries and turned the camera on. The others gathered around as she navigated the menu and pulled up photos onto the camera’s display screen.

 

“We’re in luck,” she said. “No one’s deleted them.”

 

She clicked quickly through the saved photos. There were a series of her sitting on Gary’s motorcycle, ones taken on their weekend trip to the Adirondacks two weeks before he was killed. She had on jeans and a leather jacket, her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, and she looked so happy, smiling at Gary and his camera. She’d held on to the handlebars and pretended to be riding with the wind in her face, singing “Born to Be Wild.” Gary had laughed and said, “Be careful. You know I have a thing for biker chicks.”

 

There was one of her in front of the cabin they’d stayed in, and another beside a little roadside shop they’d stopped at, where Gary had bought the box of photos and papers—and the little bone ring he’d given her—for seven dollars. ANTIQUES AND ODDITIES, said the sign.

 

To new beginnings.

 

Katherine arrowed through to the next pictures: shadowy photos of pages of tiny, neat cursive.

 

“What’s this?” she asked out loud.

 

Ruthie squinted down at the camera. “It’s a diary entry, I think. Wait, I can zoom in. Look, there’s a date: January 31, 1908.”

 

Katherine scanned the first page:

 

There are doorways, gates, between this world and the world of the spirits. One of these doorways is right here in West Hall.

 

 

 

“Oh my God,” Ruthie said, leaning in for a closer look. “I think it’s one of the missing diary pages!”