“It wasn’t Winona,” he said. “But the thing is, Mindy, something terrible does seem to be going on around here. I’m trying to find another young woman who disappeared about a year ago, as well as Winona. And the woman in the water…we need to find out what happened to her, too, and whether there’s a connection. Can you think of anything from that night that might help me out? ”
She shook her head, sad and confused. “We told the cops everything….” She hesitated, looking around. “I know Nigel told you about the booze and pot—but just pot, nothing stronger. It was a big party. Winona was there, and then she wasn’t. Where she went, if she left with somebody…I don’t know how. If I did, I swear I would tell you. She was one of my best friends.”
“Listen, there’s a coffee shop right next door. Can I get you something? I can tell you what I know already, and you can tell me anything else you remember. Even something small could end up being a big help.”
“Yeah, all right. They have herbal tea. The body is a shrine, you know.”
He smiled at her. “Herbal tea—and beer and pot?”
“Hey, pot is an herb,” she told him.
He laughed and led her next door. As soon as he opened the door for her, she headed straight for the counter and placed her order for an orange-infused chamomile tea, and then asked him if it would be all right if she got a cherry Danish, as well. He told her she was welcome to anything behind the counter and ordered coffee for himself.
The minute they were seated, she started wolfing down the Danish.
She worshipped the temple of her body in a strange way—a teenage way—he decided.
“So what else can I tell you?” she asked him, washing down the Danish with a big gulp of tea. “I have the feeling you know the story already.”
“You, Winona and Nigel got there first. You were bringing the cooler and…other things.”
She nodded. “Nigel drove. He has an old Xterra.”
“You guys built a bonfire—and then a woman came out of the woods.”
She finally smiled at him. “You’re asking about the weird old hippie? I forgot all about her ’til Nigel reminded me.”
“She was old?”
“Sure.”
“How old? Fifty? Eighty?”
“No, no, not that old. I don’t know. Thirties? Forties? She was wearing a long flowing skirt, a bandana and huge sunglasses. She looked like she walked out of that old comedy show. LaughIn. That’s the one.”
Mindy took another bite of her Danish, then looked at him, frowning. “She was thin, too. I remember that. Trust me—Winona could have taken her. Besides, she was just a kook. She told us she was a medium and lived someplace where tons of mediums live, Castle-something.”
“Cassadaga?” he asked.
“Yeah, that’s it! Cassadaga. You know it?” she asked him.
“It’s a spiritualist town. I think the people who live there are sincere, that they believe in their abilities to read palms and cards and even people.”
“Whatever,” Mindy said. “Well, Winona loved horror movies and ghost stories and stuff like that. She wanted someone to prove that stuff to her, though. Like, she thought most everyone was a fake. She wasn’t rude to the woman, really, but she kind of suggested that she was a fake, too. Then the woman said something to her, right into her ear….” She stopped speaking, frowning in concentration. “I couldn’t hear what they said, and then Nigel asked me to watch the fire and I told him he was idiot, because the fire was fine. And by then Winona and the woman seemed to be getting along okay, and the woman left right afterwards. Oh! I remember one more thing about her. She was wearing these long black lace gloves.”
“Gloves, huh?”
“Could that be important?”
“Maybe. Little details matter a lot. You’re sure she said she was from Cassadaga?”
“Positive. Once you said it…yes, I’m positive. And I can prove it. I think. She gave Winona and me business cards. Except that…” She paused, her brow wrinkling. “I don’t know what I did with mine.”
Caleb’s hand tightened around his coffee cup, and he tried not to swear, just kept his voice level and asked, “Do you remember her name?”
“Um…Betty? Wait, no, it was an M name. Missy? Mary? Oh, no, no! It was Martha.” She flushed with pleasure. “Martha! That was it, I’m sure.”
“Did Martha have a last name?”
“Well, of course.”
He tried to remember that she was young.
“And do you remember her last name?” he asked.
“Um…”
“Do you remember what letter it started with?” he asked, trying to nudge her memory.
“No, but…it was a president’s name,” she told him. “I remember that, because last fall, Mr. Bayley, our history teacher, was upset because he said no one bothers to learn history anymore, not even the names of the presidents.”
“Which president?” he asked, praying for patience.
“Oh, God, um…”
“Washington, Adams, Jefferson, Madison…Monroe?”
“No, no.” She shook her head.
“Recent president? Old president?” He was trying to remember all the past presidents himself.
She shook her head. “He had some kind of a slogan, though. I remember we laughed about that.”
“‘Tippecanoe and Tyler, too’?”