“Oh, my God!” she exclaimed. “You know the slogan! That was it. Tyler.”
“You’re sure? Martha Tyler, and she was from Cassadaga?” he asked.
She nodded and he thanked her for her time, then rose to leave. He glanced at his watch. He wasn’t sure how long it would take to drive to Cassadaga, but he was determined to get there as quickly as possible. First, however, he called information to find out if there was a listing there for Martha Tyler.
There was.
He punched the number into his cell and waited.
Martha Tyler answered on the third ring, and he noticed immediately that she had a pleasant voice, melodious, low and soothing. Perfect for a medium looking to get people to trust her.
He made an appointment to meet her in an hour and a half.
Sarah felt chilled as she sat and read in the General’s Room, which had always seemed so comfortable and welcoming. But today it was as if a blanket of cold had settled over her, so chilling that she didn’t want to keep reading—but she had to. Whatever the truth turned out to be, she had to know it.
They didn’t know I was there—my father, or the Union officer who was the acting sheriff. It was Sergeant Lee who had brought her in; he had come up the side drive, in a small wagon. I heard them talking down in the library and I don’t know why, but I crept down the stairs. When they went out to look at the body, I followed them, keeping my distance and lurking in the shadows.
Sergeant Lee pulled back a tarp, and I could tell he was angry. They were arguing—my father was angry, too. He didn’t want anything to do with whoever—whatever—was under the tarp.
They kept arguing, and then Sergeant Lee covered the back of the wagon with the tarp again.
I hurried back inside the mudroom and hid behind a rack of coats. I suppose I was being an ostrich, thinking that I could hide there, for surely the men would see my feet.
But they didn’t. They were still talking, but in hushed tones, and they were so intent on one another that they didn’t even notice me. “I won’t have it. I’m telling you, I won’t have it,” Sergeant Lee told my father. “It’s bad enough that half the town is spying for the damn Rebs. That’s why these girls are disappearing. They’re running to the Rebs like a pack of harlots, hoping that any little bit of information will earn them a man. This is one incident. One incident.”
“If the body is found, they’ll just say that she was killed by the Reb who owns this place,” my father argued. “It will be blamed on Cato MacTavish—he will be branded a murderer. The truth will come out.”
Sergeant Lee stared at my father and said, “Really? Because this girl was seen after he skedaddled out of here to rejoin his regiment. So it would have been hard as hell for the bastard to kill her, since he was long gone.”
My father swore and said he would open up the back door and they would haul the body in through the same door they used for household supplies. My father said, “Don’t you see Mactavish is still out there—somewhere.”
Sargeant Lee snorted his disbelief, but said nothing.
As soon as they headed down the hall to open the door, I ran back outside. “I couldn’t help myself. I was horrified and frightened, but I had to see. I don’t know why. Because I will never forget, and I will never be free from the nightmares that have haunted me in the weeks ever since that night.
I reached the wagon and hauled myself up to see inside the bed, and then I lifted the tarp.
She was dead, and I thought I was about to give myself away by screaming, but somehow I managed to keep quiet. I almost fell off the wagon, though, I was so stunned.
But I didn’t. I had to see more of her. I was both repelled and fascinated, as if I were caught in a terrible dream.
Her name was Susan Madison, and she was so beautiful—had been so beautiful. Her face was unmarred. In the moonlight, it looked as if she were a porcelain doll. But then I saw her throat. It was nearly nonexistent, and I thought instantly that there should be blood, with such a gaping hole. It looked almost as if an animal had ripped out her throat. And yet the face…
It was so perfect. White. Eerily white. A doll’s face. She was a doll, beautiful—and empty.
I pulled the tarp farther back. And I saw what had been done to her.
I did fall from the wagon then, but somehow I kept myself from screaming, afraid that if they knew what I had seen, the same thing would happen to me.