Peggy burst into tears.
Kateri gave her a hug and a box of tissues and headed toward the Virtue Falls Resort.
*
Margaret opened her bedroom closet and pointed. “There it is, dear.”
Kateri put down her walking stick, reached up to the top shelf and lifted the large, weighty, textured black box.
“You tall girls are so lucky.” Margaret had always been a tiny woman, and age had deprived her of inches and agility.
“Thank you for keeping the box.” Kateri weighed it in her hand. The raven was heavy. The album was, in her mind, heavier.
“I was glad to do it.” Margaret pushed her walker into her sitting room—her suite at the Virtue Falls Resort was both homey and luxurious—and over to her easy chair. She operated the mechanics that lifted the seat, then sank down onto it and lowered it once more. “Rainbow told me you’d come for the box.”
“I had to wait until she told me where it was.”
Margaret put her palms together. “Her recovery is the miracle I’ve been praying for.”
“Me, too.” Although Margaret used a rosary. Kateri went swimming.
“She’ll recover completely?”
Kateri searched her mind for the answer. “Yes. She’ll be changed, of course. Near death will do that to a person.”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been near death.” Margaret cackled drily.
A little of the frog god’s vision still clung to Kateri, and she used it to examine the tiny, thin woman who unflinchingly stared one hundred years of age in the face. “Margaret, you’ve got one more grand adventure in you before the end.”
Margaret broke into a smile, and her wisp of an Irish accent strengthened. “Do I? That’s a good thing to hear. What are you going to do with the box?”
“I’m torn between giving it to my sister immediately and getting her the hell out of town, or keeping it to frustrate her.” Kateri thought of Lilith and having to deal with her constant criticism and said, “I’ll give it to her.”
“Not without looking to see what is in that box that she so desperately wants?”
“She says it’s the raven.”
“Is it?” Margaret lifted the receiver on her phone. “Shall I call down for tea, dear?”
“I can’t stay.” Kateri considered the bright-eyed old woman. “How do you know about my sister?”
“Did you think that the discovery you had a sister wouldn’t set the cat among the pigeons? Gossip and speculation, my dear. The lifeblood of any small town. And of course where else could she find a meal even close to the quality she deserves, except at Virtue Falls Resort.” Margaret’s mouth was puckered.
“Oh, no.” That sounded exactly like the kind of compliment Lilith would give. “She’s been here.”
“Charming woman,” Margaret said with patent insincerity. “Tea?”
“I really shouldn’t stay. Terrible things are happening.”
“Terrible things are always happening. All the more reason for a fortifying cup of tea.” Margaret coaxed, “Cook prepared cream scones today to go with our clotted cream and fresh blueberry preserves.”
Kateri was in uniform. She had her cell phone and her radio. Right now, Garik was working with Mike Sun to recover the owner of that fingerprint and her guys were patrolling the roads, making their presence known. “Tea sounds lovely.” She placed the box on the floor by the chair opposite Margaret and leaned her staff against it. “But I may have to leave at a moment’s notice.”
“I remember. When Garik was sheriff, he was always running off to save the world.” Margaret called down and ordered. “Don’t you have any curiosity? I’d love to know what’s in that box.”
Kateri seated herself. “It’s something about my parents, and all my knowledge of them has proved … painful.”
“Yes, dear, I understand that. But your sister isn’t asking merely for the raven. She wants the box. There’s something of value in the box. A truth that’s been proven to me time and again over my long years—with the relatives it’s a good idea to assume the worst, and if you’re wrong … well, what a lovely surprise.”
Kateri laughed. “I’m glad to hear I’m not the only one with a difficult family.”
“There are no functional families,” Margaret said firmly.
“My God! Bergen said that exact thing to me not long ago!”
“It’s a well-known wisdom.”
One of Margaret’s room-service servers knocked on the open door.
“Ah! There’s our tea,” Margaret said. “How are your ribs?”
Surprised, Kateri poked at them with her finger. After being tumbled around in the ocean all night, she would have thought the scab would have broken open. Instead, she had … no pain. “They’re fine. Apparently the frog god doesn’t approve of injuries he didn’t inflict. Although actually”—she moved her hips—“everything is feeling better. Perhaps I’ll stop carrying my walking stick.”
Margaret peered at her. “And perhaps not.”
Kateri rubbed the smooth walnut on her staff. “Yes, it does make a handy weapon.”
“More important, it makes people underestimate you.” Margaret smiled. “As tiny as I am and have always been, I find it’s quite the advantage to be underestimated. I imagine in the town’s first female sheriff, it’s a gift.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
That evening, Merida held her hoodie close around her face, looked up and down the empty street, and watched for movement anywhere—on the lawns, at the windows.
Nothing.
She slipped through the hedge and made her way over the dry, stubbled lawn and up the broken concrete walk to the porch. Every time she came here, the house gave Merida the creeps. But something was wrong and she feared …
At times like these, she most missed her voice. If she could, she would stand out here and call his name.
Instead she stepped up to the door and knocked.
No answer.
That meant nothing. He might be out …
But why hadn’t he called her last night, ordered her to come over? Why wasn’t he answering her texts? Since the news about the slashing, her worry had grown.
She gave the door a push and with a rusty creak, it opened.
The foyer was dark, but at the back of the house, she saw a light.
He never would leave a light on, a light that would betray his presence … she swallowed hard and tiptoed across the floor, glancing at every shadow, fearing every sound.
The kitchen. The light was in the kitchen. Not much of a light; it was dim and growing dimmer. A flashlight, set on the table at the precise angle to illuminate—Carl Klineman, sprawled on the floor, his arms flung out and his body skewed sideways while pools of dark blood congealed underneath it.
Remember, Helen, you cannot scream.
But she tried.
She clutched her throat and made herself stop straining to produce a sound to express her horror. Even if she could … she should not betray her presence by any sound.
Flies buzzed. The body … smelled.
She turned to leave, to flee.
But Carl’s head was turned toward her, his dark eyes were open and staring, his finger, smeared with blood, had … had written something on the floor.