“Not too often, but when it does, it’s nice if the generator is functional. Look out, here comes Sheri Jean and she looks like she’s on the warpath.”
Kellen swiveled on the balls of her feet. “Sheri Jean, I suggest you organize a movie night.”
“We’ve got no cable? No streaming?” Sheri Jean’s voice rose.
“We’ve got nothing but a bitch of a storm and a long, dark night ahead of us.” The rotating front door whirled suddenly. A gust of wind swept the lobby; it knocked petals off the flower arrangements and sent papers flying.
Kellen and Sheri Jean stared.
No one entered. Then Russell popped his head in. “Sorry! I did latch it, but somehow it came loose. Ghosts, I guess.”
“Priscilla,” Sheri Jean whispered. “She’s sending us a message.”
Startled, Kellen studied her white face. Sheri Jean really believed, and that seemed so unlike her. “What message would that be?”
Something—a branch—hit the big window facing the sea.
Everyone jumped and laughed.
Sheri Jean shivered. “Priscilla is not going to rest until her killer is brought to justice.”
13
The Lykke Estate
Greenleaf, Maine
The computer on the desk released a ding! and Sylvia Lykke woke from her light doze, leaped off her bed and scampered to the desk.
The computer was the only thing that roused her anymore, her only link to the real world. Erin said Sylvia was getting senile, that she suffered from dementia, and more and more she locked Sylvia in her room.
Sylvia got lonely. So lonely. When she looked out her window at the Atlantic Ocean, crashing and thrashing and blowing froth about, she felt as if she had spent her life at the edge of the continent without love, without friends, without companionship. But when the computer dinged, when there was a text or an email, Sylvia knew someone remembered her, even if it was only an offer of a penis extension.
This email was different. This was from Debbie, her old friend Debbie. They’d gone to school together here in Greenleaf. Debbie had married at about the time Sylvia married. They both had children. They both lost their husbands…
Debbie had mourned the loss of her husband.
Sylvia had been relieved at the loss of hers.
Ten years later, a man had appeared who swept Debbie off her feet. She remarried and moved to Alaska.
The two friends had drifted apart. Sylvia didn’t often hear from Debbie, so this email was a treat. She opened it and read.
Wish you were here! Candy and I are on our annual mystery weekend at Yearning Sands Resort, and guess what? Remember your daughter-in-law, Cecilia? Remember her cousin who visited right before the explosion? I think I met her here. She looks so much like Cecilia! I almost said something to her, then thought probably she didn’t want to remember that awful time. I managed to snap her photo.
I hope you’re doing well and can write soon. I often think of how much fun we used to have in school…
Sylvia scrolled down to look at the photo.
She stared. Oh God. How she stared!
She laughed. A small chuckle at first. Then a wholehearted belly laugh.
Cecilia. Cecilia.
Erin unlocked the bedroom door and walked in. “Mother, what’s so funny?”
Sylvia had long suspected Erin had surveillance on her. She was sure of it now, but she didn’t care. She laughed and laughed. “He was right.” She pointed at the photo. “He was right.”
“Who was right, Mother?” Erin had been a pretty girl, always tall for her age and big-boned, but with startling hazel eyes, thick blond hair and a wide mouth. Yet no man had ever been interested in her. Or perhaps she’d never been interested in any man other than Gregory, not since that moment when Waddington Lykke brought Sylvia and Gregory home from the hospital, put the squalling infant into Erin’s eager arms and said, “This is your younger brother. You must take care of him. He’s the Lykke family heir, and very precious.”
Now Erin carried an extra twenty pounds, but she was still attractive. She ran Lykke Industries with an iron hand…and Sylvia feared her daughter.
“Mother!” Erin took both Sylvia’s shoulders and shook her hard. “Why are you laughing?”
Sylvia’s neck snapped, and she sobered. “You’re such a bully.”
“What?” Erin reeked with annoyance. “What was so funny?”
“That.” Sylvia pointed at the screen. “He was right. He didn’t kill her. There she is, Cecilia, alive and well. The dear child does look well.”
Erin shoved her mother out of the computer chair and sat and stared. In a faraway voice, she said, “I’ve found her. Gregory, I’ve found her.”
“There’s nothing wrong with her being alive. Gregory’s rotting in his grave.”
Erin looked at her in fury. “He is not!”
“So’s Waddington. Nobody ever deserved death as much as your father. He was a cruel man. When I married him, I thought I’d married a prince. But he hurt me. All the time, he hurt me.” Sylvia wandered toward the bed. She had forgotten Erin was here, forgotten why she was on her feet. She was lost in the past, in memories that brought tears to her cheeks. “He never gave me anything except two children who were monsters like him. I knew there was something wrong with Erin when I found my kitten with its neck broken. I cried. I thought Waddington had done it. But Erin said I loved the kitten more than her, so she killed it. Until then I didn’t know about Erin. But Gregory… I knew from the first moment I looked into his eyes that he was warped, like a looking glass all distorted. When he married that poor girl, I thought… I’m still ashamed, you know? That I didn’t stand up for her. But Waddington hurt me so much I didn’t have any courage left. He said I was nothing and he made me nothing. I’m nothing.”
Erin touched Sylvia’s arm.
Sylvia turned and looked at her in surprise. “Dear, what are you doing here? How wonderful to see you. I grow so lonely here…”
“Do you know who this is?” Erin pointed at a picture on the computer monitor.
“Oh! Oh! It is Cecilia! Gregory was right. She lived. How good to know she lived.” Sylvia laughed and thought how good it was to laugh.
Erin lifted her hand.
Abruptly sober, Sylvia cowered.
Erin dropped her head, took an impatient breath and said, “Gregory wanted her dead. Don’t you remember?”
“I remember.”
“When we brought him back to the house, Gregory told me to finish the job that he failed to do. That was what Gregory wanted. Don’t you understand?”
“I understand, but, dear, Cecilia was such a sweet girl, and your brother…hurt her. The way Waddington hurt me.” Sylvia saw the past, felt the pain of broken bones and cruel taunts. “We can let Cecilia go, can’t we?”
“Is that what you think?”
“You did bury him, didn’t you? Gregory? You buried him?”
“Where, Mother? Everyone thought he was dead!”
“It doesn’t matter where. You didn’t keep his body, did you? For so long? That would be—”
“Monstrous? Because I’m a monster created by you and my father?” Erin’s hazel eyes blazed.
Sylvia shrank away. “Don’t be angry. I didn’t call you a monster…did I?”
“Honestly, Mother. You’re batty!”
The computer dinged again. Sylvia perked up. “Good! An email. I like emails. I’m not so alone when they come in.” She tried to walk toward the desk.
Erin steered her toward the bed and said forcefully, “Mother, it’s nighttime. You’re sleepy. You should go to sleep.”
“I am sleepy.” Another ding! Sylvia remembered the photo and again tried to walk to the computer. “But I want to write Debbie, tell her that that’s not Cecilia’s cousin, but Cecilia herself. How good to know Cecilia is alive and well!”
Erin blocked her. “At least the cousin is dead,” she said with cold satisfaction. “She intended to steal Cecilia from Gregory. For that, she deserved to die.”
“No, she didn’t.” Sylvia wrung her hands. “He shouldn’t have killed her.”
“Does Debbie say where they are?”
“I don’t remember. I think… I don’t know. But Debbie and her sister go there every year with their friends for a mystery weekend. Do you think I might go next year?”