A Séance in Franklin Gothic Read online

  “I can think of two possible reasons,” I said. “It could have been someone who was here with her. They got spooked and ran out but decided to come back later. To take her to the hospital. Or it could have been someone who was responsible for her death and they have something to hide.”

  Blevins heaved a sigh. “Stay here.” He walked over to his car, turned off the lights, and grabbed the radio. He spoke a few words, then came back holding a notebook.

  “Sandra’s calling Jeff Martin now to see if Tessa is home. Or to see if he knows where she is. So now, why don’t you tell me why you were out here at ten o’clock? On private property. That’s clearly marked with No Trespassing signs.”

  Given the way Kate had burst into The Buzz earlier and how many people there were hanging around, I figured it was inevitable that he’d discover she and her friends had been out here eventually. I wasn’t going to be the one to put him on her trail, however, if I could avoid it. Unless he asked me directly, I planned to leave Kate out of it.

  “I came out here earlier today,” I told him. “Forgot my camera. Had to drive back and get it.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized there was a problem. Anyone who had seen me at The Buzz earlier had seen the Nikon around my neck. “I…realized it was missing earlier and had to use my backup camera at the book launch. Cassie said she’d ride out here with me.”

  Cassie nodded dutifully.

  “And why were you out here earlier today?” Blevins asked. “It’s still trespassing even if it happens in broad daylight.”

  “Taking pictures, obviously. I’m working on a feature about Woodward Mills. After what I found out with the Edith Morton case, I was interested in learning more about the history of the factory. Thought I’d interview some of the people who worked there. I wanted a few photos of how it looks now to contrast with how it looked back then.”

  “Fascinating.” His tone said that it was anything but. “If you actually want people to read that rag of yours, you’d be better off going with my idea for the story about the satanic cult.”

  “It was a séance,” Cassie corrected.

  He arched an eyebrow. “Same difference.”

  Another vehicle turned into the driveway. I thought at first that it might be Ed and was really hoping he didn’t say anything that might blow my cover story.

  But Blevins said, “That’ll be Billy. I still think you’ve been played like a fiddle, Ruth. But I’m going to have him take some pictures at the scene of our little séance”—he looked pointedly at Cassie—“and take a look around the property. If we hear back from Jeff and Brenda Martin that Tessa hasn’t come home and hasn’t contacted them, I’ll get a few people out here to search the immediate area.”

  “Can we do anything to help?” Cassie asked.

  “No,” Blevins said. “You can go home.”

  Going home sounded wonderful. My legs felt tired and rubbery. I was sweaty and what I really wanted was a long shower, a cup of Sleepytime tea, and eight hours of sound, dreamless sleep, although I had a feeling that the latter would be hard to come by tonight for both me and Cassie.

  And I still needed to go by Sherry’s to see Ed and let them know what we’d found.

  And I had to get up early for Wren’s yard sale. Ugh.

  Billy parked his cruiser on the other side of my Jeep. He gave me a quick wave, then hung back to wait for orders from his boss.

  “Okay,” I said to Blevins. “Cassie and I will leave you to it, then. Let me know if you find anything.”

  “Oh, sure. Will do,” Blevins said with a short chuckle. We both knew that he wouldn’t, just as we both knew that I would probably find out anyway.

  Then he headed back toward the door of the factory. “Bring your camera, Thorpe. Somebody punked Ruth, but I guess we’ve got to treat it like an actual crime scene.”

  “What a refreshing change that would be,” Billy muttered, too low for Blevins to hear.

  “Good luck,” I told him as I climbed into the Wrangler. “And Billy, just to be clear, Cassie and I both saw her body. Someone else was in there when we left to dial 911. I found a drink can that was still cool. We may not have a body, but I’m certain Tessa Martin is dead.”

  “I believe you,” Thorpe said. “But I also really, really hope you’re wrong. This is gonna absolutely wreck her mama and daddy.”

  ✰ Chapter Six ✰

  Cassie stared out the window as we pulled back onto the highway.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  There was a long silence, and then she said, “No. I’m a little worried that this is my fault.”

  “Okay. I have to admit that I wasn’t expecting that. How on earth could this be your fault when you’ve been at The Buzz every waking hour for the past few weeks? There are several hundred witnesses who saw you at the coffee bar tonight, including me. I think your alibi is rock solid.”

  “Not directly my fault,” she clarified. “But I might have influenced it. Say this situation was a fire that someone set. I might have given them the match. Okay…not the actual match, but…” She shrugged.

  I glanced at her from the corner of my eye. “You’re going to need to give me a little more than that. Did you sell those kids candles? Or maybe the Ouija board?”

  “I’m not joking, Mom. Tessa came into The Buzz a few weeks back, and we started talking.”

  “Not too surprising. If I had to venture a guess, I’d say that you’ve talked to half of Thistlewood in the past few weeks. And probably even a higher percentage of the under-twenty-five population who want to try out the games up in eBuzz.”

  “True,” Cassie admitted. “But Tessa wasn’t there to talk about games. Someone, Kate probably, must have told her that I used to work at Nirvana. Tessa was really interested in paranormal activities. Asked what I knew about séances. Said she was writing a story—fan fiction, I think—and wanted to get the details right. So…I gave her one of my books, A Paranormal Compendium.”

  I sighed. “And your name is inside the cover, isn’t it?”

  Ever since she learned to write, Cassie has penciled her name and address inside the cover of any book she buys. It’s in the exact same spot on the cover of her e-reader, as well. A lot of her stuff is similarly tagged. She was somewhat forgetful as a child and apt to leave the book she was reading (and even more likely, her backpack, lunchbox, jacket, or mittens) on the bus. She’s actually pretty organized these days, but it became a habit. Dean was teasing her about it just last month when they began stocking used books at The Buzz. He purchased most of his inventory from a store that was going out of business over in Asheville, but we’d also donated several boxes to the cause. He’d joked that Cassie had worn out three Sharpies marking through her personal information.

  “Of course it is,” she said. “I mean, I was loaning it out, and Tessa seemed a little flaky. It’s an interesting book. I didn’t want to lose it.”

  I pulled up to the curb in front of The Buzz, where the sign on the door now read CLOSED. There were still lights on in the back, so Dean was presumably still there. Ed, however, was probably already at Sherry’s house.

  “What exactly was in the book?” I asked.

  “Well, like I said, it’s a compendium. So a little bit of everything, including a chapter on séances and summonings. A diagram on how to position the candles. Instructions for using pendulums and spirit boards.”

  I sat silently for a moment, my mind whirring. We had a dead teenager whose body was now missing, who had apparently died while performing a séance. And Cassie had loaned her a paranormal how-to book.

  “Oh, Cassie,” I said. “That’s really not good.”

  “No kidding. For the record, I told her I didn’t put much stock in Ouija boards. They’ve never worked for me.” She shrugged. “But then, I don’t really need a spirit board.”

  “Did you tell her that? That you see ghosts, I mean?”

  “No way,” Cassie said. “I’m not crazy, and don’t want people thinkin
g I am. You know how small towns talk. And I’m pretty much the public face of Dean’s business. Something like that could tank The Buzz, at least with the locals. I’ve already had two people make snarky comments about the streaks in my hair.”

  I opened my mouth to reassure her that no one would say she was crazy, but what was the point? If you were from-here, a little bit of eccentricity was acceptable. Maybe even expected. If you weren’t a native of Thistlewood, however, being different was usually held up as a sign that you were just one of those city folk. Cassie had inherited her dark curls from me, but she liked to spice them up with a bit of color. Her highlights were purple when she first moved to Thistlewood. They’re sort of an electric blue now, which I think is perfect for someone managing a place called The Buzz. But I could definitely imagine a few of the old biddies in town—male or female—taking issue with her sense of style.

  “That’s partly why I told her I had a book on the topic,” Cassie said. “To stop her from asking me too many questions. She was asking stuff about whether mediums ever used hallucinogenic drugs and other stuff I really didn’t want to discuss across the coffee bar with other people listening. I mean, it’s not like I loaned her a satanic bible or something.”

  “Do you have one of those?” I asked hesitantly.

  “No! Seriously, Mom? It’s just a reference book. They probably carry it at the library. Okay, maybe not this library, because it’s the size of a postage stamp. But big ones like we had in Nashville.”

  “How long has she had the book?”

  Cassie stopped and thought. “Sunday will be two weeks. She first came in asking questions that Saturday, and I told her I’d bring the book in the next day. To be honest, I didn’t think she’d show up to get it. Like I said, she seemed a little flaky. But Dean’s cousin, Jake—the guy who helps out with the computers up in eBuzz? He’s a year behind Tessa in school, and he told me she was also a little obsessive. She’d be intensely interested in one thing one day and then off on something else entirely a few weeks later. Anyway, she was back the very next morning. Bought a green tea latte and asked if I’d remembered the book. She had a copy of the Star with her that second time. The one where you wrote about that guy’s death out there at Woodward Mills. She told me her grandmother worked at the factory when she was younger and the girls she worked with always joked that the place was haunted. Said there were cold spots. Things moving around on their own occasionally. One girl swore she saw blood under one of the machines.”

  I frowned. “Patsy’s mom said the same thing when I interviewed her. But I don’t remember putting that in the story.”

  Now I understood firsthand how Cassie was feeling about Tessa’s death. She’d given the girl a book about ghost hunting. And I’d quite possibly provided her with a target for her obsession.

  “She started talking about how cool it would be to be a medium. To be able to carry messages between this world and the next. How that would be the best proof of all that there was something after this life. She was really passionate about it. I should have realized it was more than just idle talk or research.”

  “If you’re responsible,” I pointed out, “then so am I. All of this was publicly available information. The book you loaned her. My article in the Star. You didn’t know how she would use the information any more than I did—she told you it was for research. So, no…this isn’t your fault.”

  “Maybe,” Cassie said. “But I’m guessing I’ll have to answer some pretty intense questions if her parents find that book. Or if Blevins does.”

  On that count, I was pretty sure she was right.

  “Does anyone else know you loaned her the book?”

  Cassie shrugged. “I didn’t mention it to anyone other than Dean. But I don’t have a clue who she might have told. Kate, probably. Their friend, Julissa. That guy she hangs around with sometimes. Sawyer. Tessa has him totally friend-zoned, but he has a crush on her.”

  “He told you that?”

  “No. It’s pretty obvious. She doesn’t—” Cassis winced, then pulled in a deep breath and continued. “She clearly didn’t see him the same way. I got the sense she was into older guys. Not like…old, old. Just college age. Other than that…Jake might also know I loaned the book to her. He was around that day working on stuff for eBuzz. Plus anyone who was in the coffee line behind her, so…”

  “So…basically the entire town could know.”

  “Pretty much. I didn’t see the need to be sneaky about it. I mean, it’s not like I was selling her drugs or instructions on how to build a bomb. Just a book about ghosts.” Dean was now standing at the front window, waiting on her, so Cassie grabbed her bag and opened the door. “Either way, there’s nothing I can do to change it now. I’ll see you back at the house, okay? Probably in about an hour. Love you.”

  “Love you, too.” I waited for Dean to open the door and let her in, then pulled off.

  She was right. There was nothing we could do to change it. And, as she’d noted, the book wasn’t instructions on how to build a bomb. If Steve Blevins got hold of it, however, I was certain he’d do his best to turn that bit of information into something equally explosive.

  ✰ Chapter Seven ✰

  Sherry Hanson lived in a large farmhouse about a mile from downtown Thistlewood. The house sat on several acres of land, with the back section surrounded by a white fence where two horses and their border collie, Daniel, were able to run freely. She and Jason had been at the tail end of their three-year restoration project when Jason died at a truck stop on Interstate 40, somewhere in the middle of Oklahoma.

  There’s a small bridge just a few yards into the long driveway. It passes over a creek that flows down from the mountain and into Freedom River on the other side of town. The creek, normally burbling, was currently nothing but a parched rivet in the ground. We needed rain, although it was probably too late to keep this from being a bad year economically for Thistlewood. Even though school started in early August around here, the town could usually still count on a few more weeks of tourists coming in from out of state. The dry weather, however, meant that the town’s primary attraction, the river, was far from at its best. Kayaking wasn’t much fun when you were likely to get stranded on a sandbar. And they’d had to completely stop tubing earlier this week after branches poking up from the river resulted in scraped legs and punctured tubes. Hiking a half mile downriver through waist-high tepid water with a deflated inner tube around your waist isn’t anyone’s idea of a pleasant afternoon.

  Ed’s Silverado was parked next to Sherry’s car. As I pulled up next to it, Daniel came bounding around the side of the porch. He’s eight years old, but you’d never know it from his energy level. When he reached the porch steps, he sat at attention, just as Kate had trained him to do, so that he wouldn’t get hit by cars entering the yard. The only thing still moving was his tail, which swished back and forth enthusiastically.

  The dog gave two short barks, then quieted as I approached, tail still wagging. I’d been here three or four times now, and I’d never had to knock or ring the bell. Daniel took care of that for you.

  And that meant that it was too late for me to turn around and just go home, which was what I really wanted to do. As much as I wanted to see Ed, I really didn’t want to deliver the news that I’d found Tessa’s body. Or that it was now missing.

  “Well, hello there,” I said, scratching his black-and-white ruff. “Aren’t you just the best boy?”

  The best boy clearly wanted to jump up and lick my face, but he was too well trained to do this with anyone other than Kate. His hind end just wiggled even more vigorously in response to my praise.

  Ed opened the door. He looked at my face and had no trouble making out the headline of the story I was here to tell. “Aw, no,” he said heavily, then opened his arms. I stepped inside, and he wrapped me in a warm, tight hug. Just breathing him in made me feel better—the scent of his soap, the lingering aroma from the pipe that I only recently learned he smok
es when he’s writing, and just the scent of him. We’re still dancing around the whole physical side of our relationship. Ed is clearly the type of man who likes to take things slow, and after a recent divorce, I’m not ready to rush things either. But his arms are, more and more, beginning to feel like home.

  “Come on in. We’ll fix some tea and you can give us the details. You, too, boy,” he said to Daniel, patting the side of his leg. “You can snuggle up next to Ruth on the couch. Cronkite will just love that.”

  I chuckled. He was right. Cronkite, the feline who graciously lets me and Cassie share his home, probably wouldn’t mind Daniel if they actually met. He doesn’t exactly hate dogs. Given that he’s at least part Maine coon cat, he’s nearly as large as many dogs, and he’s definitely not afraid of them. What he hates is when his humans bring in the scent of phantom dogs he can’t see, and therefore can’t even attempt to intimidate.

  The dog darted upstairs as soon as he was inside, however.

  “He’s worried about Kate,” Ed said. “That’s why we let him outside for a bit. He kept pacing outside the bathroom door while she was taking a shower, whimpering.”

  “Is she okay?” I asked, glancing toward the staircase.

  Sherry joined us in the foyer. “I told her to go up and get a shower. To try to get some sleep. But I’ve heard footsteps pacing around, so…she’s probably still awake. And the phone rang about twenty minutes ago. Brenda Martin was wondering if Kate was home yet. I didn’t know what to tell her.” Sherry’s lower lip quivered. “I just gave Ed the phone, and he told her Kate had already gone up to bed. Which wasn’t really a lie, I guess. Kate was right, wasn’t she? Tessa’s dead.”

  I nodded mutely. Ed steered us toward the kitchen. “Have you got anything stronger than tea, Sher? I think we could all use something.”

  “There’s some bourbon in the laundry room,” she said.

  “Why in…the laundry room?” he asked, clearly confused as Sherry headed off to get the bottle.