Krewe of Hunters The Evil Inside 4 (30 page)

“A fool with money,” Samantha murmured.

“If he weren’t,” Cindy said, her eyes narrowing, “I’d have been out of that house by now. And then you come into town and start sleeping with that sleazy lawyer! Bringing your hotshot FBI friends. And when I challenge you, what does my smarmy bastard of a husband do? He yells at me! He yells at me for slapping you, you bitch!”

As if suddenly realizing that her husband wasn’t around to yell at her now, she slapped Jenna. Hard. And then again and again. The blows were stinging, but Jenna used the time to work harder at the ropes binding her.

“Stop it!” Samantha warned her. “We have to figure out exactly how to make this look like an accident.”

“Like you did with Milton Sedge?” Jenna asked, running her tongue over her lips and tasting blood.

“That was me,” Cindy said proudly. “Samantha did in Mr. Andres—with my compliments, of course—and I took care of the rest. They deserved to die! The Smiths deserved to die! They were horrible people. Don’t you understand? They were evil!”

“Cindy!” Samantha pleaded.

“Does it matter what we tell her now?” Cindy asked softly.

“What about Earnest Covington? How the hell could you butcher him like that?”

“I had to! Don’t you understand? I had to. They had to lock up Malachi!”

“Cindy! Stop it, please. Come on, and move! I’ve got to get her head cracked in and then leave her at the foot of the stairs. You wanted to talk to her—to explain. You’ve done it. We’ve got to get rid of her
now,
Cindy. Come away!”

Cindy started to rise. It might be Jenna’s last chance.

Jenna knew that she couldn’t tear free from the bonds holding her, but she might be able to use her legs to help her get free. She jerked up with all her might, chair still strapped to her back and arms, desperately finding her balance in split seconds. She had no choice of weapon or flexibility: she head-bashed Cindy, causing her to cry out and fall back.

“Oh, screw this!” Samantha cried, and she reached for the old lamp on the table and started to bring it down on Jenna’s head.

Jenna threw herself down and managed to avoid the first crash by tumbling awkwardly away. Her head was still ringing; it felt like it was a thousand pounds itself, and the wood chair slats and rope hurt her skin.

“Cindy, help!” Samantha raged.

Cindy staggered to her feet.

Samantha picked up one of the heavy candlesticks from the mantel.

She raced toward Jenna; Jenna ducked the blow.

Cindy came up behind her with the remnants of the lamp, striking her hard. She willed herself not to feel the pain. She still had no weapon but the force of her own body.

She threw herself on Cindy, taking her down.

Samantha reached for Jenna, grasping a handful of her hair and viciously pulling her up. She rammed Samantha, but Cindy rose.

And Jenna realized that her strength was failing. She fell to her knees, hunched over, the chair covering her somewhat.

But she didn’t want to die….

“He’s here!” she exclaimed suddenly. “Abraham Smith is here…and all those who have died at the hands of others. They’re all here, watching you!”

Jenna had wanted the exclamation to spook the women, but she found that she wasn’t actually lying—the ghosts of the deceased had gathered in the room to watch them.

As if sensing something herself, Cindy stood still in fear, shaking. “Where, where?”

“Nowhere!” Samantha cried. “Help me, Cindy.”

She had retrieved the candlestick and went at Jenna again.

“Abraham, no!” Jenna called, seeing that the ghost was going to do his best to trip Samantha. “Let the law punish them, and it will be years and years…”

“Stop it!” Samantha shrieked. But coming forward, she tripped and landed inches from Jenna, who pivoted on her knees to hit the woman with the legs of her chair. “Cindy, help, she’ll kill me!”

Cindy cried out herself, lifting the coffee table, ready to hurl it at Jenna.

But, before she could, a whirlwind rushed into the room.

It was Sam. He put his arms around Cindy and threw her to the ground, the table landing with a loud crash. At that moment, Jenna became aware of the sound of sirens coming closer. Samantha rose one more time to come after her.

Jenna felt lightness in her head, and she knew she was going to faint, with darkness and stars bursting before her eyes.

But Sam ran in her direction, and his arm snaked around Samantha before she could strike. He lifted her off her feet, swinging her around to crash land on top of Cindy.

“I always knew you wanted to touch me, honey,” Samantha said, dazed.

Then Jenna saw no more. The stars in front of her eyes burst, and then became blackness.

Waking up, Jenna felt a bit as if she were on display.

There were so many people staring at her.

A doctor in a white uniform and a stethoscope in his hand. A concerned nurse in a pert white hat. Uncle Jamie, Jackson, Angela, Will, John Alden—and Sam.

Sam was seated by her side on the bed, holding her hand. His gray eyes were so misted with concern that it seemed her heart ached, rather than her head.

“Ah, you’re back with us again,” the doctor said. “Well, that was a pretty good wallop you got on your head, and I know you’re an R.N., Miss Duffy, but you’re staying right here tonight, you understand. You should know that a good concussion is definitely something to watch.”

“Don’t you be worrying!” Jamie said. “The lass will be staying right here, till you say that it’s fine for her to leave.”

“Ditto,” Sam said sternly, squeezing her hand.

“May we have just a minute?” John Alden asked.

“A minute!” the doctor said sternly.

“I’m not leaving at all,” Sam said. He looked at the doctor. “I’ll be good, I swear. I’m just going to sit here and make sure she doesn’t try to get up.”

“All right, but not too much stimulation—the rest of you out of here in two minutes!” the doctor said firmly.

When he was gone, John Alden said, “Jenna, I just want to say—well, I just want to say that the women are both locked up, and—” he paused, shaking his head with a smile and looking at Jamie “—and the prosecutor has already gone in to see that the charges against Malachi Smith are dropped. Of course, now he has to press charges against Samantha Yeager and Cindy Yates, and you will be called to testify in court, and God knows, Sam may be defending them—”

“No,” Sam said. “Sam won’t be defending them.”

“Who knew?” Jamie said quietly. “Who knew that a woman like Cindy could go quite so crazy over the perceived injury done a child?”

“Well, we did think that maybe Andy Yates was that furious,” he reminded her. “We didn’t think that a mother would resort to that kind of violence. That’s still the way of the world—we don’t like to think that the female of
our
species can be so violent and diabolical. And I sure didn’t suspect that the affair was with
Cindy Yates,
not Andy,” Jackson said apologetically.

“Oh, my God, Angela!” Jenna tried to sit up to address her friend.

“No!”
the word was a cacophony from the entire group, and Sam gently pushed her back down.

“I’m fine—absolutely fine,” Angela told her. “I’m embarrassed, frankly. I was armed and everything. The rock came from the trees the minute I turned to watch the house. But, honestly, I was already getting up when Jackson came rushing over for me. So much for my intelligent stakeout.”

“They would have just gotten us both inside,” Jenna said.

“Maybe,” Angela said. “And maybe not.”

“Listen,” Jackson said, “our two minutes are up. We can go through all of it later—when you’re up to it. Come on, everyone out. Jenna, you get your rest, and don’t you dare try to get up again.”

“Wait!” Jenna said. She looked at her uncle. “How is Malachi?”

Jamie smiled. “Malachi is just fine. We had a long talk on the phone, and I’ll go and pick him up when I leave here. I’m making arrangements for him to do his senior year at a boarding school in New Hampshire—one that has an extensive music department. He wants to pursue a career in music. He has the guitar now, and while I’m getting him situated, he’ll have the piano at my house. We’ll see his name in the newspapers again, I’ll warrant. In the entertainment section. He’s going to make it. He’ll have support now, and belief. Music, he told me, is his gift from God. Who knows? Maybe he’ll become the singing priest! A nun made it that way, once!”

Jenna nodded and leaned back, smiling.

Jamie kissed her cheek, then Angela and Jackson. Apparently, John Alden would have felt left out if he hadn’t, so he did, as well.

She caught his hand. “Thanks for being a good cop, John,” she said.

“I didn’t want to believe any of you,” he said. “Me. The man who should have learned the most from the past.”

“You’re an exceptionally good cop because you were willing to be honest and not blindly insist that you were right. You’re a good cop because you pursued justice, not ego,” she told him.

He grinned, kissed her cheek again and left.

And she was alone with Sam.

“Wait until you’re well,” he told her, moving closer and holding her fingers tenderly. “Such a brat, still! You were supposed to be at the house.”

“I never said I wouldn’t go to Lexington House,” she told him.

“Brat. Omission is as good as a lie.”

She smiled, not looking at him. “I’m just grateful that you came. I learned something, of course. Anyone can be taken by surprise. I’m pretty good, but… Cindy might have been the one to commit the most vicious murders, but Samantha is one mean opponent! How the hell did you find us?” she demanded.

“I figured it out when David and Andy Yates were together,” he said. “I knew where they were—but I didn’t know where Samantha and Cindy were. I tried calling you. You didn’t answer.”

“But—did you just figure I would have gone to Lexington House?” she asked.

He lowered his head. “No,” he answered after a minute.

“Oh?”

“Someone showed me the way. I think she’s a friend of yours.”

“Oh? Who?”

“Rebecca Nurse.”

She stared at him in astonishment. “I—I thought she was just an old woman in the way, but Jackson didn’t see her. He said that she was there for me…and to follow her. And I did.” He was thoughtful. “She knew how easy it was for even good, sane people to believe what others said, I believe. Maybe—maybe she stays, making sure that others don’t follow the same route—making sure that history matters.”

Jenna could barely believe what he was saying—and that he meant the words, earnestly.

“She kept telling me that children listened to their parents. And they did; David Yates knew that his mother loathed the Smiths. He knew, too, that his father wanted them out of the area. And I think he was terrified that his father
was
a murderer, and he had to keep saying what he did so that nothing happened to his family.”

“That boy is going to need a lot of help,” Sam said thoughtfully.

“And what about Malachi?”

“I think your uncle is going to become his guardian. He was already saying that he wanted to get him down to New York or out West, maybe. He wants to put him in a good music school.”

“Actually, he needs to meet Jake.”

“Jake, Jake! I don’t want to hear about this Jake.”

Jenna tried not to laugh; laughing did still hurt.

“Jake has got a gorgeous fiancée, so not to worry. But he’s an incredible musician. I think he and Malachi really must meet.”

“In Virginia?”

“Yes, Jake is in Virginia now.”

He raised the hand he was holding in both of his, and kissed her fingers.

“I’ve actually been thinking that Virginia, the capital region, is really a phenomenal place for a truly renowned attorney to set up shop. Think of the graft! Think of the slimy politicians! Think of the masses, where crime just happens. I am considering looking into it. That is, if you think I should?”

He could push her back down if he chose, but she had to rise for a minute. She held on to his shoulders and kissed his lips.

“I don’t think that I could bear it if you didn’t,” she told him.

T
hey let Jenna out on Halloween morning.

She was delighted, but while the city was going crazy with talk and newspaper articles and the news on television, the last thing any of them wanted to do was join in the crowd.

Still, Jenna wasn’t ready to leave Salem. She and Sam spent the night at Jamie’s house, dispensing candy during the early hours, and just enjoying each other’s company the night through.

The next day, Sam was the one who wanted to get an appointment to see the Rebecca Nurse homestead.

They arrived right at dusk, and he headed straight to the graveyard with Jenna at his side.

At first they saw nothing.

And then they saw her as the mist fell with the coming twilight. She said nothing; she smiled at them and vanished into the fog. Sam knelt by her memorial marker and placed a spray of daisies there.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

He rose then, and took Jenna’s hand.

“Virginia, eh? So I get to meet Jake?”

“And his fiancée, Ashley. And Whitney and her new husband. And—”

“Adam Harrison?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“And I get to wake up every morning with you?” he asked softly.

“Yes. Well, every morning unless we’re on a case. Sometimes—”

“Sometimes,
I’ll
be on a case!” he reminded her.

“Yes, but you know—”

“Shut up while we’re both ahead. Kiss me,” he said. She did.

And while she kissed him, she thought she saw a number of the ghosts of Salem and Salem Village swirling vaguely in the mist. Looking on.

Smiling.

In my quest for regional food and drink, I asked my Massachusetts friends and family what they considered to be
the
Massachusetts traditional choice for imbibing. They all looked at me strangely and said, “Well, Sam Adams beer, of course!”

So…beer drinkers, there you have it. Sam Adams!

But long ago, another drink was quite popular, and is becoming so again: a good rum punch. This was begun by the hearty seafarers who came to the New England shores, fishermen, whalers, pirates and more. There are many variations, of course, but rum was the drink of the New World, and it was allotted to seamen. To stretch it out, improve taste and perhaps keep from falling overboard, seamen began to add things to rum. Sugar, because sugar is sweet. Fruit, because fruit is sweet—and keeps those at sea clear of the dreaded scourge of scurvy!