Scraps of Paper (23 page)

“All marriages aren’t like that, Martha. Mine wasn’t. Joel and I were lovers and friends first. There wasn’t a day that passed when he didn’t leave me a love note, a flower, or a gift with an I love you attached. It got better every day. If it’s real love, marriage won’t spoil it.” The lump in Abigail’s throat threatened to surge into tears, feeling sorry for herself. It was a combination of missing Joel, pain and a growing dread of something unknown rushing at her.

“You really loved your husband, didn’t you? The story book kind of love.”

“Yes,” she said with a soft sigh. “More than anything in the world. One of life’s cruel jokes: it uncovers what you love and need the most and then takes it away from you.”

“You were lucky to have had him as long as you did, Abby.” Envy mingling with compassion in Martha’s smile. She, too, had begun to call her Abby. “Most people never have that. I know I never have.”

Martha paused. “I hear Mason has up and gone without leaving a forwarding address or saying any goodbyes about the time of the last story. What do you think that’s all about?”

When speaking to Martha, friend or not, Abigail had learned whatever she told her today everyone in town would know tomorrow. There were things with the Summers story she didn’t want to get out. Not yet. “I don’t really know why Mason left town or why. Someone told me he went on vacation.”

“That’s a good one. This weekend is the big Labor Day celebration. The town merchants make a pot of money. John Mason has never missed making money. I think the stories scared him off for some reason. I’d sure like to know what it was.”

Martha had gobbled her lunch. “I hate leaving good company, but I have paperwork to do. I’ll see you at the picnic Saturday. I’ll drag you to the best chili and pie booths. I know them well.” She glanced at her thighs with a frown. “Take care of that arm and stay out of traffic. Ciao.”

“I will to both,” Abigail promised. “Bye.” She watched her friend leave money and go.

Her pain had become a silent shadow, constantly there so Abigail paid her pie bill, bid farewells to Stella and to her grandson, cooking in the back, and drove home. After making sure the house was locked up around her, she downed pain pills, and fell asleep on the sofa. Snowball snoring on her chest and the wooden club tucked in the crease of the sofa on her left side.

She slept through the afternoon, evening and night and dreamed Joel came to her back door. She was so happy to see him she ran into his arms and into nothingness. Standing in the open door she glimpsed Joel at the end of the yard. It was night and there was barely a faint sliver of moon, yet Joel was encircled in a globe of glimmering light, so he was easy to see. Oh, how she’d missed him! He was gesturing her to follow and she did. Followed him through the woods and the sleeping trees to Jenny and Christopher’s tree house. The tree was still intact, untouched by lightning, towering and hulking dark above them. Joel halted at the graves, which were aglow in a soft blanket of radiance.

But there were nine graves with wooden headstones when she remembered there being only three. Joel was hovering behind the first one and she walked towards it. It was Emily’s grave.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked Joel. “Why have you brought me here?”

The dream Joel had only smiled grimly and moved on to the next grave. She followed him. It was Jenny’s grave. The third grave was Christopher’s. Abigail, sick sensation clawing in her chest, went to the fourth grave. Edna Summers was scratched on it. The fifth grave Norma’s. The sixth and seventh graves were Emily’s parents.

Abigail was terrified of going any further. She didn’t want to look at the remaining two graves, but Joel insisted. In life she’d never been able to deny Joel and in the dream it was the same. The eighth grave was Joel’s. As she watched, tears welling in her eyes and her throat closing with uncried sobs, her husband threw her a kiss and sunk through the dirt into his grave. He was gone. And then she wept. Joel was truly dead. She’d known that for months, but for some reason it hurt more each day and came home at that moment.

The ninth grave was open, waiting, and as she stared into the hole, footsteps in the leaves behind her alerted her that someone was there. When she swung around it was a man or a woman. She couldn’t make out the face because the person was in the shadows. She couldn’t tell if the person was short or tall, because the image flickered like a flame.

“I’ve dug nine graves and the ninth has been waiting for
you
,” the husky voice rasped. Without warning, the shadow person shoved her into it. She screamed and struggled, but no one heard. She tried to climb out, but she couldn’t. Her body was a frozen lump stuck in the fresh earth. The shadow cackled above her and shoveled in the dirt until her world went black.

Abigail woke up screaming until she realized she was on her couch in her house. Safe. She’d been dreaming again. The pain pills gave her the most awful nightmares. It was morning and someone was knocking on her door. Putting on her robe, she answered it.

It was Frank, a box of Danish in his hands. “I knew you were awake. I heard the screaming. Nightmares again, huh?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she groused, pushing her uncombed hair off her face. She let him in. “I’ll go make coffee.” She padded off to the kitchen.

***

Frank slumped down on the couch, took a donut out of the box and stuffed it into his mouth. Snowball bounced up beside him and begged for a piece, which he gave her. She liked the chocolate iced ones. Loved the icing. Exhausted from the nights he’d spent in his truck at the end of Abigail’s driveway, Frank appreciated the softness of the sofa.

He didn’t know how much more he could take. Stakeouts were a young cop’s pastime. Sleeping in a truck. Drinking cold coffee. Staying awake all night. Catching cat naps during the day. He was getting too old for that.

But listening to Abigail in the kitchen, he had the feeling, as he had for days, that she was in danger and he had to watch over her for a little while longer. Call it his cop instinct. All he knew was it was never wrong.

Chapter 18

Frank arrived in good spirits the morning of the Labor Day picnic to escort her to town. The day was warm and cloudy with no rain expected until late that night so she hoped it would hold off at least until the picnic was over.

“Did you hear from Kyle?” were the first words out of her mouth when she saw him. Kyle was supposed to come down for the weekend and go to the picnic with them.

“He’s coming. He won’t be here until around two, though. He’s got to drive down from Chicago. I told him he could find us lingering along Main Street.”

“Breakfast at Stella’s first, I presume? Bacon, eggs, biscuits and hot coffee?”

“It’s tradition.” His earring sparkled in his ear and he’d tied his hair into a short ponytail. Sandals on his feet, his blue jeans were faded and there was an American flag on his shirt. He looked comfortable.

She was wearing a brimmed straw hat, so her face wouldn’t burn, with a blue scarf tied around it. Her blouse was white and her shorts were a patriotic crimson. Her arm didn’t hurt as much and she’d begun to feel almost normal. She’d stopped gulping the pain pills because she couldn’t tolerate the nightmares. Dreaming about graves and faceless shadows had scared the pain right out of her. The last time she’d taken them she’d dreamed of Edna poisoning her coffee. As she’d lay on the couch, unable to move or speak, Snowball meowing pitifully in the background, the shadowy ghosts of Emily, Jenny and Christopher had taken turns coming and sitting with her, waiting for her to die.

“Come with us. We’re waiting for you,” Jenny had begged in her child’s voice, small hand stroking Abigail’s arm. “We’ll help you find Joel…he’s here somewhere.”

A see-through Christopher had pleaded, “I’ll teach you how to roller skate. It’s not hard.” Then, a pale translucent streak, he’d left the room on his skates.

“I don’t belong with you,” Abigail told them. “I don’t want to die. I have a lot of life ahead of me. Why did Edna do this to
me
?”

“Because you’ve been digging up her business, all the dirt; putting it in the newspaper. She’ll never forgive you for that.” Emily’s ghost murmured before she’d drifted away.

In the dream Abigail had shut her eyes as her spirit left her body. She’d awoken. The dream had been so real she thought she’d died. Instead it was as if she’d been given another chance, another life. That was the last time she’d taken the pills. It was easier to take the pain.

Entering Stella’s Diner, Abigail thought on how things had changed. People recognized her now and joshed about her broken arm and her wanting to be a Jessica Fletcher clone; wanted to talk about the graves she’d found and the diary. They all had theories of who killed who.

 “What’s your next case, Jessica?” a middle-aged bald man solicited. “My Aunt Ester can’t find out what happened to her investment money. You want to look into that for us?”

“Stock market’s fallen. That’s what happened,” Abigail joked back.

“We have a family mystery,” another customer teased. “Cousin Mary Ann Stoebel went to Montana seven years ago. No one’s heard from her since. What do you think became of her?”

“She’s running a cow ranch out in the middle of nowhere? No phone,” Abigail cracked.

And on and on. Most of it was good-natured ribbing that was the townspeople’s way of showing acceptance. Frank just smiled and said nothing.

Breakfast was ordered and came, and Martha, Ryan and Samantha joined them. Samantha was chattering about going out of town in two weeks for editorial classes. “Frank,” she initiated after a gap in the conversation. “Was there ever any conclusive proof in Edna’s parents’ autopsies to what they actually died of?”

“The M.E. found traces of long term poison in their bone fibers. It’d soaked into the remnants of their clothing. The same kind as he found in the children’s bones. Most likely whoever killed the old people killed the kids as well.”

“That’s terrible, but fantastic for the wrap up story I have planned.” Samantha turned to include Abigail in the conversation. “I know you’ve been plagued recently with warnings from someone unhappy with the stories.” She was looking at the cast on Abigail’s arm. “I’m really sorry. I feel responsible. Being it’s my articles that have gotten you both in trouble, put you in danger. If you want me to, I’ll stop writing them. No matter what the publisher wants.” She was serious.

“And let whoever’s been doing these awful things win?” Abigail spoke first. “No way. We’ll be careful.” She glanced at Frank and he nodded. “So don’t muzzle the truth because of us. You just go ahead and do that wrap up story. Freedom of the press, remember?”

“At least we’re safe today with all these people around,” Frank pointed out.

 “You’re a brave pair, you are.” Samantha smiled. “And I thank you both from the bottom of my heart. Our circulation has gone through the roof since we’ve starting writing about the Summers, and it’s made my publisher, and me, so happy. The mail and reader participation alone has been astonishing. But finding the graves, the contents of the dairy and its missing pages put us over the top. People love an intriguing who-done-it.

“I’d like to speculate who might have been the poisoner of those four victims. What might have really happened to them. My boss is pressuring me for closure.

“And I’d love to be able to serve up the killer, but with no positive suspect and too many possibilities…it ain’t gonna happen. The late Sheriff Cal seems likely. Myrtle thinks Edna killed all of them.” Samantha dropped her voice so only Abigail and Frank could hear. “We know from Norma’s letter Mason was one of Emily’s boyfriends…but we can’t be sure he was the only one, or even if it’s true, given Norma’s state of mind at the end and her hatred for her ex-husband.

“We can’t use names, because we don’t have the proof to be pointing fingers and ruining reputations. Leaves us open for libel. Between you and me, as I know John and don’t believe he’d do anything so heinous, the ex-husband looks guilty as sin, horrible as that would be. But who knows?”

“Right, we can’t prove anything,” repeated Abigail. “People can speculate to their heart’s content, but we may never find out who killed them. We’re at a dead end.”

In the beginning she’d wanted so badly to solve the mystery and then the murders, but slaughtered birds, a smashed up motorcycle and a broken arm later she wasn’t so sure any longer. It wasn’t worth Frank’s life or hers, she’d decided. The dead were still all dead; nothing would change that.

“No matter,” Samantha said. “It’s been amazing. It’s made everyone rethink how they should treat their neighbors–with more compassion and understanding–and brought the town together. That’s worth something.”

Abigail’s mind wandered, pondering on the secrets of the town and the past, as Frank ended the discussion by offering his prediction of who would most likely win the chili contest.

“What sort of chili do you fancy, Abigail?” Martha was holding hands with Ryan.

“The kind with crackers.”

 “I’m sure there’ll be some of that kind as well.” Martha giggled.

They sampled the carnival rides stretching up Main Street, enjoyed the summer day and strolled through the park and around the courthouse’s lake where miniature paddleboats waited for passengers.
Abigail did all she could to put those graves out of her mind.

It wasn’t easy. It was as if Emily’s ghost was around every corner. She was dressed in flowered bellbottoms, her eyes black lined like Cleopatra, and she was hand in hand with her children as they haunted the streets they once walked so long ago.

Around three o’clock Kyle slipped out of the crowd and caught up with them. Along with a grin, he gave Abigail a hug, careful not to jar her cast. His warm welcome touched her.

“How’s the sleuthing business going?” he kidded. “When Abigail gave him a curious look, he explained, “Dad’s been keeping me updated on your adventures via e-mail. I heard a car tried to turn you, Dad and the bike into a metal pancake. I heard about your broken arm. That’ll teach you to ride with him.” He thumbed back at his father and chuckled.

“I’d ride with your dad any time. It wasn’t his fault. But let’s not talk about that. Makes my arm hurt.” Her face frowned and Kyle let the subject drop.

“Your hair’s getting long, kiddo.” Frank tousled his son’s hair

“Yeah, I look like a hippie. Like my dad. Now I just need an earring. Or two. A nose ring.”

A smile curved Abigail’s lips. “Might look good on you. Buy gold.”

“Well, now that Kyle’s here,” Frank looked at everyone, “how about we get some chili and pie and then take a leisurely paddle around the pond to work it off?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Abigail seconded and they headed for the food booths.

Afterwards the six of them paddled in circles around the lake and, laughing, taunted the other boaters. The water was no deeper than four feet at any spot and the boats were small fiberglass tubs. It’d been years since Abigail had been in a paddleboat, the cast made it awkward and she got a little sunburned, but she had fun anyway.

At five o’clock the chili winners were announced and prizes given out. Frank talked Abigail into going on the Ferris Wheel and they watched the entire town from the top of it. He held her when the wind swayed them and she laughed as he pointed out people and things below. “Look, there’s Myrtle and her wagon over on Plum Street coming this way…the country band is setting up on the bandstand…see where the bonfire’s going to be…there’s Stella’s grandson talking to that Sarah girl again. I think he likes her.” Frank was enjoying himself. He’d gone on every ride at least two times and sampled half the food at the booths. That Kyle had showed up made the day perfect.

After the rides the gang listened to the band and Abigail sat the fast ones out, because her arm was sore, but danced a few slow ones with Frank. As the day wound down the evening twilight crept in and brightened the tiny twinkling lights strung along the streets. The band got louder and more clouds drifted in, darkening the shadows, but no rain.

Abigail didn’t want the day to end, she’d had such a good time, but since the accident she tired easier and knew she’d be home before they lit the bonfire. She’d taken a break and was sitting by herself at the picnic table, Martha and Ryan dancing and Frank and Kyle getting drinks, when an unsettling thought occurred to her: Were her pictures still safe inside Mason’s store?  Just because he was irritated over the stories didn’t mean he would have done anything to them? Did it? She should check to be sure. Mason was out of town so it had to be safe if she just snuck a peek in the store windows.

The idea nagged her until she acted on it. It was only a short ways down the street and the sound of the music followed her.

The store was dark and empty inside, the closed sign hanging on the door. She tried the doorknob. Locked. She peered through the window, face pressed against the glass. She couldn’t see her pictures, couldn’t see a thing. Much as she hated the thought, she’d have to wait until Mason returned to town and the store opened again. Sighing, she was about to go back when she caught a glimpse of something moving behind the glass.
Someone was inside.
She slid up against the wall and froze. Her inner voice told her to leave, but her common sense said if there was someone inside all she had to do was run and fetch Frank. Or yell. There were people all around her so she was safe.

Hesitating was her mistake. The door swung open and a hand darted out and snatched her good arm, physically dragging her into the store. She screamed as the door slammed shut and fell to the floor, trying to keep the cast from hitting the hard surface. Her eyes adjusting to the murkiness, someone hissed, “Don’t scream again. I won’t hurt you.”

Even in the dim light filtering through the windows, she recognized John Mason. “Mr. Mason?” Abigail squeaked, as he helped her to her feet, keeping a grip on her but careful not to jar her bad arm any more than he already had.

“It’s me. The man whose reputation you’ve ruined. I was just gathering some things before I left town. Nice of you to drop by to say goodbye.”

She could see he was upset. Not himself. “I’ll be missed quickly,” she warned him.