WISHBONE (31 page)

Julien lit another smoke, accidentally dropping it between his legs and burning a finger as he frantically fished for it. Cursing beneath his breath in French, he chose one more name, typing in Donald Combs.

Mr. Combs and his three children had all gone missing the same day that his wife, Celest, was found dead of an apparent accidental fall from a ladder in the apple orchard behind the Victorian. He could not bring himself to look up another victim. Sick over the results of his investigation, he found a folder in a supply drawer and packed away each of the printed reports at the far back of a filing cabinet. He had to get away from the loft…away from the barn…far from the property.  He gathered his phone and cigarettes and stepped over the ladder to descend. He did not look down; more fearful now. He white-knuckled his way to the base of the ladder, where his hands surprisingly closed around Sarah’s fingers. She stood behind the rungs, holding on to either side of the wood, and grinning at him playfully.

“Don’t do that!” he shouted. “You scare the shit out of me!” He had a sudden chill run the length of his spine and he spun around to scan the barn; fully expecting Jérome to appear from the shadows. 

Sarah came around the ladder and took his hand, bringing it to her ear. She moved it repeatedly from the side of her face to his pocket and back again. It took Julien a moment to realize she was trying to ask him to perform the magic trick again.

“No, Sarah. I am very busy today. Later I will play the trick for you.” He took his hand back. 

Sarah dropped to her knees before him, her face innocently inches from the zipper of his jeans.

Mon Dieu!

“Sarah!” he exclaimed, and grabbed her by the arms pulling her up to stand. She resisted and fought to remain at his feet on the ground. He arched his body, bending over and shifting his legs further away from her, all the while glancing out the barn door for fear of anyone watching.

Sarah reached for him and launched into a tantrum as she attempted to place her hands on his previously injured leg.

“Please, get up.” He continued to try to lift her, but she was dead weight and struggling. “I’m good. The leg is fine. It’s healed, Sarah.” He tossed words at her, though he realized the point was moot.  “Sarah, stop it! I am okay now,” he said sternly, his voice booming.

In an instant, he felt a searing pain rush through his leg, forcing him to lean all of his weight onto her shoulders to remain standing. The pain dissipated gradually and his eyes met Sarah’s. Her expression moved from furious to sad. He stepped back, limping heavily once again.

It is not the wishbones…

…it is you.

He had difficulty keeping his balance, but took another deliberate step away from her. Sarah’s expression crumbled and she looked like she might cry.

“Sarah, we’re not toys.” The words came out of him before he could fully acknowledge his realization. He tested his leg again, now at a safer distance from the girl. Her point was clear;
making her angry was dangerous
. The Victorian was Sarah’s personal dollhouse; he and Rachael were merely her latest toys.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Julien watched a teary-eyed Sarah slump on the ground in the barn. There was no doubt in his mind that Sarah did not need a wishbone to work her magic. The bones were simply part of her game, a catalyst to transfer her abilities to others in her child-like expression of
your turn
. His only choice was to keep the girl happy long enough to remain safe while he worked to convince Rachael of the truth. It appeared to Julien that while Sarah had lashed out and delivered a powerful reminder in the form of a good size dose of pain, she was also worried that he might be angry with her. She silently gazed up at him with fear and shame in her eyes. His only advantage was that, as angry as Sarah may get with him, he knew she had a strong affection for him; feelings she probably could not understand herself. He would have to play on those feelings for as long as he could.

“Sarah, everything is all right,” he declared, approaching her. “Come on, get up now.” He reached his hand out for her to take; she had been attempting to cling to his hand all day, yet now she seemed reluctant. “Come on,” he said more sweetly.

Sarah reached up and slipped her fingers into his then climbed sloppily to her feet. Fearful of giving her the wrong idea; he had to choose his words and actions with caution and attempted a paternal tone.

“I’m not angry with you,” he said, squeezing her hand. “But you can’t hurt me like that, okay. We make a deal, no?”

Sarah inched toward him. She leaned forward, awkwardly placing her cheek to his chest then shuffled her feet closer as an after thought. Julien hesitated; he wanted to feel sorry for the girl, but he knew better. He would never again drop his guard around her…he couldn’t. He was angry that a seventeen-year-old mute could hold such power over them and wreak such havoc on their lives.

Keep her happy.

Just keep her happy.
 

Knowing Sarah’s reluctance to touch, he moved tentatively until he was hugging her. This time she did not jerk away but hummed faintly to herself as he held her in his arms.

“I have to go into town, Sarah.”

She pulled back, looking up at him in pre-tantrum.

“Uh-uh, listen,” he said, as he took her face into his hands; again, she did not jerk away. “I want you to prepare one of the birds. I will go to town and buy what we need and come back for a very special dinner…all of us…together.”

Sarah settled down. She rocked on her heels and began ringing her hands.

“Good girl. You will do that for me, no? Prepare the chicken?”

Sarah looked down at the ground, nodded, and took a few steps past him toward the coop. Halfway there she turned to look back at him. He glanced over his shoulder as reached the barn doors.

“Go on.” He motioned through the air. “I’ll be home very soon. Keep going,” he said pleasantly, encouraging her with a sweeping gesture. 

Sarah disappeared into the coop giving Julien the freedom to walk away. 

* * * *

He entered the house and found Rachael in the kitchen. Rachael had the baby strapped securely to her chest in a wrap.

“Where is she?” she asked.

“Sarah? The barn.” He searched for his keys in his jacket pocket. “She’s preparing a chicken for dinner.” 

“For dinner?” Rachael asked.

“I thought we could all sit down to dinner together. It’s been a while, no?”

“Suddenly you’re in the mood for chicken?”

He pretended to contemplate the question. “Yeah, why not? But for now I am off to town. Do we need anything?” He moved toward the door.

“Why are you going to town?” she questioned and took a few steps closer as if she might try to stop him.

Julien shot her an accusing glance. “I put in some bids for work and now I need ink for the printer…a few other things.” Wanting to be as believable as possible he added, “I would also like to enjoy a ride on my bike. This has been a while too, no?”

 Rachael nodded suspiciously. 

“Okay, I will be home by dinner,” he said and left her with a loud bounce of the screen door between them.

* * * *

It felt liberating to be able to gun his bike and go. After gaining some distance from the property he slowed down as he moved along the winding mountain road where he now knew the Craig’s and Maureen Boyle had driven their cars off the cliff. His mind wandered and he thought of the various deaths and scenarios, and what each of the families might have done to upset Sarah, or worse, how they might have turned on each other. He was adamant that Rachael and he would not be the next victims of the unimaginable game.

He pulled into a parking space behind the bank mentally preparing for a worst-case scenario. He entered the bank, which was empty save for one teller and a middle-aged man behind a desk. He approached and was surprised to be addressed by name.

“Mr. Grenier…Grant Vandermark…what can we do for you today?”

Julian, hearing the man’s surname, tried not to react. “Yes, I’m here about my home loan. I still have not received the deed to my property.” Julien sat at the edge of a chair before the desk. “We’ve had a lot going on and I lost track of time. It only dawned on me today.”

“Well these things sometimes take time, Mr. Grenier. I can look into the matter for you, but I assure you your copy should arrive any day now. It really hasn’t been very long as these things go,” he said with a chuckle.

Julien felt his teeth grind at the first sound of the inherant Vandermark laugh.

“Well actually, there’s more to it. I ran a title search today and it appears Arlette Vandermark is still listed as the owner of the property.”

Grant Vandermark sat forward now folding his hands and leaning onto his elbows. He laughed again, noticeably nervous. “Surely, there’s some mistake,” he suggested. “Sometimes it takes a while for files to update on the internet. You did mean on the internet, right? Once again, I would be more than happy to look into this for you.”

Julien nodded; something about the guy made it tough to keep his cool. It would do him no good to react explosively. Furthermore, Vandermark was not hiding his nerves well and Julien could see the banker was visibly shaken. At least he had the satisfaction of knowing he was getting under the man’s skin.

“Yes, that would be good,” Julien agreed. “I’ve been consistently making our mortgage payments to
your
bank and I would like this matter rectified right away.” The man’s eyebrow twitched and Julien, suspicious, cocked his head and continued, “When can I expect this to be resolved?” He pushed his chair back preparing to leave.

“Why I can’t be sure. It’s Friday, end of day. There isn’t much that can be done until Monday and it could take several days just to get the right person on the phone. Look…” Grant Vandermark’s voice went up an octave, “The problem will be taken care of…I personally assure you. Have you spoken to Arlette about this?”

“No, should I?  My mortgage is with your institution, no?”

“Well, yes it is, but…” He loosened his tie. “I’ll call you sometime next week, Mr. Grenier.” The man ended their conversation abruptly by getting to his feet, as did Julien, who turned and walked away without so much as a nod.

* * * *

Julien left the bank feeling that the web of deceit was about to thicken. Grant Vandermark was clearly alarmed by his questions. He thought back to Arlette’s comment that first day, sitting with the realtor at the kitchen table. He signed the paperwork putting in an offer on the Victorian and she assured him there would be no problem as her
cousin
worked for the bank. Not only was Sarah some sort of telekinetic savant, but they were embroiled in a housing scam as well.

Julien laughed at the embarrassment of his own stupidity. Devastated by the turmoil surrounding him, he shook his head then rolled his bike out to the mouth of the bank’s driveway. He was about to kick-start when he saw Dr. Lind entering the grocery store across the way. He rolled the bike down into the street and abandoned it curbside. He walked across to the store. 

Julien wandered around looking for Dr. Lind who at first seemed to have vanished, eventually turning up in the wine aisle. Julien waited watching from behind a display of potato chips and dip. When it appeared Lind was heading to the front of the store, Julien beat him to the checkout line. Dr. Lind walking up behind him seconds later.

“Mr. Grenier,” said the doctor, surprised to see him.

Julien pretended to be surprised as well. “Ah, how are you, Docteur?”

“Very well. Yourself?” He chuckled and patted Julien’s back.

Julien watched the doctor look down, giving a quick scan of his lower extremities. 

He knows exactly what’s going on at that Victorian.

“Good, very well, merci.” It was Julien’s turn at the counter. “Two packs of Lucky Strike, please.”

The doctor peered over Julien’s shoulder and asked, “Luckies? I didn’t know they still made them.”

Julien ignored the doctor’s comment, paid, and stepped aside. “Do you mind if I wait and walk out with you?”

Lind shrugged. “Is everything okay?” he asked, then turned to the woman at the counter. “On my tab, Nadine, please.” The woman nodded and Lind turned his attention back to Julien. “Off we go.” He chuckled again.

They left the grocery store side by side and stepped out onto the sidewalk. 

“I hope you don’t mind but my car is way over by my office.” The doctor glanced down at Julien’s leg again.

Julien decided to confront the issue head on. “It’s doing much better,” he declared bobbing up and down in a subtle display of the miracle. 

He’s all but admitting he remembers coming up to the house and treating me.

“Yes, I see. The last time I saw you…what was it? An accident on your bike?”

Julien’s sail deflated and he suddenly remembered the lie he had told when he ran into the doctor the last time he rode into town—he hadn’t caught Lind admitting to anything.

Am I wrong?

Maybe he doesn’t know what’s going on?

Or maybe he’s covering up?

Julien got back to business. “I have a few questions about the previous tenants of the Victorian.”

“Previous tenants?” he asked with reserve. “I’m not sure how I can assist you with that.”

“You are the only docteur in Kings Hollow, no?”

The doctor chuckled again and nodded.

“Look Docteur, I will come straight out to ask you.” Julien saw no sense in beating around the bush. Furthermore, the anger was building up inside of him and Dr. Lind could very well be the unfortunate recipient of his fueling ire—if he was unwilling to offer some honest answers.

He continued, “Don’t you find it a little strange that everyone who has lived in the Victorian for the last decade or more has died, gone missing, or ends up in an institution?”

Lind stopped dead in his tracks. He turned to face Julien head on. “Institution?” he tilted his head back looking down his nose at Julien through his eye glasses. “Do you mean Margaret Hourglass?”