The Wynne Witch Page 4

  “Follow me.”

  Sully followed. He tried to pay attention as they wound their way through, Casey expertly avoiding wrong turns until, at last, the narrow path emptied into a central square containing a decorative pond and a stone bench. Sully tried to imagine the space in happier times, but it was difficult to see beyond the overgrown hedges and tangled weeds and grass poking through the stone floor. Water remained inside the pond, but floating leaves and other dead vegetation bobbed over its surface.

  He closed his eyes and tried to sense any energies nearby, but nothing revealed itself to him.

  Not until he opened his eyes and gazed back up at the house. He was only half-surprised to find the woman now standing on the upper-floor balcony.

  “She’s avoiding me,” he said, as much to himself as anyone else.

  “She’s not here anymore?” Neil asked.

  Sully turned from the house to study Neil. “No, she’s back at the house. Like I said, avoiding me.”

  “Why would she avoid you?”

  Casey spoke before Sully had a chance to form a reply. “I don’t think she wants us here.”

  Sully turned at Casey’s words and found her sitting at the edge of the pond, peering into it. He fully believed what she’d said but asked anyway. “What makes you say that?”

  Casey peered up at him and raised a brow. “She’s haunting the place, right? She didn’t want anyone around when she was alive, so why would she want anyone here now?” She turned from Sully to her parents. “I think we should take the hint and move back to the city.”

  Drea sighed. “Casey, we’ve had this discussion. We’re not having it again.”

  Casey stood and brushed her hands over her jeans. “Fine. So let’s just stay here with some creepy old woman’s ghost, then. Why not?”

  She started back toward the gap in the maze, and Neil appeared to realize he’d better follow. He snagged Drea’s hand, and they started after Casey.

  In an obvious hurry to get out, they probably expected Sully to follow. He didn’t. He wanted a moment alone here, to try to get a better sense of the woman who’d died in this spot. Sometimes, free of the emotion and energy of the living, he could better hone in on those belonging to the dead.

  Uncertain precisely where she’d been found, he brushed leaves from the bench and sat. He’d occasionally had luck with what his friend Marc Echoles termed psychometry, so he laid a hand on the bench to see whether he could sense Mildred or her death that way.

  Nothing. Nor did he get anything upon touching the raised border around the pond.

  Leaning down, he touched the water.

  One image. Only one.

  Long, knotted, dark grey hair bordering a deathly pallid face. Long, skeletal limbs. Wild, milky white eyes above a mouth filled with blackened teeth.

  Her mouth stretched open, impossibly wide, and she moved as if to scream.

  Sully jumped as a hand touched his shoulder. He opened his eyes and turned over his shoulder to find Neil standing behind him. No sign of the hag from his vision.

  “We were partway through when we realized you weren’t with us. Are you okay?”

  Sully stood to face him. “Yeah.” He turned to give the area one last visual sweep. No sign of the woman. God, had Mildred Wynne actually looked like that? No wonder people had feared her.

  Definitely not the lonely spinster from his imagination.

  Then again, maybe what he’d just seen was someone else. Something else.

  “Let’s get back to the house,” Neil said. “This maze creeps me out.”

  “Yeah,” Sully said. He stopped himself before uttering the other words on his mind.

  Me too.

  Drea made them lunch, which they ate inside the sunroom. The couple, Sully noted, had installed blinds, which he lowered to block their view of the backyard and the maze.

  “Let’s pretend it’s not there,” he said.

  Sully had to give him credit for trying.

  Casey ate with them, but passed on the tomato soup and gobbled her grilled cheese down quickly, as if she couldn’t get away quickly enough. Drea waited until Casey was back inside the house, headed for the stairs, before commenting.

  “You’ve made quite the impression on her.”

  Sully suspected Casey had a crush on him but had hoped no one else had noticed. Heat creeped across his face, and he fought it back. “Oh.”

  Drea grinned. “Sorry. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just didn’t want you to think she dislikes you. I can tell you from experience, girls usually feel awkward eating in front of a cute guy.”

  Neil leaned in with a coy grin. “Did you feel awkward eating in front of me?”

  “Nope.” Drea followed up by taking a big bite of sandwich.

  Sully chuckled at the deflated expression on Neil’s face.

  So did Drea. She waited until she’d swallowed, then she added to her previous statement. “That’s how I knew I wanted to marry you, you dork. I was comfortable around you from the start, enough I knew I could just be myself.”

  Sully glanced away as the two exchanged a kiss. It was like sitting with Dez and Eva.

  He waited until they were doing the dishes before bringing up the necessary topic of Mildred.

  “Do you guys have any photos of her?”

  Drea shook her head. “Sorry, no. At least, nothing recent. We have old family photos but nothing else.”

  Neil glanced over his shoulder at Sully as he dried a plate. “She was known as the family recluse. Once her nieces and nephews grew up and moved away, no one saw much of her. And it sounds like people in town didn’t see much of her either.”

  Drea gave her head a little shake. “So sad.”

  Sully considered how best to state his next point before accepting there really was no good way. “How much do you know about how Mildred died?”

  The couple exchanged a look before Neil turned back to Sully. “We don’t, actually. We didn’t ask. I had assumed it was old age.”

  “It wasn’t.” Sully tried for a calming smile, but it felt out of place, so he stopped himself halfway. “Remember what I told you about my abilities? I can only see ghosts when they’ve died as the result of a homicide.”

  Neil nodded as if remembering. Then he blanched. “And you can see Mildred.”

  Sully nodded back.

  Neil and Drea exchanged a wide-eyed glance before Drea’s eyes found Sully’s again. “How did she die?”

  “I don’t know. Whenever I see her, she’s in a black dress and a veil. Any injuries she might have sustained weren’t visible to me.”

  “No one said anything about a murder,” Neil said. “I definitely would have remembered.”

  “We didn’t really ask anything about her death, though, did we?” Drea said.

  Sully gave it a moment’s thought before sharing. “You guys are the beneficiaries of her will. If foul play was suspected by the police, you would have almost definitely been contacted about it. I know enough about police investigations to tell you that.”

  “How could she have been murdered without anyone knowing?” Neil asked.

  With a frown, Sully shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  But he did know how to go about asking. If there was one person who would have information on Mildred’s death or would be able to obtain it, it would be her lawyer.

  Thankfully, Hank Fleming had an office in Willow Valley, saving Sully a drive into Kimotan Rapids. He took the opportunity while driving there to phone Lachlan, allowing the Bluetooth system to send the call through the SUV’s speakers.

  Lachlan answered on the first ring. “What you got out there?”

  “I can see her, so—”

  “Homicide, then. What do you need from me?”

  “Nothing yet. I’m going to see if I can speak with her lawyer. I’m hoping he’s able to access a copy of whatever reports were done on her death, maybe the autopsy.”

  “If foul play wasn’t suspected, th
ere might not have been an autopsy,” Lachlan said. “But keep me posted. If you don’t get anywhere with the lawyer, might be I can shake a few branches.”

  “Thanks, Lachlan. I’ll let you know.”

  It was all the conversation he had time for, the town sitting directly ahead at the base of the hill.

  Neil and Drea had given him the address to the lawyer’s office, which was where they’d gone to receive the house keys and sign the documents to take possession of the property. Sully had looked it up before leaving the house and located it on his phone’s navigation system. Easy enough to find, he’d thought, given it was right on the main street.

  He was wrong. He’d forgotten about all the other businesses there, some crammed together in long, thin, shotgun-style buildings. Others were situated on upper floors, making them even harder to spot. He finally pulled over and checked the GPS dot on his screen. Fleming Law showed as being on the next block, and Sully opted to walk.

  Walking proved to be the right move, allowing him to read the business signs more carefully. Fleming Law was located on the upper floor of a building, directly atop a Chinese café. The stairwell smelled appetizingly of fried rice, and Sully’s stomach growled despite the meal he’d recently eaten.

  Hank Fleming’s office—old furniture and artwork, upper walls covered by the heads of various animals someone had hunted—was nothing like the few law offices Sully had visited in Kimotan Rapids. Many of those in the city were either extensively modernized or had been done up in classic style, as if seeking to outdo each other in appearance. Offices like Fleming’s might not instil much confidence in discerning would-be clients, the types who equated the ability to afford the latest decor and furnishings with success. In a town this size, Sully imagined someone like Fleming not only had little competition, but also few clients. A freshly outfitted office might not be merely unaffordable, it was also unnecessary.

  What Fleming did have was a receptionist. A woman in her fifties staffed the small front room behind a solid wood door at the top of the stairs. Hardwood floors were perhaps the only attractive feature in the office, although they were in dire need of care.

  So, too, it seemed was the receptionist, who bore the appearance of a woman who hadn’t had a decent sleep in weeks. She wore not a stitch of makeup from what Sully could tell, only a pair of unfashionable glasses playing a minor role in the concealment of dark and sagging skin beneath partially bloodshot and watery eyes. She wore a baggy but comfortable-looking sweater and no jewelry, and it seemed to pain her to greet him with the fake smile she dragged onto her face.

  “May I help you?” she asked, her tone insinuating very much she hoped he’d say no.

  Sully would have to disappoint her. “I was hoping to speak with Mr. Fleming.”

  “I’ll have to check if he’s available. Please, have a seat.”

  They seesawed in place, Sully settling onto one of two hard wooden chairs—pretty much all the small space had room for—while the receptionist hoisted herself to her feet.

  A closed door stood behind the desk, and she had only to turn and take two steps to rap. The “Yes?” from the other side was audible but very muffled, and Sully supposed it was something that Fleming seemed to have spent some money on soundproofing. It wouldn’t be sufficient to block out all conversation, particularly if things got emotional behind the closed door as could often happen with people in need of a lawyer. Sully pictured the receptionist behind her desk in those moments, pretending not to listen while sucking in every juicy detail of clients’ lives, perhaps with ear pressed near the door to pick up on the few things she might otherwise miss.

  She now stuck her head into the office to have a quick word with her boss.

  “Someone here to see you. Do you have a moment?”

  “Who is it?”

  A pause suggested the receptionist had recognized her error too late.

  “I didn’t ask.”

  A sigh told Sully this wasn’t the first time she’d forgotten. “Fine. Send the person in.”

  She shrunk from the office and turned.

  “He’ll see you now,” she said unnecessarily, stepping to the side to allow Sully to skirt around her desk and enter Hank Fleming’s office. Once he’d entered, she closed the door behind him.

  The lawyer stood from behind a large oak desk and offered a large, firm-looking hand over the top. “Hank Fleming. Call me Hank. And you are?”

  Sully met the handshake. Hank’s fingers closed over his, squeezing tightly.

  “Sullivan Gray.”

  Hank’s brows lifted, the name clearly triggering recognition. Like most lawyers of Sully’s acquaintance, Hank clearly paid attention to the news.

  “Pleased to meet you. Have a chair.”

  Hank waited until Sully sat before lowering himself back into his own chair. Sully took the few seconds to study him. If the surroundings didn’t present as a law office, Hank didn’t, at first glance, look like a lawyer—at least, not the ones Sully had occasion to know. He might be more easily taken for a rancher, a plaid button-down shirt pulled tight over muscled arms and rolled up to just below the elbows, large belt buckle visible beneath a paunchy midsection, face, neck and arms showing a tan yet to fully fade from summer. A string tie wouldn’t have been out of place, and Sully fully expected Hank preferred cowboy boots to shoes.

  Hank leaned forward in his chair, one of those cheap, fake-leather affairs that creaked with every movement. “What brings you out from the city?”

  Sully gave a polite smile. “I take it you know who I am.”

  “I’m a news junkie, so yep, I sure do. Would I be correct in assuming you’re here on business?”

  Sully reached into a pocket and retrieved a business card. He slid it across the desk to the lawyer. “We’ve been asked to check into something for a family new to town.”

  “Neil and Drea Wynne.”

  Hank apparently noticed Sully’s slight surprise as he followed up the last statement with a chuckle and an explanation.

  “Small town, Mr. Gray. You mention a family new to town, it’s pretty obvious who you’re talking about.”

  “Sullivan or Sully’s fine. And, yeah, I see what you’re saying.”

  “You’re obviously here because I was Mildred’s lawyer. What can I help with?”

  Sully leaned back in the chair, seeking a measure of comfort before launching into an uncomfortable topic. Unfortunately, while the chair was cushioned, it was nearly as hard as the one in the reception area.

  “Since you’ve heard about me, you’ll know I possess a rather unusual ability.”

  “I do recall, yes.” The smile which followed carried a hint of apology. “Forgive me, Sullivan, but I’m a man not given to the fantastic.” He held up his hands. “Not calling you a liar, by any means. Just don’t understand it all, I guess.”

  “It’s okay,” Sully said. “Honestly, I don’t understand all of it, either.”

  “So what can I do for you? You here on regular business or something a little spookier?”

  “Now that everyone knows about me, it seems most of what comes my way is the latter. The Wynnes called me because something’s been happening in the house, and they’re hoping to get to the bottom of it.”

  Hank picked up a pen from the surface of his desk and twirled it between the fingers of his left hand. “Well, it’s an old house. One of the oldest in the area, in fact. Bound to be all sorts of creaks and groans about the place.”

  “It’s a little more than that,” Sully said. “The curtains don’t stay open, no matter how many times they open them. And they’ve seen someone there. A woman.”

  “I’ll tell you something. I’ll often put something down and find it gone when I return. Some people might get scared and think it’s a ghost relocating things, but I know it’s likely no more than my tired, old brain. Sometimes, I’ll even think I see a long-dead family member out on the street or in a shop. Turns out it’s someone else. Doesn’t even really look
like them. The human mind is a fascinating thing, Sullivan, and it can pull some fascinating tricks. It’s not unusual for people to attribute it to a world beyond our own.”

  Sully nodded. “You’re right. And I agree; there are plenty of times people think something paranormal is going on when it can be explained scientifically. But not always. Not this time. Something’s going on at the Wynnes’ house, and I need to get to the bottom of it.”

  “Do they feel threatened?”

  “It’s not that.” This was the other part Sully didn’t relish explaining. “Do you recall the other thing that came out about my ability in the news? It isn’t just seeing ghosts. I only see one type of ghost: those who died by homicide. Thing is, I’ve seen someone at the Wynnes’. A woman. I’m trying to confirm whether it’s Mildred I’m seeing, and why.”

  “Well, there you go, then. Mildred wasn’t the victim of a homicide. She died a natural death.”

  Sully leaned toward Hank. “What can you tell me about what happened to her?”

  “Not a whole lot, really, other than the obvious. She’d lived a long life, and I guess her heart finally gave out. Probably to be expected in for someone her age.”

  “Do you have a photo of her?”

  Hank’s lips quirked in a wry smile. “She hated having her picture taken. I think you’d be hard-pressed to find a photo of her anywhere.”

  “Why didn’t she want her picture taken?”

  Hank shrugged. “Self-conscious, I suppose. She was what I suppose one might call a recluse. She rarely left the house or its grounds. When she needed to consult with me, it was either by phone or, when documents needed signing, she’d ask me to go there to see her. And there’s a nice young fellow who delivers to seniors when they need groceries and have difficulty getting them themselves. He’s actually the one who found her, poor kid.”

  A possible lead, Sully thought. “What’s the guy’s name?”

  “Jax Calstead. He’s sixteen, lives with his parents in town here. I can give you his address.”

  Hank riffled the surface of his desk until he came up with a small sticky note pad. He then flipped through an old-school rolodex until he found what he was searching for, and jotted an address on a piece of paper.