Chapter Thirty
THIRTY
MAVEN
By the time I get back to the house, the sun has set, and I’ve exhausted every possibility I can think of for what Ronan was really doing at the church.
It wasn’t renovations, that’s for sure.
I go into the kitchen for a glass of water. Through the window, I catch a glimpse of the yard. The red-and-black fox sits on the iron bench under the grove of birch trees, gazing back at me expectantly as if it’s been waiting there for me to arrive.
When my cell rings, I answer it distractedly. “Hello?”
“Ms. Blackthorn, this is Robert from Pinecrest Cemetery. We spoke about exhuming your mother’s grave. Do you have a moment?”
“Yes, of course. How can I help you?”
He nervously clears his throat and lowers his voice. “I could get into trouble for this, so I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t mention to anyone that it was me who called you.”
“I understand. I’ll keep it confidential. What is it?”
“The state regulatory board moved faster into the investigation of Anderson’s Funeral Home than any of us anticipated.”
My heart leaps with hope. “And? Did they find my grandmother?”
“I’m afraid not, Ms. Blackthorn. But they haven’t found anyone else, either.”
When he doesn’t elaborate, I grow impatient. “I don’t understand.”
“I told you they had started disinterring graves as part of their investigation. They first began with the graves of anyone whose family had filed a formal complaint and inspected those remains.”
“I’m confused. You just said they didn’t find anyone. How could they have inspected bodies if there weren’t any?”
“I’m afraid I wasn’t quite finished.” He hesitates for a moment before continuing. “You might want to be sitting down for this.”
When he hesitates again, the last of my patience unravels. There’s only so much a person can take in one day.
“Listen, Robert, I know you don’t know me, but please take me seriously when I say that if you don’t tell me exactly what’s going on within the next five seconds, I’ll drive over there and make you wish you’d never gotten out of bed this morning.”
“I think you’re going to want to drive over here anyway, because when I said they didn’t find anyone, I was specifically talking about your family’s plot. Eight Blackthorn graves have already been exhumed.”
I’m shocked by that. “Eight?”
“Yes. And I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but every coffin opened so far has been empty. Including your mother’s.”
Speechless, I stare through the kitchen window at the fox sitting on the bench out in the yard.
It returns my gaze unflinchingly, its golden eyes burning bright in the gathering gloom.
For the rest of the evening, I’m preoccupied with thoughts of Ronan and the unsettling mystery of the empty graves at the cemetery. I don’t mention my call from Robert at Pinecrest to the aunties, though I’m not sure why.
There’s something I’m missing. I feel as if the key to unlock all these mysteries is right under my nose, but I can’t see it.
Once I’ve put Bea to bed and I’m back in my own room, I finally listen to Ezra’s voicemail.
“Have you read this month’s edition of Scientific American yet? If not, there’s an article you might find interesting. Page twelve.”
He’s got my curiosity piqued, so I log in to my online account for the magazine and navigate to page twelve.
There I find an article about how the Institute of Evolutionary Anthropology conducted a study on the chromatophores of cuttlefish that allow them to change color and camouflage themselves from predators.
I have no idea why he’d think this would interest me.
I scan the rest of the article, growing more and more confused as I read about how the institute also did a study on the cognitive ability of ravens, the DNA sequencing of a fossil from a dinosaur that perished more than seventy million years ago, and the brain neurons of a species of tree frog that can modulate its infrared output.
As far as I can tell, none of those things are related to each other or me. Then I see the name of the corporation that funded the studies.
Croft Pharmaceuticals.
I debate calling him, considering I said we’d never talk again, but I don’t understand why he would’ve mentioned this article. He shouldn’t know I have any connection to the Crofts, and nowhere in the article does it mention Solstice.
I decide it’s worth investigating and give him a call. He picks up after one ring, sounding guarded.
“Hi. This is a surprise.”
“I know. I hope this is a good time. I can call back later if not.”
“No, this is fine. What’s up?”
“I just listened to your voicemail about the article.”
“Oh.” He pauses, then says, “And?”
“Well, I wondered why you sent it.”
“Because of Croft Pharmaceuticals.”
I furrow my brow. “What about them?”
“They offered an ungodly sum to gain access to our lepidoptera collection to study the way butterflies can modify the colors on their wings. Remember?”
“That was them?”
“Yes.”
I’m so overcome with astonishment, I can only stare blankly at the wall with my mouth open. I recall the request, as it was discussed at length during a staff meeting before being rejected, but I never knew it originated from Ronan’s company.
The hamster inside my brain hops on its little plastic wheel and starts to run.
“I searched for you, you know. For years, I’ve had the best private detectives looking for you. But it was as if you vanished. Outside Solstice, Maven Blackthorn doesn’t exist.”
I assumed it was a fabrication when he told me that, a silly bit of flattery designed to lower my defenses, but did Ronan actually know I worked at the museum? Was he counting on me to get his request pushed through?
And if he did know I worked there … what else does he know about me?
Is that why he’s always so insistent about being Bea’s father? He had me followed? But if so, why did he never reach out? Why make up a story about hiring private detectives who found nothing?
Why concoct so may lies?
Into my astonished silence, Ezra says, “You said once that you went to school with the son. He’s the CEO now.”
I pull myself together and focus on the conversation. “Yes, I know. But I can’t recall ever mentioning him to you.”
“You had a bad dream that time you spent the night when Bea had a sleepover at her friend’s house. You woke up screaming his name over and over. That and something about righting a wrong, but it was all very convoluted. You were panicked. It took me fifteen minutes to calm you down. Remember?”
Righting a wrong.
My arms prickle with goose bumps. A shiver runs down my spine.
When I’m silent too long, lost in my headspace, Ezra clears his throat and awkwardly tries to pick up the thread of the conversation.
“I can’t help but wonder what their goal is with these studies they’re funding.
It’s strange, don’t you think? The most logical answer is that they’re developing some new medication based on the findings.
If so, I’m sure they could conduct animal testing, but I doubt they’d get approval from the FDA to move on to human trials with anything involving genes from a dinosaur. ”
Something about the words “human trials” unlocks a dark door inside my brain.
It makes me think of Anderson’s Funeral Home’s secret history of mishandling bodies.
It makes me think of all the people who go missing in Solstice and are never seen again.
It makes me think of my ancestors’ strange, accidental deaths.
It makes me think of the empty graves at Pinecrest.
Finally, it makes me think of what Cole Walker said when I hired him to look into Granny’s disappearance.
“Whatever’s going on in that town, the Crofts know about it. Probably have a hand in it, too.”
My pulse pounding and my mouth dry, I consider the ugly possibility that maybe Croft Pharmaceuticals wouldn’t try to get government approval before starting human trials on a new drug they wanted to bring to market.
Maybe they’d find a few workarounds instead.
And with all their power, all their influence, they could probably pull it off.
My heart races so fast, I’m breathless.
Did my mother discover something she shouldn’t have? Is that why she went to the church that snowy December night? To confront Elijah? Or was she there investigating, and he found her there?
It’s dangerous to be an inconvenient thorn in a powerful corporation’s side.
To keep my mother quiet, to keep the truth buried, to protect some very dark secrets—perhaps my aunties are right. Perhaps she was murdered.
And maybe the father of my child knows a hell of a lot more than he’s letting on.
“May? Are you there?”
“Yes, I’m here. I’m sorry. I just have a lot of things on my mind right now.”
After a moment, he says softly, “Are any of those things me?”
Shit.
“I … um … yes. I owe you an apology, I think.”
“You already apologized. Why are you really calling, May? Is there something you want to tell me?”
Exhausted, I exhale and pass a hand over my face. “It’s complicated.”
He waits for a while to see if I’ll say anything else, then generously lets me off the hook.
“Listen, if you want to call again, just to say hi or whatever, that would be great. We don’t have to get into anything, you know, personal. Let’s just not get to the point where we’re acting like we never met, okay?”
“Okay. Thanks, Ezra. Thank you for being understanding.”
Sounding relieved, he says, “Anytime. Good night.”
We disconnect. I sit with my mind whirring like a blender on high speed until I turn back to the article and read it again, more carefully this time, and discover one more unsettling detail.
In addition to the others, there was one final research study mentioned that was funded by Croft Pharmaceuticals.
It was a study on the unusual ability of one animal to use the Earth’s magnetic fields to locate prey and align their hunting leaps with the North Pole so they land headfirst on top of their intended target. It’s called magnetoreception.
The animal studied was the red fox.
My mind leaps ahead at light speed.
If Croft Pharmaceuticals tested an experimental drug on the animal population of Solstice before moving on to human trials, maybe that’s what made the ravens and the fox I keep seeing act so strangely.
Or is it one of many wild foxes running around town with altered chemistry? Were they lab animals that were released? If I go hunting through the trees with infrared binoculars, will I find them colonized by glowing frogs? Do all the rabbits and rats in Solstice have dinosaur DNA?
Last but certainly not least, what in the Jurassic Park fuck is going on here?
With the roar of my pulse thundering inside my head, I recall the blue morpho butterfly Q found the day of Granny’s viewing, how surprised I was to see it here, so far away from its rainforest home.
When my company turned down their request for access to our lepidoptera collection, Croft Pharmaceuticals must have found another donor.
It all comes together in one huge, horrifying IMAX experience, complete with high-resolution images and bone-rattling sound. All the odd occurrences and unexplainable mysteries, all the enigmatic things Ronan said. Including the whopper when I asked him if his father had ever killed anyone.
“Have you ever considered there are things you’re better off not knowing?”
Stunned, I whisper, “It can’t be. He’s not perfect, but he’s not a monster.”
As an instant rebuttal, my brain provides me with a snippet of a conversation between me and Cole Walker. We were talking about all the people who mysteriously vanished in Solstice.
“I seriously doubt the powers that be in that part of the state would allow a story like that to surface.”
“You’re talking about the Crofts.”
“Who else? They own the media, the politicians, everybody who counts. The last thing they’d want is some bad PR that could affect their stock price.”
“So there’s nothing we can do?”
“Like I said, I just thought it was interesting. And even more of a reason for you to watch your back. You don’t want to become a statistic yourself, ma’am.”
A statistic.
Maybe that’s what made Ronan’s mother take her own life. She discovered something so unthinkably evil about her family, it was more than she could bear.
My mind kicks over another dark stone I’ve been avoiding looking under.
All the missing male Blackthorn babies.
Were records of their births wiped clean by someone with the power to do such a thing? Were those newborn boys, unwanted as they were in a family so proudly, defiantly female, part of a grisly pact between two families to provide money in exchange for test subjects?
Maybe that’s how the Blackthorn women have survived through the years.
Not by selling teas and tinctures to the townsfolk, but by selling Croft Pharmaceuticals their male offspring.