Chapter 23 #2
Just say it, kid! “I’m not like the people here, Matilda,” Sarah urged. “You can trust me.” She resisted the need to move closer. Stay still. No sudden moves.
The girl’s lips tightened. “Rich people can get away with anything.” Her gaze bored straight into Sarah’s. “Even murder.”
Rich people? “Do you mean Pope? Jerald Pope?” He lived near the chapel. He was definitely rich. He had a daughter around the age of the victims. Had Valerie and Alicia stolen her glory at some point?
“Maybe.” Matilda ground out the cigarette and kicked the butt aside. “My mom says he’s a freak.”
“You know those are bad for you.” Sarah would have been remiss if she hadn’t said as much even as she suppressed the temptation to ask what that last statement meant.
The girl shrugged. “I’m eighteen. I can do what I want.”
Not the point, but . . . “I understand there was a break-in at your house the other day. Is your mom okay?”
Matilda moved her shoulders up and down with that massive dose of indifference only teenagers could dredge up. “We got nothing important for them to take. I’ve got all the good stuff hidden.”
“Good stuff?” Sarah felt for this girl. She had no one looking out for her. Sarah had bought her own big chunk of real estate in that lonely state.
“My grandmother’s spell and incantation books.” Matilda shrugged. “Stuff.”
“Your great-great-grandmother Mattie was Wiccan?”
Those curious gold eyes connected with Sarah’s blue ones. “She helped people, just as her daughter did when her time came.”
Sarah nodded. “Your grandmother, did she help people, too?”
A shake of the head. “She tried but people didn’t believe. She quit, just started pretending it didn’t matter.”
“Your mother?”
The girl belted out a laugh. “She only helps herself.”
“Why does your mother think Pope is a freak?”
Someone shouted to the couple on the dock. Matilda’s posture changed, a subtle preparation for an emergency egress. When her attention swung back to Sarah, she blinked. “Mom’s just crazy, that’s all.”
Sarah wanted to ask Matilda more personal questions, but that would send her running. Her feet were now flat on the ground, her knees slightly bent. She was ready to bolt. “Life can be tough sometimes,” Sarah offered.
Matilda toyed with the zipper of her jacket. “More for some than others.” She focused a look of challenge on Sarah. “You know what I mean.”
Not a question. Uncertainty or maybe surprise rippled through Sarah. “I do.” The kid had to be guessing. Maybe she’d done some research on Sarah and knew what little public knowledge there was regarding her crappy childhood. “You’ve read about me, have you?”
Another noncommittal shrug. “I get these feelings about people and . . . things.”
Sarah nodded. “Some people have more heightened senses than others. Have a deeper comprehension of the human psyche. You shouldn’t be ashamed or afraid of your ability to assess a person or situation.”
The girl’s gaze held Sarah’s. “I’m not afraid of anything. Are you?”
Apprehension tightened in Sarah’s gut. How could this kid read her so well?
Before Sarah could question exactly what she meant, Matilda reached into her pocket and pulled out a slender length of leather. She thrust it at Sarah. “You should wear this.”
Sarah opened her hand and permitted the item to be placed in her palm. Attached to the leather strand was a circular metal disk. It burned her skin. Cold, she told herself. Same sensation as being burned. Or maybe it was the healing abrasions from her close encounter with the vines.
“Thank you.” She studied the leather necklace that sported a very unique-looking medal symbol. She recognized the design. Pagan.
“It’s a protection rune. I want you to wear it all the time. Don’t take it off, not even to shower.”
Sarah draped the leather around her neck and dropped the medallion beneath her blouse. The metal settled between her breasts, making her skin tingle. “Thanks.”
Matilda looked away, bounced her knees as if antsy. Sarah would be lucky to hang on to her attention another minute, maybe two.
“You think I need protecting.”
The girl nodded. Like the other day, she wore the hood of her sweatshirt up, her long dark hair hanging forward on either side of her face.
A tattered parka was zipped over that, but no gloves.
No makeup. Her jeans and shoes had that thrift-store quality that was so fashionable, but in Matilda’s case, was more likely born of necessity.
She wasn’t exactly too thin, but she had that drawn look Sarah met in the mirror every morning.
Not enough sleep and maybe too many dreams.
Maybe too many bad breaks.
“Is he after me?” Sarah prodded. “The devil, I mean.” Wouldn’t be surprising. Except that she didn’t believe in the devil, so he was pretty much wasting his time.
“He’s real. You must feel him.”
Now that was truly eerie. Or not. If Sarah had recorded the conversation and analyzed it, the comment was likely a logical progression of thought. “If you believe he is, then he is.”
“Wear the necklace.” Matilda pushed away from the rock wall. “You’re . . .” She cast around before meeting Sarah’s eyes again. “He doesn’t like you.”
He should get in line. “Thanks for the warning.”
“Gotta go.”
“Hey,” Sarah called after her. The need to talk to this girl a little longer was suddenly a palpable force inside her. “I was about to have breakfast. You want to join me?”
Matilda walked backward enough steps to say, “I don’t eat breakfast.”
Sarah watched her bound off, hands stuffed in her coat pockets.
She touched the necklace through her shirt.
This kid knew something. She was clearly confusing what she knew with the stories she’d heard from her mother or even with the rumors about her great-great-grandmother.
But whatever she knew, Sarah had a feeling Matilda was close, very close, to being right.
This killer was a devil, and the police weren’t going to catch him unless he left a crumb trail.
But Pope? Being rich didn’t make him a murderer. What did Matilda know that she wasn’t telling? Had her mother serviced him? Worked for him?
Another scenario to investigate.
The bitter cold wind cut through Sarah. She wasn’t going to get any warmer standing there.
Fifteen minutes later, she started up the steep drive to the Overlook Inn. At the midway point, a car rounded the upcoming curve. Stepping off the pavement, into the grass and snow, she waited for the black Infiniti to pass.
Instead of passing her by, it stopped. Matilda’s warning that the devil didn’t like Sarah echoed in her ears. If the devil drove an Infiniti, he was making a better salary than hers. Then again, he didn’t live in Manhattan.
Tinted glass slid down and the driver’s face appeared. Dark sunglasses. Oakleys. Expensive taste.
“Sarah, I left a message for you at the inn’s registration desk.”
Speak of the devil. Jerald Pope. Sarah gave herself a mental shake. She could safely say that she hadn’t expected him to show up. “Sorry I missed you.” She gestured to the inn. “I was just on my way back.” Duh. He could see that.
The memory of him watching her across the treetops through his high-powered lens that night suddenly zinged her with a new kind of tension in view of Matilda’s comments.
“I wanted to invite you to dinner this evening,” he explained. “If you don’t already have plans. My family and I would be inordinately pleased if you could come.”
Was it possible he hadn’t heard the news? She glanced toward town. “Are you sure tonight’s a good time?”
“I thought, considering the latest tragedy, you might like to have a night away from . . .” He inclined his head. “Away from the turmoil.”
What she really wanted was an opportunity to pick his brain and his daughter’s. Maybe even his wife’s. And to see just what it was that bothered Matilda about the guy. “That would be nice. Thank you.”
“Seven?”
“Seven.”
He smiled. “Excellent.”
Sarah watched him drive away. Interesting.
Maybe Mr. Pope was simply doing the socially PC thing. But Sarah wasn’t so sure. Everyone was a suspect. Even the rich boat builder and his perfect family.
Rich people can get away with anything. Even murder. Renewed purpose infused her step. Good thing. The last stretch was straight up; by the time she reached the lobby, her legs burned.
There was no one at the registration desk again.
Didn’t matter. She already knew about the message Pope had left. If she had any more, someone would let her know.
She climbed the stairs a little slower than usual. Jammed the key into the lock and frowned. The door wasn’t locked. She twisted the knob and let the door glide open.
The gasp that echoed in the room sounded almost as surprised as Sarah felt. Melody Harvey, hands deep into a drawer, froze like a deer caught in a hunter’s crosshairs.
Sarah stepped inside, closed the door, and leaned against it. She’d been looking for this opportunity. Sometimes luck bothered to give her a hand, after all.
“I’m sorry.” The girl’s hazel eyes widened with fear, her face paled. She gestured to Sarah’s bedside table where a note lay. “I came to leave your messages, in case no one was at the desk this evening when you came in.”
“That’s very efficient of you.” It was also a lie.
Melody stepped away from the drawer she’d been rummaging through, humiliation overtaking the shocked terror on her face. “I’m sorry, Ms. Newton. Please don’t tell on me.”
“Don’t worry.” Sarah pushed off the door, tugged her hood free of her hair, and tossed her bag on the bed. “I’m not going to tell.”
Relief flashed across Melody’s face. “Thank you. I am so sorry.”
When she would have made a dash for the door, Sarah said, “I wanted the opportunity to talk to you, but I was never able to catch you at the registration desk.”
Melody stalled at the foot of the bed, bit her bottom lip. “My parents would totally freak out if they caught me talking to you.”
Sarah crossed back to the door and locked it. “I don’t think they’ll look for you here.”