CnC 1 Ghost of a Chance Read online

  Harlow let out a low whistle. “If he had no motive and his alibi holds, then are we barking up the wrong tree? Why would Susan lie?”

  “I don’t know. Revenge maybe, for having affairs on the side or for beating her up? Revenge for him abusing Diana, if he did?”

  Harlow mulled over the situation. “He’s not a stupid man. He wouldn’t just go down to Seattle and kill Diana and hope nobody made the connection.”

  “No, not unless he thought that he got to her before she contacted the police. If he didn’t know she was in contact with his stepbrother, then maybe he thought nobody would make the connection. Just a random coincidence—mother and daughter dying close together, but in two unrelated circumstances?”

  Andrew joined in. “Want to make a bet he’s got an alibi for the time of her death, just like he has one for the time of Susan’s death? But the pieces have to fit together somehow. And we know one thing for certain: Somebody murdered Diana, and whoever did it probably won’t hesitate to kill again.”

  I thought about it for a moment. There were so many questions, so many loose ends. But when I closed my eyes, I couldn’t shake the brittle stare that Walter had given me, nor the feeling that he knew more than he let on. Murray had said to watch out for deception and subterfuge. The obvious answer was that Walter was the source of all of this, but then… was he? And would we recognize the deceit when we found it?

  Andrew leaned back, his arms behind his head. “How about some tea? You’ve got me hooked on the damn stuff.”

  I gave him a grateful smile and we adjourned to the kitchen, where I put the kettle on to heat. Andrew leaned on the counter and picked up the witch’s bottle I had found under Kip’s bed. “What’s this?”

  I took the bottle out of his hands and put it back on the counter. “Leave that alone. Trust me, you don’t want to mess with it.” I supposed this was as good a time as any. I told them about my aborted exorcism attempt and what had followed—finding the witch’s bottle, and Kip’s confession. “Susan may have been drawn by the spell, too—she says she was murdered, and the spell is intended to summon a murdered spirit and to use the astral forces to bring vengeance for that death. Unfortunately, the astral force in question—Mr. B & U, that is—is bent on targeting our household because Kip messed up the wording.”

  They both stared at me for a long minute, then Andrew muttered something under his breath. I didn’t ask what he had said. I didn’t want to know. I went on making the tea and getting out the cups.

  Harlow was the next to break the silence. “So I get to play spy?”

  Andrew and I looked at each other, and then he gave me a little nod. I shrugged. “Consider yourself our internal operative.” I rifled through the junk drawer until I found a notepad and pen. “We need to make a list of our priorities. The kids are due back tomorrow night, and I still haven’t got a clue how to handle Mr. B & U, especially now that I know why and how he showed up here.”

  Harlow grabbed the side of the table, and her face took on a peculiar shade of green. “Hold on—I’m gonna puke.”

  She made a mad dash toward the sink. As she rushed by Andrew, she bumped into the counter. The witch’s bottle had been sitting near the edge; it wobbled once and, before I could catch it, tipped and fell to the floor, shattering. Dirt and herbs spilled every which way, and the ouroboros skidded across the tile, coming to rest directly at Harlow’s feet.

  I stared at the shards of glass. This was so not a good thing. Murray had cautioned against breaking the bottle, and I seconded her concern.

  Harlow urped but there wasn’t much in her stomach to cough up. She rinsed out both the sink and her mouth as I leaned over the pile of dirt, wondering what to do next. Before I could stop her, she reached down and picked up the charm.

  “Here you go.” She held out the ouroboros.

  “Drop it! Don’t touch that.” I scrambled to her side and grabbed the silver pendant out of her hands. “Harl, you shouldn’t have done that.”

  “What? What did I do?” She looked alarmed. Andrew stood beside us, uncertain.

  I fingered the charm—the energy was thick around it, oozing like old honey, and I didn’t like the feel of it. “Let me clean up this mess—don’t either of you touch any part of the dirt, herbs, or glass. Andrew, please get me the dustpan and whisk from the pantry. Harlow, I want you to find a box of salt in the cupboard, and wash your hands with salt water. Just do as I say.” Maybe we could negate any possible ill effects.

  After sweeping up the dirt, I asked Andrew to open the door for me. I took the dustpan outside and scattered the contents in the lot next door that was filled with snow-covered brambles, then covered the whole mess with salt and an entire package of sage. I went back inside and scrubbed the floor with Florida water, then carefully put the ouroboros in a saucer and set it aside. By the time we gathered around the table again, everyone’s nerves were shot.

  I washed my hands and dug through the cupboards for a box of saltines. “Here,” I said, handing a packet of them to Harlow. “Eat a few of these. Then go home and go to bed. You need all the sleep you can get. Trust me, later on you’ll be grateful for whatever sleep you’ve managed to snag. You’re lucky, you know—most of your pregnancy will be spent in the cooler months. Thank timing for that.”

  “I’m sorry about the bottle, Em. I hope I didn’t cause any trouble.” Harlow looked despondent. “What about our list of priorities?”

  “We can deal with that later,” I said. The bottle was history; there was nothing I could say about it that wouldn’t frighten her. I had my suspicions but could only hope that I was wrong, and chances were, nothing would happen.

  She sighed. “You know, a lot of people have a lot of grudges against Walter, including me. We just never get to have our say because he buys the players in the town off with his donations and public image. I hate to say it, but you know, the idea that Susan’s attempting to frame him might not be as far-fetched as it sounds… revenge from beyond the grave?”

  At that, we called it a night. Andrew walked her to her car, and she drove off into the icy night. The weather was still clear; at least she wouldn’t have to contend with snow on the winding drive through the gorge to her home.

  I washed out the mugs and cleaned up the counter while Andrew made sure the doors were all locked. He pressed against my back, curling his arms around my waist. “Is it all right if I stay here tonight? I’d really like to be with you again.”

  “I think I’d like that.”

  He nuzzled my ear. “So what do we do when the kids come home?”

  “Honestly? I don’t know.” I leaned against the counter. “They like you and I’m not ashamed to have you here, but I have to know where we’re going before the kids get used to you staying overnight. I don’t want them getting attached and then have you disappear out of their lives. They already suffer from enough abandonment issues with their father.”

  “Fair enough. Then I suppose I’ll just enjoy tonight for what it is—a rare gift. Once Kip and Miranda come home tomorrow I’ll go back to trying to earn your trust. Especially since I’ve had a taste of what life with you is like.”

  We finished cleaning the kitchen, then curled up on the sofa. At a quarter of midnight, the phone jangled. I immediately thought of the kids. Please don’t let it be Murray with bad news! I snatched the receiver. Something was wrong; I could feel it.

  James was on the other end, and he sounded frantic. “Is Harlow still at your place?”

  “No, she left forty-five minutes ago. She was headed home.” I covered the mouthpiece and glanced over at Andrew. “Did Harl say anything about stopping anywhere on her way home?”

  He shook his head. “She just said she was tired and couldn’t wait to get to bed. She’s not there yet?”

  I took a deep breath and spoke into the receiver. “She was headed straight home, James. It’s cold tonight, icy. You might want to call the cops to see if she broke down by the side of the road or something.”


  “She has a cell phone; she would have called me. Something’s wrong, Emerald.” His voice was shaking in earnest now.

  “Hold on, hold on—we don’t know that for sure. Call the police, give them her license number, and ask if there have been any reports of accidents tonight involving her car. Meanwhile, Andrew and I will come over. Call us right back if the cops know anything.”

  While Andrew waited by the phone, I quickly got dressed. By the time I got back to the living room, Andrew had just finished talking to James again. “No reports of any accidents. They’re going to keep an eye out for her. Let’s go. Do you know what route she normally takes?”

  “Yeah, she has one shortcut in particular she uses—up old Route 93. I’m worried. Harlow’s never irresponsible like this. She would have called James if something was wrong. If she could call, that is.” I pulled on a pair of low-heeled boots and buttoned up my parka. “We’ll take the Cherokee. Your car, as nice as it is, doesn’t have enough get up and go.”

  The temperature had been dropping steadily. With clear skies, it was going to be a frozen wonderland. I estimated we were already in the low twenties and still plummeting. We buckled up and I pulled out on the road, cautiously gauging how bad the buildup of ice was. The pavement glittered: rhinestones instead of cobblestones. I inched along the route that I knew Harlow always took. One place in particular had me worried.

  Along the dark drive to her house, which sat a little out of town on ten acres, ran a gorge. A ravine really, dark and very steep, that led down to Alder Creek. During the summer it was prime blackberry territory, but this time of year, the creek was frozen solid. During spring the runoff from the snow turned it into a raging river en miniature, and several kids had almost drowned there. The road that wound by the ravine was narrow, without any real shoulders. With few lights out this way, if a driver made one wrong move, he—or she—could easily slip over the edge. The town council had been after the county for years, begging them to put in a series of guardrails, but the county always found one excuse or another for ignoring the requests.

  As we neared the ravine, I slowed down, keeping my blights on so we could hunt for any suspicious clues. “Do you really think she had an accident?” Andrew was peering out of the window, trying to see something in the darkened night.

  “I don’t know, but if she did, this is probably where it happened. Use the cell phone—call James and see if she’s shown up yet.” As we crept along at all of twenty miles an hour, he put through the call. Harlow wasn’t home, and James sounded on the verge of hysteria. My hands began to shake. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Harl was going to have a baby. She wasn’t supposed to just disappear like this.

  Andrew shouted. “A light—I think I see a light down there!”

  I pulled off to the side of the road as much as I could and flipped on my hazard blinkers. We got out of the car and cautiously approached the edge of the road. Sure enough, there were headlights coming from down there—faint, but they were reflecting up at us. “Hello! Is anybody down there?”

  First there was an awful silence, then a faint noise, a call that seemed to come from miles away. Hard to make out—but then we both heard what sounded like a woman’s voice. “Harlow! It’s got to be her!” I started toward the edge of the ravine, but Andrew stopped me.

  “You’re not going anywhere. You call 911. I’ll see what I can do about going down the gorge, but you stay up here. I don’t want both of you down there needing help. That ravine is slick and dangerous.”

  I grabbed the cell phone and punched in 911. Andrew found a mile marker a few yards up the road and I gave them instructions, warning them that we were on the side of the road but that there really wasn’t a shoulder so please would they not ram into my car. They assured me help was on the way.

  Andrew was rooting around in the back. He popped back out with a long coil of clothesline. “This is the closest thing to rope that I could find. Do you have a flashlight?” He found my box of flares, and while I grabbed the flashlight from the glove compartment, he set up the warning lights on the road to direct the emergency vehicles.

  I could only watch as he secured the clothesline to a tree that was near the edge of the ravine. He wouldn’t let me get any closer. He tied the line around his waist and, the flashlight in one hand, clothesline in the other, began to lower himself down the steep embankment. As the darkness enveloped him, I rubbed my gloved hands together, cold in spite of the layers of clothing I had on. “Hurry, hurry, hurry…” I muttered under my breath, using the words like a mantra in hopes of speeding the rescue units along.

  As carefully as I could, I crept to the edge of the ravine and peeked over. I could see the pale glow flicker in and out as Andrew descended into the darkness. The headlights from the car below were fading, and I guessed that the battery was either damaged or losing its charge. I couldn’t hear anyone calling up the hill now, and I prayed that whoever it was who had tumbled over the cliff was simply too tired to answer. But what if it was her? What if Harlow was down there in a pool of blood? Or gasoline? What if she lost the baby? What if she lost her life?

  Before Andrew could reach the bottom, I heard the wailing of sirens, and a paramedics unit, a police car, and a fire truck pulled up behind my car. I directed them to the edge and told them Andrew was already on his way down. The paramedics and firemen sprang into action, paying out rope from one of the trucks. Two of the men, guided by a set of bright lights attached to their headgear, immediately set out over the edge, following roughly the same path Andrew had taken.

  Just then we heard a yell. Andrew had reached the bottom. “It’s her! It’s her car! I don’t see her—she still must be inside.”

  Harlow. Harlow was at the bottom of the ravine, freezing and hurt. She had to be hurt; otherwise she’d be out of the car, trying to get up the hillside. Harlow was an athletic woman; if she could get free, she would have by now. As the truth began to impact, a wave of nausea swept through me. Stomach roiling, I leaned over, struggling to keep my balance as everything I ate that afternoon came up in a huge gush of bile onto the side of the road.

  Oh, God, oh, God, Harlow was down in the ravine, and it was all my fault. “N-n-no…” I stuttered, trying to make my way to the edge.

  One of the paramedics rushed up beside me. “I’m Captain Files. You know who is down there?”

  “Y-y-yes, she’s my b-b-best friend.” I was shaking now, my lips frozen from both the icy chill and a growing terror. “She didn’t make it home and her husband called and we came out looking for her and saw the lights from the ravine below and now she might be down there dying—”

  He put his hand on my shoulder to steady me. “Take it easy, ma’am.” He handed me a handkerchief from his own pocket and I blubbered into it, blowing my nose. “Can you tell me her name?”

  “Harlow… Harlow Rainmark.” I managed to choke out James’s number and the fact that Harl was pregnant. The squad leader’s radio crackled and he held it up, looking at me before he pressed one of the buttons on it. As we listened, I held my breath. Was she okay? Was she dead?

  “We have reached the victim, over.”

  “Copy, 120. Be aware that the victim is pregnant. What is her condition?”

  “Victim is unconscious, breathing labored with normal pulse. BP is 145 over 99. She’s trapped in her car but Lopez and I should be able to get her out. Possible broken leg, possible concussion. We’ll need a stretcher. We’re sending Mr. Martinez up the line so wait until he gets there before you send anybody down.”

  “Copy, 120.” He turned to his crew. “Get a stretcher ready to go down the line. Whitman, head down to make sure that guy Martinez gets his ass up here without breaking something, too.” One of the men began belaying down the rope, his headlamp shining into the dark maw of the ravine. Files looked me over. “You don’t look too good.” I was struggling to keep my emotions under control. “Are you all right?”

  I stopped, leaning against the car. “I
’m just so scared. What if she dies?”

  He opened the door to my car. “You should sit down for a moment.” I dug through the front seat to find my water bottle, then rinsed my mouth and spit onto the ground, clearing out the taste of the vomit.

  I begged him for news. “How is she? Do you know how she is?”

  He shrugged. “No, but my men will get her up here in one piece. Her vitals don’t sound too bad at this point.”

  “The baby?”

  Once again, he shrugged. “That I can’t tell you, ma’am. We won’t know the full extent of her injuries until we get her to the hospital. By the way, what’s your name? You do have one, don’t you?”

  He leaned closer, giving me a big-brother smile. I sniffled, grateful for the support. “Emerald. Emerald O’Brien.”

  “O’Brien… oh! You own the china shop, right?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I do. What’s going on? Why aren’t they headed down to her?”

  “They need to make sure Mr. Martinez gets back up first—there he is. Take it easy; your friend Harlow is in good hands with our men.”

  A fireman guided Andrew as he crawled back over the edge. Then the crew members who had been standing by with a stretcher disappeared, on their way to rescue Harlow. I hurried over to Andrew, aching with every fiber of both body and heart.

  “How’s Harlow? You saw her? Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself on the way down?” Worries crowded in, shoving aside everything else.

  He pushed himself to his feet and brushed himself off. “I’m fine. Yes, I saw Harlow, and I don’t know how she’s doing. They said she’s unconscious, she probably has at least one broken leg. I think she’ll survive.”