“There have been no specific indications,” Isabel clarified.
Candy focused on Elizabeth. “Can you tell me exactly what you… felt?”
“It was… a darkness,” Elizabeth said in a voice barely above a whisper.
A sudden gust of wind from out over the sea pushed at the house just then, rattling the windows and whistling under the eaves and around the chimney. The fire fluttered.
Candy felt a chill go through her, though possibly it was due to a sudden draft brushing past her. She leaned forward and picked up her cup of tea. “I think I changed my mind. Could I have a refill, please?”
Annabel smiled. “Of course, dear. I think we all could use another cup. If you would like something stronger, we have some pretty good whiskey in the cupboard.”
Candy couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you, but I think I’ll pass.”
“Would you prefer beer or wine?” Isabel asked.
“We make our own blueberry wine,” Annabel added. “It’s quite good. We’ve entered it in a few contests.”
“Came in second at the Fryeburg Fair,” Isabel announced proudly. “Sure you don’t want a glass?”
Candy politely declined. She wanted to hear more about this
So they told her.
“As I said,” Annabel began, “some people thought Isabel—our grandmother Isabel—was a witch. But of course she wasn’t.” She paused. “Not really.” Another pause. “As long as you don’t count the premonitions.”
“She had premonitions too?”
“It seems to skip a generation,” Isabel told her.
Candy glanced at Elizabeth, who was watching her coolly.
“It goes back for generations, as far as we can tell from family accounts,” Annabel explained. “Where it comes from, we don’t know, but it’s inherited. When we realized as little girls that Elizabeth had her, well, her
“But how often do you have these… premonitions?” Candy asked, looking directly at Elizabeth.
She shrugged, a waifish gesture. “Not so often now. When I was a teenage girl, I had them fairly frequently, once every two or three months—mostly just little things about family members and friends, and occasionally about someone else in the community. But they’re tapering off as I get older. Now I have them only a few times a year.”
“Have you seen anyone about them?”
“Who would she see?” Isabel asked, sounding slightly confused.
Candy shook her head. “I don’t know. A doctor? A psychiatrist?”
“She’s not crazy, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Isabel said, sounding a little defensive. “It’s just a trait, like the length of an earlobe or a cleft in the chin. Except this one isn’t physical or emotional—it’s something else.”
“I see.” There was a silence in the room then, and Candy could hear the waves breaking against the rocks outside. “So how am I involved in this premonition?”
“The darkness is attracted to you,” Elizabeth said.
“In what way?”
Another silence. Finally Annabel spoke. “Well, the thing is, it seems to be centered around you… and Ben Clayton.”
Fourteen
Twenty minutes later she headed back out into the cold, overcast day, which had grown noticeably gloomier while she’d been inside. The air had that sharp chill to it that was an indication of imminent snow, and the day felt rawer. As she pulled out Maggie’s keys and climbed inside the Subaru, she saw a few stray flakes flutter down from the sky, harbingers of what was to come. She knew it would start snowing steadily soon.
It was perfect weather for the upcoming Sleigh and Sled Parade, which would take place later that afternoon. But it wasn’t ideal for what Candy had in mind next.
Still, she was determined to go through with her plans. It was time to take matters into her own hands— despite her promise to do otherwise.
She checked her watch. They were on a tight schedule. They had about an hour and a half before they had to get back to town to cover preparations for the parade.
It would have to be enough time.
Ben had called her while she’d been inside, and she’d excused herself briefly from the Foxwell sisters to take his call. The police had turned up nothing in their search for Solomon Hatch. It was as if the old hermit had disappeared into thin air. He hadn’t been seen or heard from in days. His cabin had been unlocked when they’d checked it, with the wood stoves still giving off heat and dishes still wet in the sink, so he hadn’t been gone for long. But there was no sign of him at the camp. They’d followed his tracks into the woods for a mile or so but lost them at a place where the snowpack had been disturbed. It was as if someone had deliberately covered up Solomon’s tracks so no one could follow him—or, at least, that’s what the police surmised, Ben had told her.
“I noticed the same thing yesterday morning when I followed Solomon’s footprints into the woods,” Candy said softly into the phone. “He must be in danger. We have to find him.”
Talking quickly in low tones, she briefly explained her unexpected summons to the home of the Foxwell sisters, and her creative solution for escaping the watchful eyes of Officer McCroy. “I have a couple hours before I have to be back in town,” she said to Ben. “Can you meet me at Blueberry Acres?”
The time had come, she’d decided, to search the woods themselves.
After she’d hung up, Candy had asked the sisters if they knew anything about Solomon’s disappearance, and if it had anything to do with Elizabeth’s premonition. But they had no more details for her—at least for the moment. “Elizabeth sometimes receives echoes,” Isabel said, “which help us interpret the premonition in the days after.”
“It’s not an exact science,” Annabel added helpfully, “and it sometimes takes us a while to sort through it all. But if we’re all patient, Elizabeth will eventually reveal everything she has learned, and we will pass it all on to you. There will be more, I’m sure. All in good time.”
Ben was waiting for her when she pulled up in front of the farmhouse. In his casual yet ruggedly charming way, he was leaning back against his vintage 1980s, well-maintained cypress green Special Edition Range Rover, which he’d bought a few years ago from a retired mechanic and car collector up in Old Town. It needed a quart of oil every couple of weeks, and used too much gas, but Ben loved its angled exterior lines and functional yet comfortable interior, complete with leather seats. Plus, he often said, it could get him to the top of Mount Baxter in the middle of a snowstorm and had never failed to deliver him to his favorite fishing and camping spots, even at the height of mud season.
He’d come dressed for the weather, having switched out his standard navy blue fleece jacket for something a little weightier, and added a knit cap, gloves, and boots. The oxford shirt and conservative tie were gone as well, replaced with a flannel shirt.
He appraised her outfit as she stepped out of the Jeep, and grinned. “I guess the disguise worked.”
“It worked. I almost ran into him, but he didn’t recognize me.”
“Maybe that’s because you look a little like my Uncle Cecil.”
“Is he the one who keeps pigeons in the attic of his garage?”
“That’s the one.”
“Well, no wonder people keep giving me strange looks. But it did its job. So far, no Officer Jody.”
Ben looked back along the driveway toward the main road. “He’s probably still searching for you, though. They think you’re going to lead them to Solomon Hatch so they can question him about this alleged body. It’s only a matter of time before Officer McCroy or Chief Durr shows up here.”
“Then we should get going.”
