14
Tracy let herself in through the French doors leading to the foyer, and started up the stairs to the second floor. All the way back from the clearing in the woods, she’d been trying to figure out the best way to use what she’d overheard Beth saying, but she still hadn’t made up her mind.
Of course, she’d tell all her friends, starting with Alison Babcock.
But who else? What if she told her father? If he believed her, maybe he’d send Beth away somewhere.
But what if he didn’t believe her? What if he thought she was just making up a story? Then he’d get mad at her.
Her grandmother.
That’s who she’d tell. Her grandmother always believed her, no matter what she said. And if she had to, she’d make her grandmother walk all the way out there, and show her where Beth had been, standing over that stupid sinkhole, talking about a ghost like it was something real.
She hurried on to the top of the stairs, and started down the hall toward the far end. Just as she got to her grandmother’s closed door, she heard Carolyn’s voice calling her name. But instead of turning around, or even acknowledging that she’d heard, she simply ignored her stepmother, turned the knob of her grandmother’s door, and let herself in.
Abigail sat in a chair by the window. Her eyes were closed, and one hand rested in her lap. The other one hung limply at her side, and a few inches below her hand, a book lay open, facedown, on the floor.
Tracy stared at her grandmother. Was it possible she’d died, just sitting there in her chair?
Tracy’s heart skipped a beat.
She edged slowly across the room. How could you tell if someone was dead?
You had to feel for a pulse.
Tracy didn’t want to do that. It had been horrible enough having to look at her grandfather when he was dead. But to actually have to touch a dead body … she shuddered at the thought.
She paused. Maybe she should go and get her father, or even Carolyn.
But then, as she was about to back away, her grandmother’s eyes flickered slightly, and her hand moved.
“Grandmother?” Tracy asked.
Abigail’s eyes opened, and Tracy felt a surge of relief.
Relief, and a twinge of disappointment. Telling Alison Babcock about finding her grandmother’s body would have been even better than telling her about how crazy Beth Rogers was.
“Tracy?” Abigail said, coming fully awake, and straightening up in her chair. “Come give me a kiss, darling. I must have dozed off for a moment.”
Tracy obediently stepped forward and gave her grandmother a reluctant peck on the cheek.
“What are you doing here, child?” Abigail asked. “Why aren’t you outside? It’s a beautiful morning.”
“I was,” Tracy said. She searched her mind, trying to figure out how to tell her grandmother what she’d heard without admitting that she’d followed Beth. “I … I went for a walk in the woods,” she went on, deliberately making her voice shake a little. As shed hoped, her grandmother looked at her sharply.
“Did something happen?” she asked. “You look as though something frightened you.”
Tracy did her best to appear reluctant, and, once again, the ruse worked.
“Tell me what happened, child,” Abigail urged her.
“It … it was Beth,” Tracy began, then fell silent once more as if she didn’t really want to tell on her stepsister.
Abigail’s eyes darkened. “I see. And what did Beth do to you?”
“N-nothing, really,” Tracy said.
Abigail’s sharp eyes scanned her granddaughter carefully. “Well, she must have done something,” Abigail pressed. “If she didn’t, why do you look so worried?”
Still Tracy made a show of hesitating, then decided it would be better to let her grandmother pull the whole story out of her. “Grandmother,” she said, “do you think maybe Beth could be crazy?”
“Crazy?” Abigail repeated, her brows arching slightly. “Tracy, what on earth happened? What would make you say such a thing?”
“Well, I was out in the woods, just hiking around, and all of a sudden I heard something,” Tracy explained. “It sounded like Beth — like she was talking to someone, so I went to find her. But when I got there—” She paused, wondering if she should mention Peggy Russell at all. She decided not to. “Well, she was talking to herself. She was out there in the woods, and she was talking to herself!”
Abigail’s forehead wrinkled into a frown. “And what was she saying?” she asked.
Slowly, as if struggling to remember every fragment of what she’d heard, Tracy repeated the words she’d heard Beth speak. “It was weird, Grandmother,” she finished. “I mean, she was talking like there was really a ghost. She had a name for her, and everything. She called her Amy, and she said the ghost killed Jeff! She said it killed Jeff, and she watched it happen! Doesn’t that sound like she’s crazy?”
Abigail sat silently for several long minutes, feeling the erratic pounding of her heart.
Amy.
“Amy” was a corruption of “Amelia.”
And Amelia was a name she’d heard before.
Her husband had used it sometimes, when he was muttering to himself about the mill, and about Conrad Junior.
“Where?” Abigail finally asked, her blue eyes fixing intently on Tracy. “Where did all this happen, child?”
“In a little clearing,” Tracy replied. “Down the hill from the mausoleum. There’s a trail to it.” She hesitated, then went on. “Do you want to go down there, Grandmother? I can show it to you. I can even show you the thing Beth thinks is a grave. Only it’s not a grave. It’s just a little sunken spot.” She fell silent for a moment, but when her grandmother didn’t say anything, she spoke again. “Well? What do you think? Is she crazy?”
Abigail glanced up at her, and Tracy suddenly realized that her grandmother was no longer listening to her.
“What?” Abigail asked.
Tracy’s expression tightened into an angry pout. “Nothing,” she said. “Nothing at all.” Then she turned and stamped out of her grandmother’s little parlor, slamming the door behind her.
Abigail, sitting thoughtfully in her chair, ignored the slam of the door. Indeed, she didn’t even hear it.
Her mind was occupied with other things.
Eileen Russell parked her five-year-old Chevy in front of Hilltop, and wished once more that she hadn’t agreed to come up here. She’d considered calling Carolyn and asking her to come down to the village instead, pleading a heavy workload and suggesting they just get together for a quick drink in the bar. She’d quickly rejected that idea; what she had to talk to Carolyn about couldn’t be discussed in a public place.
Perhaps it couldn’t be discussed at all, given the fact that they hadn’t seen each other for several months, and Carolyn’s life had changed so radically in the interim.
Still, for old times’ sake, she had to try.
She got out of her car, slammed the door shut, and strode up the broad steps to the front door. She pressed the bell, and, when she heard nothing, pressed it again. Then, assuming it must be broken, she raised the huge brass knocker, and let it fall to its anvil with a resounding thump.
After what seemed an eternity, the door opened, and Hannah peered out. She blinked in the sunlight, then nodded a greeting. “Peter’s out in the stable,” she said. “You can just go around the back if you want to.”
“I’m not here for Peter, Hannah,” Eileen replied. “I came to see Carolyn.”
Hannah looked momentarily taken aback, then recovered herself. “I’m sorry,” she said. “She didn’t tell me to
