It was a scan of a handwritten letter. I read it over.
This letter is to warn you that I’ve seen a man following Tracy Waters. He was staring at her while she got on her bike and rode away on Westmount Avenue on November 19 at 2:20 in the afternoon. After she rode away he got in his car and followed her.
I know who he is. I believe he is dangerous. He is about 35 and six feet tall. He works as a traveling salesman. I believe he wants to kill Tracy. Please keep her safe. The police don’t believe me.
Keep her safe.
I pushed my soup away. “This is the saddest letter I’ve ever read in my life,” I said.
“The mother was worried when they got it. The father thought it was a prank. The mother decided that the father must be right. A few days later, Tracy was dead. Hence the eventual divorce, I think.”
“A traveling salesman,” I said, pointing to the words. “Like Simon Hess.”
“Who disappeared right after Tracy was murdered. But if you can believe it, it gets even better.”
I sat back in my seat. “My head is already spinning.”
“Tracy’s mom always felt that the letter was real,” Heather said. “She thought it was truly sent by someone who saw a man following Tracy. And it wasn’t a homeless drifter, either.” She tapped the description of the salesman. “This letter is part of why the case against the homeless guy was eventually dropped. But get this: In 1993, over ten years after the murder, Mrs. Waters got a phone call from Tracy’s former high school principal. He told her that he had a phone call a few days before Tracy’s murder from someone claiming to be another student’s mother. The woman said that she’d seen a man following Tracy, and that she thought the school should look out for her.”
“And he didn’t tell the police?” I said. “He didn’t tell anyone for ten years? Why not?”
“Who knows? He was probably ashamed that he didn’t do anything about it at the time. But he was retired and sick, and he felt the need to get it off his chest. So this was a preventable murder. Someone warned both Tracy’s parents and her principal about it. And if either of them had listened and kept Tracy home, she wouldn’t have died.”
I blinked at her. “A woman,” I said. “The person who called the principal was a woman.” I picked up the scan of the letter and looked at it again. “This could be a woman’s handwriting, but it’s hard to tell.”
“It’s a woman’s,” Heather said. “Tracy’s mother had a handwriting expert analyze it.”
There were too many pieces. They were falling together too fast. And the picture they made didn’t make any sense. Who knew that Tracy was going to be killed? How? It couldn’t possibly be Vivian, could it?
And if Vivian knew that Tracy was going to be murdered, why couldn’t she save herself?
“Did you call Alma?” Heather asked.
“I sent her a text,” I said. “She said she was a night owl, but it’s still sort of weird to call someone you barely know in the middle of the night when it isn’t an emergency. I’m not even sure she texts, to be honest. If I don’t hear from her this morning, I’ll call her.” I looked at the time on my phone. “I should probably get back to the Sun Down. Not that anyone would know I’ve been gone.”
“Where’s Nick?”
“Off somewhere getting those negatives developed. He said there’s an all-night place in Fell.”
“That would be the ByWay,” Heather said, gathering her papers. “I think they still rent videos, too.”
“Fell is officially the strangest place on Earth.” I looked at Heather as she picked up her coat. “What would you say if I told you the Sun Down was haunted?”
She paused and her eyes came to mine, her eyebrows going up. “For real?”
“For real.”
She watched me closely, biting her lip. Whatever expression was on my face must have convinced her, because she said, “I want to hear everything.”
“I’ll tell you.”
“And I want to see it.”
I rubbed the side of my nose. “I can’t guarantee that. She doesn’t come out on command.”
“She?”
“Betty Graham.”
Heather’s eyes went as wide as saucers. “You’re saying that Betty Graham’s ghost is at the Sun Down.”
“Yeah, I am. Nick has seen her, too.”
“Is she . . . Does she say anything?”
“Not specifically, but I think she’s trying to.” I thought of the desperate look on Betty’s face. “There are others. There’s a kid who hit his head in the pool and died. And a man who died in the front office.”
“What?”
“Keep your voice down.” I waved my hands to shush her. “I know, it’s weird, but I swear I really saw it. Nick is my witness. I didn’t say anything before because it sounded so crazy.”
“Um, hello,” Heather said. She had lowered her voice, and she leaned across the table toward me. “This is big, Carly. I want to stake the place out. I want to get photos. Video.”
I looked at the excited splotches on her cheeks. “Are you sure that would be good for you?”
“I’ve read and seen every version of The Amityville Horror there is. Of course it’s good for me. I’m better with ghosts than I am with real life.”
“This is real life,” I said. “Betty is real. She’s dead, but she feels as real as you and me. And the first night I saw her, there was a man checked in to the motel,
