Кэти Дэйли - The Curse Of Hollister House

After I’d exhausted my know-how in terms of conducting a search into Hillary’s kidnapping and murder, I’d turned my attention to looking into what I could find about Tracy. Because she was a local and her disappearance was recent, there was a lot more information available. I already knew that Tracy was twelve, like Stella and Hillary, when she went missing, and like the others, she’d disappeared after taking off on foot from the middle school she’d attended. All three girls had been buried in shallow but well-concealed graves and appeared to have been mauled. I had no idea what the motive for these murders might be. As far as I knew, none of the three had been sexually assaulted before they died, but what was up with the mauling? Did the killer actually think the deaths would be blamed on a bear? Doubtful.

The article mentioned that Hillary was an only child. Stella was an only child too. I didn’t know if Tracy had any siblings, but I couldn’t see how not having brothers or sisters could make someone the target of a killer. Still, I’d noted the similarity on the fact sheet I’d started as I surfed the web. At several points during the long hours I’d worked on my research, I had stopped to wonder why I was spending so much time on this. It certainly wasn’t my job or responsibility to figure out what had happened to these girls. Yet I felt compelled to do just that. More than compelled; I felt driven. I was sure a psychologist would tell me that I was replacing my obsession with music with these cases now that the music I’d lived my life for had been stripped away from me. I was sure they’d be right. But a displaced obsession still felt better than no sense of purpose at all.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Gracie said as she came in from outside. “You slept late.”

“Didn’t sleep well.” I yawned.

“How was your date?”

“It wasn’t a date, just dinner. And it was fine. We went to the steak house on the east shore. It was really nice.”

Gracie placed her gardening gloves in the utility room off the kitchen. “I’ve eaten there a time or two. They have some wonderful options.”

“I tried the scampi. It was wonderful, although,” I qualified, “not as good as yours.”

Gracie smiled. She poured herself a cup of coffee and then sat down at the table across from me. “So, if it wasn’t a date that kept you up all night, what was it?”

I wrapped my hands around my mug. “It was Stella. Actually, it was all the girls.”

“All the girls?”

“When I got home last night, I went up to the attic the way I used to after a date, and Alastair was there. We got to chatting, and the next thing I knew, I was looking for that oil painting you did of the old blind squirrel who lived in the attic. Alastair jumped onto a box of mugs and knocked it over. Don’t worry; nothing broke. But while I was checking the status of the mugs, I found an old news article about a young girl who lived in Rivers Bend. Like Stella and Tracy, she was twelve when she went missing when she left the middle school she attended, and like Stella and Tracy, she was mauled.”

“That’s quite a coincidence.”

“It is. Too much of a coincidence. I spent most of the night looking for additional information on both Tracy and this other girl, Hillary. I’d hoped that some sort of link other than what we already knew would stand out.”

Gracie took a sip from her mug. “And did you find anything?”

“Not yet, but I plan to keep looking. Did you know Tracy and her family?”

Gracie paused before answering. “I can’t say that I knew Tracy. Her mother cuts hair for the Clip and Curl, and we’ve chatted on occasion when I was in to have my hair done. She mentioned her daughter once or twice, but I’d never spoken to her.”

“And Tracy’s father?”

“He works for a local plumber. I’ve never met him, nor do I know anything more about him.”

“The article I read said that Hillary’s dad was an electrician. I don’t know if that is relevant, but both men worked in construction, and Stella’s dad was a general contractor.”

“I suppose there might be something there, although it is equally as likely that the choice of career of the victim’s fathers is totally irrelevant.”

“Yeah, it doesn’t seem likely that’s the connection, but I’m keeping a list of everything I find. You never know when some totally simple detail could turn out to be the key to figuring out what happened and why.” I paused and then continued. “Do you know if Tracy had siblings?”

“She had two half brothers from her father’s first marriage. They are much older, and I think both were married before Tracy was born.”

“Do they live here in town?”

“No. I remember Tracy’s mom mentioning that one lives in Denver and the other in Chicago.” Gracie bent down and picked up Alastair, who’d been doing circle eights through her legs. “It sounds like you are investigating these murders.”

“Not investigating. But the similarities between the deaths of Tracy and Hillary have captured my attention. Maybe I just need something to occupy my mind, though I do find myself somewhat compelled to look into things. I know I’m not qualified to figure this out, but I don’t see that I’m hurting anyone by digging around a bit.”

“Have you spoken to Cass about this?”

“Not really. I mean, I guess a little.” I took a breath. “We’ve discussed the similarities between Stella’s abduction and death and Tracy’s, but I didn’t find out about Hillary until after I got home last night. I thought I’d call him later to see if he knows anything about her.”

Gracie stood up and placed the cat on the floor, then took her cup to the sink. “I’m glad you found something to keep you busy, but be careful. You never know when a little scratching around might dig up a hornet’s nest.”

“I’ll be careful.”

“I have my garden club meeting today, so I will be away for a few hours. I was going to stop at the market on my way home. Is there something you’d like for dinner?”

“Lasagna.” It seemed that my appetite was back for the first time since the accident.

After Gracie left, I headed outside with my second cup of coffee. The storm we’d spent most of the day yesterday preparing for had never materialized. I wasn’t sure if it had simply petered out or if it was late in arriving. The dark clouds over the summit seemed to indicate that the storm might still decide to rear its ugly head.

Cupping my mug in my hands, I headed across the lawn to the old dock that had been part of the property since the house was built. Gracie had several old rowboats, all of which had been stored for the winter by now. Once I arrived at the dock, I walked slowly out toward the end. When I was about halfway there, Alastair joined me.

“Looks like that storm is just waiting over the summit.”

“Meow.”

I sat down on the end of the dock, letting my legs and feet dangle. I’d spent many hours in this same spot when I was a kid, skipping rocks and, if Cass was around, fishing. The water was low enough so that my feet could dangle without getting wet, but come spring when the runoff was at its height, and the rivers from the summit above the lake crashed down the narrow canyons toward the valley below, sitting on the dock and keeping your feet dry wouldn’t be possible.

I leaned back slightly as a flock of geese heading south for the winter flew overhead. Alastair looked up briefly but then crouched down and went back to watching for fish. Yellow aspen leaves that had fallen from the trees along the shoreline floated past on the slightly rippled surface of the water, causing him to yowl at them as they passed under the dock.

I nestled into my sweatshirt as the cold breeze blowing down from the summit began to pick up. I wasn’t sure this storm would bring snow, but there was no doubt in my mind that snow was just around the corner. As I leaned back and looked up into the darkening sky, I remembered sitting on this very dock watching other storms approach.