Page 86 of Stay Buried

Ashley’s face had gone white as a sheet. “Wh-where…” she stammered, “… where can I find this Willy?”

“He’s down by the river mostly. Under the bridge near the factory.”

Ashley nodded, licked her lips. She reached into her purse, pulled out a photo.

“Mini, do you remember a woman, a stranger, who came to towntwo years ago, around the time the town hall burned?” She held out the photo for Mini to see.

Mini glanced at the photo and, for the first time, made the connection. The strange woman from two years ago looked a lot like Ashley. She nodded.

“Did she get the mark also?” Ashley asked in a small voice that made it sound like she might not really want to hear the answer.

Or maybe it was that she already knew the answer.

Mini nodded. “Right on her door at the Deer Run Motel. Just… just like you did, Miss Ashley.”

Ashley looked really scared now, but Mini could tell she was trying to sound brave. “Do you know what happened to her?”

Mini wasn’t sure what to say. She never saw the outsider lady who looked like Ashley again, after the fire. At last she ventured, “I’m not real sure. Maybe she left town? Went home?”

But she could tell that Ashley didn’t believe that any more than Mini herself believed it.

THIRTY-FOURFRANKIE

March 15, 1919

We arrived back at home a little after noon; this time, it was Luther St. James waiting for us.

“What do you know about what happened to Mrs. Stoddard?” Thomas demanded.

Luther shook his head. “Mrs. Stoddard? Nothing.”

“She’s dead.”

“Terrible thing,” Luther said, looking away. “But maybe it’s better that the sickness took her. Rather than having her suffer. Running around mad, possessed, in those woods.”

“The sickness didn’t kill her,” Uncle Thomas said, his words tinged with an uncharacteristic fury. “She’s been shot. Murdered. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Luther?”

Luther took a step toward Uncle Thomas, the scar on his forehead looking paler as his face colored with anger. “Just what are you accusing me of, Doctor?”

“You’ve been leading groups of men into the woods with guns, filling their heads with nonsense about demons.”

“I’ve been doing what I need to do to protect this town. Someone’s got to!”

“And does protecting the town mean killing an innocent woman?” Thomas asked.

“No,” Luther said grimly. “And you know damn well I wouldn’t hurt any woman, much less poor Clarice. I’ve been tending to her husband, in fact. That’s why I’ve come to get you.”

“What’s happened to Benjamin?” Uncle Thomas asked sharply.

“You better come see for yourself,” Luther said.

We accompanied Luther through the slushy streets to the Stoddard home, where we peeled off our overcoats and hurried up the stairs.

My heart raced; I feared what we might find there.

Luther’s son, Henry, was sitting with Benjamin, in a straight-backed chair several feet from the bed. A look of relief washed over Henry’s face when he saw us.

Benjamin was awake and speaking calmly. He still looked quite ill, but the thrashing madman we had left thirty-six hours ago was gone. His wrists and legs were still bound to the bed with leather straps and rope.