“I wish there were more to tell, Nana. I mean, I have diddly squat in the way of suspects or even evidence, and same for the police. We have a pink lipstick with Kerry Carver’s fingerprints on it. A busted taillight from a newer-model car with her DNA, and Uncle Darling’s memory that the killer had a nice crease in his pants.”
That information made my nana chuckle. “Only my nutty Andy, honey. Only he would remember something so blippin’ frivolous.”
I rolled my eyes in agreement. “Tell me about it. He also remembers smelling cigarette smoke, and so does Uncle Monty, and so do I because of my vision. Other than that, I’ve searched Facebook pages and the Twitter accounts of the girls and come up with nothing that would lead me to anyone suspicious, let alone a killer. Yet, I’m sure the person who abducted those girls is the same one who killed Gable Norton. There’s no other answer. And it doesn’t help that Uncle Monty can’t remember a blessed thing. I’m at my wits end, knowing this killer thinks Monty knows something, and I’m worried he’ll end up dead like Gable because of it.”
That terrified me. I almost couldn’t allow myself to think the words.
“And have you tried speaking with the other two girls’ families? Friends?” Atti asked.
“That’s on my agenda today. Though, I did talk to Kerry Carver’s parents, and I get the impression they’ve kept her pretty sheltered because the most I got out of the conversation was Kerry’s a ‘very good girl.’ As to the other two girls? None of their families have gotten back to me, and I get their reluctance after the police all but throwing their hands in the air, but I’m not going to wait around. I’m going to look them up and go see them.”
“What does Hobbs have to say?” Nana asked.
Dabbing at my drippy eyes, I had to give credit where credit was due. “You know, Nana, he’s been with me through this whole thing, and I feel like I’m playing dirty pool because I have these visions that can account for a lot of stuff that I can’t explain to him. For instance, the cigarette smoke. I can’t tell him I smelled the same thing Darling and Monty did, because it happened in my vision, which to a layman sounds positively psychotic and—”
Like a bolt of lightning, in the middle of speaking, the vision hit me, rushing at me in waves of color and sound. My heart slowed its beating, my legs went stiff…and then I saw a man in a dark hoodie with an emblem on the back.
The muffled sound of laughter—no, giggling; a flirty sort of giggle—tinkled in my ears. Then I saw her. Kerry Carver. She was sitting with the man in the dark hoodie…somewhere… A bookstore? A library? Yes, a library! It was definitely a library. There was a discarded book with a checkout card poking out.
I tried to focus on the emblem on the back of his sweatshirt. Two swords crossed and a letter? Or was that a shape above the swords?
Suddenly, Kerry was in a car and I was in the backseat. She was smiling, laughing, singing to the song on the radio—a Christmas song, “Do You Hear What I Hear?”
And the man reached for her hand, placing it on his lap, bringing it to his lips, kissing her fingertips. If he would only turn around!
Turn around! I tried to yell, knowing it was fruitless.
And then there were screams—raw, afraid. It was dark. We were in the woods, and we were running, and the branches of trees were tearing at my face, slicing my skin. I was cold. So cold, and the harder I ran, the faster the footsteps behind me became.
And all at once, as though someone had sucked all the air out of the room, I was back in the barn, only this time I’d fallen on the floor to my knees and I was gasping for breath.
“Hal!” a male voice called out.
My head spun and my heart raced until I felt Hobbs’s hands on my arms, pulling me up and holding me close.
He rested his chin on the top of my head, but his tone held a panicked plea. “Okay, Hal. I’m not falling for the migraine story anymore. Can you please be honest with me about what’s goin’ on with you when this happens? Are you sick? Is it cancer? A tumor? Somethin’ neurological? Don’t insult me by pretending it’s nothing more than a migraine, because I’ve looked ’em up, and nobody has migraines like this. What’s happening?”
It was ridiculous to think I could continue to hide my visions from Hobbs. He was an intelligent man, and the tone in his voice said he was worried. I didn’t want him to fret over some medical condition that didn’t exist.
I also didn’t want him to fret over my being a witch. I wasn’t ready to reveal my talking familiar and my reincarnated grandmother.
In that moment, I decided to tell him at least part of the truth.
Patting him on his broad chest, I let loose a long sigh. “I have something to tell you. Let’s go inside and talk. You’ll want to sit down for this.”
Chapter 15
Blue Christmas
Written by Jay W. Johnson and Billy Hayes 1948
Hobbs blinked at me, but not in that you’re-completely-out-of-your-gourd way. It was rather like, “I always wondered if psychics were real and here I am, presented with the idea they’re real, but it’s still a lot to process.”
“So no,” I finished. “They’re not migraines. And if you’d like, I’ll prove it to you. Stiles has always known about them, and so does my Uncle Darling. Stiles can tell you that I knew about the pink lipstick without ever going into the bathroom at Feeney’s…because I saw it in my vision.”
“So the ‘migraine’ you had at the store that night? That was a vision of the crime scene with the pink lipstick in it?”
“Yep,” I acknowledged. “Also, the smell of cigarette smoke. My uncle can confirm I’d told him about what I’d smelled just before he told me he’d smelled it, too.”
He’d sat mostly silent the entire time I told him my story, with the exception of one or two questions, but now he held up a hand. “You don’t have to prove anything to me, Hal. I believe you. Totally.”
“Really?” I cocked my head just before another sneeze came on. “You believe me?” I asked, wiping my watery eyes.
He shrugged, then he smiled. “Why wouldn’t I? I mean, you knew things no one could possibly know about the crime scenes. But that does bring up a question. Did you see stuff the last time we fished around a murder—when Lance Hilroy was murdered?”
I gave him a guilty look and sighed. “Yes. I did. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I wanted to, but it takes a lot of trust… It’s why I’ve never told anyone here in Marshmallow Hollow—because my mother and my grandmother were sure I’d be branded a nut, and they were afraid I’d become an outcast.”
His eyes held realization. “Is that what that Hessy Newman was screeching about at the bakery?”
That was a whole other ball of wax. I shrugged. “Sort of. She’s definitely put me in the nut category a time or two.”
“Then complete honesty, I think your mother and grandmother were right, even though I still think you’re a little nutty. It’s not because you have visions,” he teased, reaching across the dining room table for my hand and giving it a squeeze. “I don’t care, Hal. It’s what makes you Halliday Valentine. That’s all I need to know.”