Crane (3 page)

“Why do I feel I just committed a cardinal sin?”
her guest asked.

“
You did. There’s no coming back from that.” Ireland shook her head with genuine sadness as she wiped bagel crumbs from her lips.

As the last of the burnished brown liquid seeped through a crack in the cement stair, Ireland brought her gaze up.

Short, sandy brown hair blended into skin kissed golden by the sun. A shadow of stubble darkened the chiseled cut of his jawline. Hazel eyes hinted at cobalt blue to match the sky. Pulling his hands from the pockets of his
Carhartt
coat, he bent to retrieve her mug. This man was salt of the earth sexy—a fact that instantly caused Ireland to bristle and hate him.

             
“Lucky for you there’s a
Starbucks
in Sleepy Hollow, I’ll even buy,” he said with the kind of smile guys like him probably thought was panty-dropping charming.

Ireland ran her tongue over her teeth before forcing a tight smile in return. “I’ve found the candy from strangers rule also applies to caffeinated beverages.”

“Let me remedy that.” Stepping forward, he offered her his hand, rough and calloused from many a hard day’s labor. “I’m Noah, the …
uh
… handy man for the Van Tassel properties.”

“Y
ou sure about that answer? There’s still time to change it.” Ireland was well aware her tone was sharp and biting. That fact was quite deliberate. As was dropping Mr. Bedroom-Eyes’s hand like it scalded her.

As a teen, when she still believed in the notion of romance,
Ireland had read many contrite love stories in which the girl sees a boy for the first time and feels an uncontrollable draw to him. Somehow she just
knows
he’s the one. This was nothing like that. If it was, Ireland probably would’ve thrown herself into traffic as a public service to mankind. The feeling
she
had was more of a chill, like ghostly hands pushing between her shoulder blades, encouraging her to step closer. To allow herself to breathe in the spicy sweetness of his scent that the morning breeze teased her way. Ireland physically shook off that reverie and fought against the feeling to take a needed step back.

Noah’s gaze shifted to the sidewalk
to hide the smirk that threatened, while he kicked a pebble with the toe of his boot. “Sorry, usually when I knock on the door of rental properties, I find single moms, crazy cat ladies, or newly divorced guys with stacks of porn that boggle the mind. The porch theatrics was a fun surprise.”

“Is that wh
y you’re here, Noah?” Ireland adjusted the strap of her briefcase on her shoulder and forced a judgmental sneer she truly wasn’t feeling. “To investigate my porn collection? Let me save you the trouble. A biography DVD that shows Janis Joplin’s boobs is the closest thing to kink you’ll find in there.”

Oblivious to the vibe she was trying so hard to lay down, Noah threw his head back and laughed. “
As inclined as I am to ask if they’re nice, I think I’ll get to the actual point of the visit. I live next door and saw the cops here yesterday. I just wanted to stop by and make sure everything was okay.”

Ireland momentarily forgot she’d chopped off her hair
, and flipped her head in a way that
would’ve
made her long locks sway across the small of her back. Instead it made her look like she had a twitch. “For me? Yes. For the unfortunate fella that lost his head? Not so much. Apparently some sick SOB carved
my
last name in his chest. Hence the impromptu night time visit.”

Noah’s features sharpened
, a storm cloud of sorrow rolling and chasing away any traces of humor. “Yeah, I’ve heard all about that. The whole thing is … horrible.” He jerked his chin toward the door. “If it makes you feel any better, this house has an alarm system. All you have to do is type 1-2-1-5 into the keypad just inside the door to arm it.”

Ireland
hitched one eyebrow. “A code that
you
happen to know? And I just, what? Cross my fingers you aren’t the newly inspired town killer?”

Noah cocked his head
to consider her. “Do I look like a killer?”

Slow and d
eliberate, she let her gaze wander over him before giving a noncommittal shrug. “Hard to say. Although, I think asking that is how they begin and end meetings of The Secret Psycho Killer Society.”

A laugh, so warm and contagious it threatened
to crack Ireland’s aloof façade, bubbled up from Noah’s broad chest. “Fair enough,” he chuckled. “The control panel is in the basement. Type in the code, hit reset, then the code again. After that type in whatever numbers you want. You’ll be the only one that has it. No one to distrust then, but
you
.”

Flipping
her bangs from her eyes, Ireland pressed the button to unlock her car. “Yeah? Sometimes I’m my worst enemy,” she muttered through her teeth, before stepping off the stoop.

Her shoulder brushed his as she sauntered pas
t. Keeping her expression pointedly neutral, she let the electric shudder that rocked through her be her secret to keep.

4

Ichabod

Ichabod shifted from one foot to the other, his stare locked on the lifeless hand peeking out from beneath the blood soaked sheet. His mind ticked back, trying to recall the first time he’d encountered a dead body. Undoubtedly, it had been during the war. Yet, for the life of him, he couldn’t remember which death had been the first or the range of emotions it had stirred inside of him. Since then, each time he’d seen a life needlessly snuffed out, he felt that same endless void of sorrow for what might have been. Suddenly, he became painfully aware of the other townspeople gathered around. His chestnut eyes, made brighter by flecks of gold that swirled and crackled when he was anxious, flicked around the gaping crowd. Was he reacting properly? Their faces were tear streaked, pale, and aghast at the horror of the crimes. What deficiency lay within him that he actually had to contemplate if he should be frowning more?

H
e opened and closed his right hand, attempting to ease the tremors coursing down his arm, then filled his lungs to capacity and exhaled slowly. Moments like this made him thankful for a friend like Irv, who was blathering away beside him. Unbeknownst to Irv, he became Ichabod’s beacon. Ichabod focused on his words, letting them draw him out of his head and back to the here and now.

“I searched the county records and there has not been an ‘attack’ from their alleged Horseman in decades.” Irv’s eyes flashed with an excitement he normally only got when discussing t
he intricacies of legal matters he often bored Ichabod and Rip with. “Up until now, many of the residents have played along with the warnings and rules the local officials have whispered in their ears to keep this ‘legendary’ hessian at bay, merely out of their own superstitious fears. Do not you see, Ichabod?” he gushed in an urgent whisper. “They were using a ghost story to keep the townspeople in line! Nonetheless, now they have had to resurrect their ‘ghost.’ I do not know what atrocity Madame Van Tassel and her hand maiden committed, or what knowledge they uncovered, yet I bid you mark my words, there are treacheries afoot here in Sleepy Hollow. Did you notice the nature to which their heads had been lobbed off?”

Bile rose in Ichabod’s throat
, and stung as he gulped it back, from his friend’s straight forward description.

If Irving noticed Ichabod’s
sudden greenish hue, he failed to acknowledge it. “The Van Tassel woman suffered only one blow, a single slice from a powerful adversary. However, notice the wounds ‘round her maid’s throat. The flesh has been gouged and mutilated from repeated strikes. Someone hacked away at that poor woman. Which can only mean there were two attackers, not one lone!”

“Try to contain your enthusiasm, friend.” Ichabod forced his nervous gaze up to scan the crowd. No eyes looked their way
… yet. “Others may misconstrue your zest for justice as a proclamation of guilt.”

 
Their banter was interrupted by an anguished wail that visibly jolted the gawkers. “
Where is she? Where is my wife?
” Stares shifted to the ground as onlookers parted, allowing access to Baltus Van Tassel. He rounded the side of the building to the back garden of the inn. His robe blew behind him in his frantic strides, revealing the night clothes he still wore beneath. Receding grey hair, which flipped and puffed well past his ears in complete disarray, had gone unattended in his rush. As soon as his eyes fell on the lump, which was covered by a sheet, and the dainty sapphire slippers poking out from beneath, his legs gave out. He crumbled to the ground, crawling the remaining distance to her side.

“Selena! Selena, my love!”
he sobbed, gathering the headless body in his arms.

Women, Mama Rosa included, shielded their eyes as the sheet fell away to reveal the full
revulsion of their grisly embrace.

“
Baltus, you must leave her be. This is a crime scene now,” the town magistrate declared, and attempted to pry his friend’s arms from the mutilated form of the woman he loved.

“This is no crime.”
Baltus’s chin trembled; tears and snot dripped from his face while he eased his wife’s body to the ground. “We became too lax and angered the Horseman somehow. This is our punishment. My dear Selena paid the ultimate price for our failure.”

“
This is ridiculous,” Irv muttered, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his index finger. “They are not even considering the possibility of foul play.”

The magistrate’s white powdered wig slipped slightly askew as he heaved his grieving friend up on trembling legs. “Her death will not be in vain. We will double our efforts this evening. That dark spirit will be appeased and will leave us in peace once more.
For now, you must let us record aspects of the scene for our records. It is our job to warn future generations of the Horseman’s threat, to save them of this same fate.” The magistrate glanced over his shoulder and nodded to the Van Tassel’s young house maid. He was forced to snap his fingers to tear her red-rimmed eyes from the covered form of the fallen servant. “Elizabeth, help him home please. Tend to him and Katrina well during this difficult time, won’t you, dear?”

“Of course,
monsieur.” The young maiden wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, gave a quick curtsy, and rushed to collect her employer.

“Wait!”

Ichabod tried to catch Irv’s shirt sleeve before he could do something rash, yet only caught the edge of his cuff, which easily slipped from his grasp.

It
was too late.

His exuberant friend was bounding forward
, his mission set. “Sirs, we must not let superstitious claims cloud us from an even darker possible truth! I will not deny you the folklore of the town, even so there is the possibility that these murders could be at the hand of someone that
knew
if they made it look like a horseman attack, no one in these parts would question it.”

Balt
us turned slowly, peering at Irv through eyes that fought to focus. “What are you suggesting, lad?”

“I practiced law
downstate before the war. I have friends there that are trained to investigate crimes. I could reach out to them, ask them to come.” Irv laid a reassuring hand on Baltus’s forearm, seemingly oblivious to the still damp blood that stained the arms and front of the widower’s robe. “We could find the truth.”

Balt
us stared down at Irving’s hand as if wondering how it found its way there. “And what would you ask of me in return?” he asked in a tone ominously vacant of emotion.

“I would just need you to fund their voyage here and provide them quarters,” Irv offered, his eager eyes pleading his request.

Rip inched forward from the outskirts where he’d lingered. “Shall I retrieve him before we’re chased from town by a mob?”

Ichabod shook his head. “I think it’s
a bit late for that.”

“I’ve hea
rd of you, Ichabod Crane.” Baltus yanked his arm from Irving’s contaminating touch. The gaze he fixed on him filled with pure hate.

Ichabod’s eyebrows
shot up at the mention of his name.

“Actually, sir,” Irv corrected, “my name is
—”

“I’m done listening to anything you have to say.
You have shown the kind of man you are. Attempting to exploit my sorrow before my wife’s body is even cold?” Fresh tears gushed from Baltus’s eyes, his voice trembling and breaking. “That is the very
worst
kind of charlatan. There’s a special place in Hell for you, Ichabod Crane. And someday, Hell
will
claim you.”

Without another word
, Baltus stormed off, his maid scurrying to keep up.

“It seems Irv has tasked himself with making you
new friends here in the Hollow.” Rip grimaced and slapped a comforting hand on Ichabod’s shoulder.

Ichabod saw his copy of
Grimm’s Fairy Tales
slipping from his desk, yet couldn’t catch it in time. The hardcover book flipped once in midair before hitting the floor with a loud
crack
. His students reacted to the noise as he imagined they would to cannon fire ripping a hole in the side of the school house. The pig-tailed Steinbeck twins burst into tears and huddled in each other’s arms. The eldest children in class—Theodore, Mary Ellen, and Victor—immediately reached out for the youngest, fully prepared to shield them if need be. Bright blue eyes, framed by impossibly thick lashes, belonging to young Korine Lancaster peeked out from behind her older sister, Cecilia. Every last one of them was utterly, and justifiably, terrified. Their parents should have tried harder to shield them from yesterday’s gruesome event, however in a small town such as this, Ichabod doubted it would be possible to keep such news quiet, even to small ears.

Ichabod tapped his fingers against his desk,
mulling over how best to address this issue. “Children, quickly now,” he commanded, zestfully bounding to his feet with growing enthusiasm for his idea. “I would like you to push all the desks to the outside of the room. Come now! Up and moving!”

With a fair share of unease, the children rose and met their teacher’s barked order. Desks
squealed and scuffed across the wood plank floor as they dragged them to their new resting place. The children then gathered in the center of the room, awkwardly awaiting further instruction.

Ichabod rounded his desk and eased himself to the ground, legs crossed in front of him. “Join me
! All in a circle, knees together.”

His order was met with much confusion. Theodore was the first t
o lead by example. One by one, the others slowly followed.

Ichabod held his tongue and refused to speak until the very last child took a seat. “Very good
,” he encouraged with a tight smile. “Do any of you know what a resource is?”

Mary Ellen tentatively raised her hand
.

Ichabod nodded for her to answer.

“It is something that holds great value because it helps to benefit the community.”  

“Very good. And do you know what the greatest resource of Sleepy Hollow is?” He gazed around the room as the students looked to each other for the answer.

“
You
are,” Ichabod answered for them. “Each and every one of you are the future of Sleepy Hollow. You are all so very valuable that every adult within this community would fight to keep you safe. The lot of our Hollow would eagerly draw their swords if it meant keeping you—“ his upper body swiveled as he pointed to each of them, “—and you, and you, and of course you ...”

“And me?”
Korine asked, her voice the sweet tinkling of Christmas bells.

“Most definitely you
, and they would not forget you, or even you Thomas—despite the fact that you are wiping your nose on your sleeve—or you, young sir. The entire town would do the very same for every last one of you.” Looking into their faces, Ichabod could see the thick noose of their unease begin to loosen. “So, you see, you have nothing to fear. Your jobs—that must
not
be taken lightly—are to spend your days learning, playing, and tending to your chores while we adults handle any other pressing matters. Tonight you shall nestle into your beds and think lovely thoughts of candied treats whilst leaving unpleasant matters to the adults. Are we understood?”