Crane (9 page)

“Ichabod? What is it?”

“Katrina, don’t turn around!” Ichabod yelled, a moment too late.

He tried to grab her and pull her to him,
yet instinct spun her head toward the darkness. She sucked in a shocked gasp, followed by a blood curdling scream. Thundering footsteps from various parts of the inn hammered toward them. Katrina buried her head in Ichabod’s shoulder, allowing him to gather her in his arms as she shielded her eyes. The lantern rocked back and forth in Ichabod’s trembling hand, illuminating fresh bits of the gory scene with each swing and sway.

Blood
.

S
plattered across the furniture.

S
meared into the carpet.

S
treaked on the walls.

La
ying on the bed, in a pool of crimson life, rested a headless corpse dressed in noble attire reserved for men of regal station. In its hands, the body clasped one single black rose, positioned over its chest like an offering. Scrawled above the bed, in wet letters that glistened in the lantern’s flames, was one lone word—
Katrina
.

10

Ireland

Ireland woke with a start, immediately bolting upright and smacking her head on the underside of her nightstand. “Ow, shit!” Her exclamation turned panicked as the impact knocked her alarm clock down on top of her. If those glowing numbers were right, her alarm had failed to do its
one
job and she had exactly twenty minutes to get to work. “Dammit! Stupid alarm!”

She scrambled off the floor, not bothering with the question of how she’d ended up there. No time for that now.
Sprinting to the bathroom, she raised her arm to take a quick whiff and determine the degree of shower necessity. Instantly, her face crumbled in a cringe. Showering was a must. She yanked her clothes off in the hall to save time, stumbling over her pajama pants when they tangled around her ankles.

Without pausing to adjust the temperature, Ireland cranked the shower on and jumped in.
The prickles of ice water could be her punishment for oversleeping. She was mid-shampoo rinse when soapy bubbles streaked down her arm and set it on fire with burning pain. A bit of citrus-passion fruit scented soap stung her eyes as she peered down to investigate. About four inches beneath the crook of her elbow she had a slice straight across the width of her arm. The shallow wound was angry red and puffed up beneath the thick coat of dried blood that covered it. Holding it beneath the streaming water, Ireland ignored the bite of pain as she rinsed it clean, all the while trying to form some idea of where it had come from. She didn’t remember scratching herself when she moved Rip, but that seemed as likely a prospect as any. Glancing over each shoulder and down her front, she checked for any other marks. There were none. Just the one, lone slice … that almost looked deliberate. Realizing today’s long sleeves would serve the multi-functional purposes of concealing her tattoo
and
preventing speculation she was a cutter, Ireland shrugged off the mystery and returned to her frenzied rush.

The school campus was
already buzzing with activity as Ireland threw her MINI Cooper in park, and bolted from the car in hopes of beating the first bell. She made it two strides before it rang, thereby altering her goal to the
second
bell.

She
gave a brief nod to the custodial crew gathered at an exterior wall of the gymnasium, scrubbing away with brushes and rags. Some kid must’ve decided to try their hand at graffiti art. If they’d been caught, she’d most likely be seeing them soon. Probably right after the principal played a little “bad cop” and doled out the punishment.

A chorus of squeaking shoes, slamming lockers
, and incessant chatter greeted her as she yanked open the door and strode in, her low heels clicking against the faded linoleum. Turning right at the first T in the hall, she made her way to her office through a sea of offered smiles and shouts of hello from the students she passed. Inhaling a deep, cleansing breath, she forced herself to be a grown up and hold her smile steady as Mason Van Brunt slammed his locker shut and spun her way, an arrogant smirk curling across his lips.

His eyes narrowed in a vindictive glare as
he fell into step behind her, close enough for his liberal use of cologne to singe her nostrils. “Want to continue our talk about the importance of a name in this town,
Crane
?” He spit her last name as if it were a vile curse that soured on his lips.

“
Buying into the hype of your own town, Mason?” Ireland frowned.

Unfortunately—or fortunately
, considering the kid was kind of a tool—Mason was already gone, having ducked into his classroom. Rounding the corner into the guidance office, Ireland shook off his half-assed attempt at intimidation and held up her coffee to Amber in place of a wave. “Morning!”

Amber
raised one finger, muttering a short, “Uh-huh,” to whoever was on the other end of the receiver cradled to her ear.

Without breaking stride,
Ireland whispered a quick, “Sorry.” She could at least set her stuff down before getting the rundown of the daily happenings.

Apparently
, the “happenings” were a pow-wow in her office. Principal Edwards leaned against Ireland’s desk, her arms folded over her chest. Two uniformed police officers killed time by browsing her wall of educational pamphlets. All three turned her way, wearing shockingly similar stern expressions, the moment she stepped into the room.

“People here to see you
!” Amber called out as soon as she replaced the receiver.

“Thanks, I got that
,” Ireland muttered and pulled the door shut behind her.

“Nice of you to join us
.” Principal Edwards shot a pointed glance to the wall clock.

“Sorry, a student stopped me in the hall.” That wasn’t
completely
a lie. “What can I do for all of you this morning?”

The nearest officer
, attractive in a fit, silver fox kind of way, pivoted to face her. His thumbs were looped through the front of his holster. “We need to know where you were last night, Miss Crane.”

A nervous giggle bubbled up Ireland’s throat
, but she quickly choked down. “At home …”

D
iscovering a squatter in the basement and interrogating him while he was tied up on my couch.

“…
unpacking.”

“Can anyone attest to your whereabouts?”
the other officer, who the years had not been as kind to, asked.

The homeless guy, before I knocked him out—thrice.

“No, sorry, I was all alone. What’s this about?”

While the officers exchanged questioning looks, Principal Edwards
pushed off the desk and rose to her feet. “It seems that last night
someone
,” she drilled that last word in hard and deep, “thought it would be fun to graffiti the side of the gymnasium with one single word. Do you have any idea what that word might be?”

A slew of smartass answers ran through Ireland’s mind
. Having the good sense to know they would not be well-received, Ireland opted for the demure approach. “No, ma’am, I don’t.”

“I
t was Katrina,” Principal Edwards linked her fingers in front of her, her eyebrows raising in expectation. “Do you have any idea what a message like that could mean?”

Ireland felt a hot flush of guilt rush to her cheeks, even though the feeling was completely unwarranted. “
I … no, why would I? I don’t even know anyone by that name. It was probably a student broadcasting their crush of the week.”

“That’s what we thought at first, too
,” the silver-haired officer stated, rocking from the balls of his feet to his heels and back again. “Until we discovered that the name was written in blood. Blood, which we tested and found a direct match to from a health screening done at NYU. Would you like to take a guess who it belonged to?”

“Me?”
Ireland’s pulse drummed in her temples. That couldn’t be right, there was just no way.

The slice in her arm tingled with sudden, startling awareness.
Was it possible someone had entered her house while she was sleeping, cut her arm to collect her blood, and did God only knows what else? One name flashed in her mind above all others. One that had opportunity. One that had already shown signs of instability. One that might just use her act of kindness against her.
Rip
. He had been in the basement before. He had to know another way in that made her locked door irrelevant. Had he drugged her? Stolen from her? Had his filthy hands been on her?

Principal Edward’s sneered word
s snapped her from her unnerving reverie, “If this was some kind of joke, it is an incredibly disturbing, gruesome thing to do in a facility full of children.”

“I have no idea how this is possible, but I promise you I had nothing to do with it.” Even Ireland heard the shocked, hollow ring of her words. “Why? Why would
anyone
do that?”

“
You must understand how far fetched a notion it is for us to believe you had
nothing
to do with it.” The principal made no attempts to hide the judgment that dripped from each word.

“I understand that.” Ireland squared her shoulders and stared directly into her employer
’s round face. “But with all due respect, Principal Edwards, your doubts don’t change the fact that I had absolutely
nothing
to do with this. I have no idea how my blood ended up on that wall. I’d like the answer to that as much, if not more, than you do.”

“Miss Crane, if that
is
the case then you need to be very careful. An act like this could be viewed as an open threat. Someone in Sleepy Hollow is trying to send you a message, and it isn’t a friendly one.” The heavier of the two officers pulled a card from his pocket, pinched between two fingers, and handed it to her. “If you run across any problems at all, call us immediately.”

“
Thanks. I’ll add this to the one Officers Potter and Granger gave me,” Ireland stated with a forced smile of gratitude as she dropped the card into her briefcase.

“Who?”

“Keep in mind,” Officer Silver-hair interjected, cutting off further conversation with his gruff tone, “that if you
were
behind this, these type of occurrences are
not
tolerated here in Tarrytown. I sincerely hope this is the one and
only
time we have to talk to you about something like this.” He acknowledged Principal Edwards with a brief jerk of his chin. “Naomi, if you have any other issues don’t hesitate to call.”

“Without a second thought or
moment’s pause,” she assured him, her stare never wavering from Ireland.

With barely a nod in her direction, both officers left
. Leaving Ireland alone with the principal who may as well have had cartoon steam lines rising off her head.

“Why don’t you take the
rest of the day off, Miss Crane?” Principal Edwards worded that as a question, however the implied meaning was anything but. “To give some serious thought to how we can ensure nothing like this
ever
happens again.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ireland readjusted the strap of her briefcase on her shoulder, spun on her he
el, and marched from the school with one lone thought driving her forward.

R
ip
.