Samantha Moon: First Eight Novels, Plus One Novella (139 page)

“
Sure,” I said, and picked up my pace.

“
Hey, where are we going?”

I opened the French door that led from the balcony into the magnificent kitchen. I looked back at her. “We’re looking for a killer, remember?”

“Well, I think we found him.”

“
Maybe,” I said. “Maybe not.”

“
So, where are we going?”

“
I’ve got some investigator stuff to do.”

“
And what am I supposed to do?”

I motioned to the others who were still sitting outside on the deck, enjoying what was, I suspected, rare sunshine. Indeed, storm clouds were already gathering on the far horizon. And if I wasn’t mistaken, they looked even nastier than the ones from yesterday.

“Do what you do best,” I said. “Talk.”

“
Gee, thanks.”

“
Mingle. Get me the lowdown. Let me know who sets off your own inner alarm system.”

She opened her mouth to say something else, but I shooed her back outside. She pouted a moment or two, then stuck out her tongue and headed back out onto the deck.

I paused in the kitchen, closed my eyes, and mentally searched the home again. I saw everyone, even Edwin asleep on his cot in the basement. One person was still noticeably absent: Tara. Perhaps she was out of my range.

So, I zeroed in on the one person I was looking for, and headed off.

Deeper into the massive home.

Chapter Twenty-three

I soon got lost.

I backtracked down a hallway or two, rounded a corner, passed an actual conservatory with its domed, glass ceiling, and found myself in the library.

No, I didn’t see Professor Plum or Colonel Mustard. Definitely, I didn’t see a candlestick, whatever that was. I did see, however, an older gentleman reading a book and drinking from a highball glass. The amber liquid in the glass wasn’t, I suspected, lemonade.

Cal Thurman, George Thurman’s brother, looked up from the latest James Patterson novel, this one called
Death, Sweet Death
, and smiled broadly when he saw me.

“
Allison, right?”

“
Close,” I said. “Allison’s my friend. I’m Samantha.”

He chuckled. “Hey, at my age, anything close is a good sign. The other day I called my wife Rick.”

“Who’s Rick?”

“
No clue. Have a seat.”

I grinned and sat in the chair next to him. He asked if I wanted a drink, indicating a bar nearby. I mentioned that this was the first library I’d seen with a full service bar. He laughed and said he would drink to that, and did. Then he poured himself another and sat back down next to me. I noted the time: 11:45. Not even noon.

“So, what can I do you for?” he asked, and, with one gulp, nearly finished his fresh glass of the hard stuff.

“
You suggested that I see you about some, ah, strange occurrences that have been happening on the island. I’m interested in hearing more about the curse.”

“
Did I?”

“
Yes.”

“
Was I drunk?”

“
You were drinking, yes.”

He laughed. “That might explain it. Sure, yes. There’s rumors this island is cursed. Dates all the way back to when, hell, I don’t know, probably back to the Native Americans. Even before the white man came, the Native Americans were at war over this island. From what we gather, there was a lot of bloodshed here. Not to mention a shipwreck or two.”

I’d read about the island having some history, and that it had been the location of a few tribal skirmishes, but I wasn’t aware of a lot of bloodshed. I asked him to explain further.

“
We’ve found two burial sites on the north side of the island. We’re on the south side. And not just burial sites, but battle sites, too. Skulls cleaved nearly in half, severed arms and legs, and gashes to necks and ribs. Dozens and dozens of such bodies.”

“
Found where?” I asked.

“
Mostly in the ground, but some were in a tunnel system that appears to run underneath the island. Edwin has taken an interest in the tunnels, and so has Tara, for that matter.”

He eyed me earnestly. Granted, his eyes were bloodshot, but he was imploring me, I think, to read deeper into his words.

He continued, “Back in the day, my father was going to build on the north end, along the peninsula, where he would have panoramic views of the Sound and the city of Victoria. Instead, he built here, in the woods, which was really the only other viable spot.”

“
What made him change course?”

“
The hauntings. The workers getting spooked. And, of course, the deaths. Which, of course, leads us back to the curse.”

He explained further. “Two workers had been killed at the old site, both having fallen from ladders. Both deaths had been unexplained, as they had been alone. Another worker had heard one of the men scream. Sounded like he’d seen a ghost...and then plummeted to his death.”

“Perhaps, he screamed on the way down,” I suggested.

Cal shook his blocky head. “No. It was described as the most blood-curdling scream anyone had ever heard, followed by another scream. Which, I assume, was the poor bastard falling. Anyway, that’s when the talk of curses began.”

“So, what happened next?”

“
My father decided to change course. And build the home on the south side, where we’re at now.”

“
And no more instances of curses?”

“
Samantha, there are always instances of curses.”

“
What do you mean?”

He opened his mouth, and suddenly shut it again. Tight. The smallest grin curled his lips. The same creepy grin I had seen on the faces of Edwin and Tara.

“I...I’m afraid I can’t talk about the curse anymore, Samantha.”

Cal seemed to be struggling with something, fighting something. My inner alarm began chiming softly. What the hell was going on?

I decided to change course. “Was your brother’s death associated with the curse?”

“
I...” he began and closed his mouth again. He was shaking now. And sweating. A reaction to being drunk? I didn’t know.

I waited, silent, listening to my inner alarm growing steadily louder. Now I could see the same black ribbons circulating through his aura. The same ribbons I had seen in others. Ribbons I had rarely, if ever, seen before.

“What happened to your brother?” I pushed.

“
I...can’t...speak about it.”

He voice sounded strangled, as if his throat had suddenly been restricted.

“Mr. Thurman, are you okay?”

He looked at me with pleading eyes. Then he gasped once, twice, and seemed to find his breath. “I’m...never okay, my dear.”

“I don’t understand—”

“
The curse,” he gasped, and his voice seemed to restrict again.

The ribbons of ethereal darkness swelled a little more, looking more like black snakes now, weaving through his aura, in and out, in and out.

“What about the curse, Mr. Thurman?”

He began shaking. He reminded me of my son when he was fighting off his sickness. Cal Thurman was fighting something. What it was, I didn’t know.

He suddenly opened his eyes wide, gasping. “It has us all, Samantha. It controls us all. We are not free. We are never free. Please help, please—”

The black snake that had been circulating through his aura, rose up suddenly. I saw its dark, diamond-shaped head moving rapidly through the man. It rose higher and higher—and plunged into his throat.

Cal gasped and grabbed his neck.

Now the snake coiled around and around his throat like a boa constrictor, squeezing tighter and tighter. Cal gasped and lurched to the side, screaming. In a blink of an eye, his aura went from pale blue, to deep black, and as I screamed for help, Cal Thurman looked at me with pleading eyes, and then quit breathing.

Forever.

Chapter Twenty-four

I immediately performed CPR.

All while I called out for help. Someone nearby heard me. A girl. I told her to get help. She stared at me for a moment, then took off running, her feet pounding along the polished tiles.

I went back to my CPR, doing all I could to get Cal’s heart beating, to get him breathing again, and by the time the first adults arrived—Junior and his wife, followed shortly by Tara and Allison—I was certain that Cal was quite dead.

*  *  *

Jesus, Sam, what happened?
asked Allison.

We were all sitting in the great room. All seventeen of us. Cal was still in the library, lying under a sheet. Further attempts to resuscitate him had gone for naught.

Are your thoughts protected?
I asked.

Yes, of course.

Something killed him. I watched it kill him. I’m seriously freaked out.

Allison snapped her head around and stared at me. She wasn’t the only one who stared at me. Most people in the room were looking at me. Also in the room was Tara. I’d been too busy and shaken to notice when she’d returned. Edwin hadn’t stopped looking my direction. The sky beyond the big windows was a nasty gray. The first of the day’s raindrops had begun to splatter against the glass. Jagged bolts of lightning occasionally lit up the underbelly of the heavy clouds. Junior, who had been on his cell phone in the hallway, came into the room.

“The Island County Sheriff can’t make it out today,” he reported. He looked ten years older than when I’d last seen him. He had, after all, just lost his uncle. “Nor can the paramedics, nor anyone else, for that matter.”

“
Why?” asked a little girl. She was, I knew, one of Junior’s granddaughters.

“
Because of the storm, honey.”

I was holding my phone. I wanted to text Fang. To text Kingsley even. I didn’t feel comfortable texting Russell yet. The poor guy was just beginning to know me. I couldn’t lay something like this on him. What was I supposed to say? That I’d seen some dark entity strangle a man? For a new relationship, that might be a deal breaker.

Fang would have understood, and so would’ve Kingsley. Hell, so would have Detective Sherbet. For now, I was left with only Allison.

Gee thanks, Sam.

Oops,
I thought.
You know what I mean. The others are, you know...

Freaky like you?

Right.

Outside, the wind had clearly picked up. The tall evergreens were once again swaying and bending. Rain splattered harder, driven into the window. A lawn chair outside scuttled over the grounds, rolling like a tumbleweed.

Did you really watch him die, Sam?

Yes, and I’m still shaking.

I gave her a glimpse of my own memory of the event, reliving the moment the darkness appeared from his aura and reached up to his throat. I relived his last few words, too:

“
It has us all, Samantha. It controls us all. We are not free. We are never free...”

Jesus,
came Allison’s reply.
Was he poisoned?

Maybe,
I thought. But I suspected it was something else, something that I didn’t entirely understand, but it had to do with his last words to me:
It controls us all.

Allison, who’d been following my train of thought as best she could, formulated the words that I had been searching for:
Sam, you think that, on some level, that whatever has control over Edwin, also had control over Cal?

But not just the two of them,
I thought grimly.

All of them?
asked Allison.

Maybe.

Junior turned his attention to me. “Samantha, I can’t express to you how thankful I am for your efforts on behalf of my uncle. I’m sure that you did all you could to save his life.”

“
I’m sorry I couldn’t do more,” I said.

“
What, exactly,
did
you do?” asked Patricia, Junior’s wife.

Her aura, I noted, was not rippled with the same black ribbon I had seen in some of the others. Her aura was a biting green. I opened my mouth to speak, but instead, looked around me. Junior, I noted, had a black ribbon woven through his aura. I looked again at Edwin: the same black ribbon. I looked at the kids. They all had black ribbons, some thicker than others. All of them. I’d never seen this before. Not like this, and not in the same pattern, and not with so many people.