Page 43

“The bridge is back where it’s supposed to be,” Starkey said. He planted a hand on the roof of the Slider and leaned down to talk to Oliver through the open window. “It’s early afternoon, so you shouldn’t have any trouble getting down off this mountain and back to Illusion Town in time for dinner.”

“I used the landline in the inn to contact the FBPI and the Guild,” Oliver said. “They’ll be on-site as fast as they can scramble a team together. I expect an advance team will be here later today. Meanwhile, you’re in charge.”

“I’ll keep an eye on things until the Feds get here,” Starkey said. “Shouldn’t be a problem. Those damned pendants have gone dead. No one’s hearing the Voice. People are coming out of the fog.”

Leona sat quietly in the front seat of the Slider, the Willard journal on her lap. Roxy was perched on the back of the seat, eager for another road trip.

Earlier, when they went upstairs to grab the suitcases, there had been no sign of Edith Fenwick or the paranormal investigators. Oliver had checked Baxter Richey’s room and the one that had been used by Darla Price. Their car was gone. It was clear they had packed up and left.

Starkey looked like a new man today. He was not wearing the headphones and he no longer had the air of a lonely, tormented artist who felt compelled to walk the night in an effort to protect his community against the ghosts of the past. He was a Guild man with a mission.

Leona smiled at him. “I bought your beautiful specter-cat. I love it. There was no one at the front desk so I left the cash on the table near the stairs. You might want to collect it just in case Edith Fenwick forgets to pay you.”

Starkey chuckled. “I’ll do that.” He took his hand off the roof of the Slider and stepped back. “Drive safe.”

“Thanks,” Oliver said.

He put the vehicle in gear and drove out of the parking lot. Leona took one last look around Lost Creek. Main Street was even quieter than usual. The grocery store and the diner were closed.

“I wonder how Baxter Richey and Darla Price will explain this episode to their audience,” she said. “I suppose they could recast it as a myth-busting story. Vincent Lee Vance Cult Exposed .”

“Don’t count on it,” Oliver said. “It’s more likely they’ll go with The Bride of Vincent Lee Vance Returns .”

Leona shuddered. “That is not funny. A story like that would destroy whatever hope I have of firing up a new career as a private consultant.”

“That just goes to show how little you know about consulting work. Trust me, that kind of press would do wonders to launch your new career. People love a good legend.”

“I am not a legend.”

“Yes, you are, at least in this town.”

Oliver smiled his edgy little smile.

“What?” she asked, instantly suspicious.

“It just occurred to me that I’m sleeping with a legend. Not a lot of people can say that.”

“If you want to survive until we get off this mountain, you will not mention the word legend again.”

“Got it,” he said. “You know, it occurs to me that we haven’t eaten anything except a couple of energy bars since dinner last night. We’ve had a lot of exercise since then. I’m hungry.”

“Don’t worry, the road food arrangements have been handled.”

She unhooked her seat belt and leaned into the rear compartment to grab the paper sack she had placed there. Settling back into the front seat, she reached inside the sack and took out two large cups of coffee. She slipped the cups securely into the holders on the console and then she removed the box of muffins.

Roxy chortled approvingly.

“I’m impressed,” Oliver said. “Where did you get the coffee and muffins?”

“Roxy and I went into Edith Fenwick’s kitchen while you put the luggage in the car. We figured Edith owed us something after what happened last night.”

“In other words, you two stole the coffee and muffins.”

“Got a problem with that?”

“Nope. Pass the muffins.”

···

When they were off the mountain and on their way back to Illusion Town, Leona opened the journal and took a closer look at her prize. Shock jolted through her.

“I don’t believe it,” she whispered.

“What’s wrong? A fake after all?”

“No, it’s genuine,” she said. She looked up from the cramped writing. “Thacker was right. This isn’t Nigel Willard’s journal. It’s his brother’s. Cyrus Willard.”

“Is that a problem?”

“We didn’t know Nigel had a brother.”

“Interesting that he turned up in Lost Creek,” Oliver said.

“Yes,” she said. “It is. He also had a sister. Agnes.”

“Any indication she was interested in Vortex?”

“No way to know. She was institutionalized at a young age, according to this journal. Evidently, she was highly unstable. A danger to herself and others.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes. All of the Willard siblings were convinced they were descendants of Vincent Lee Vance.”