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SEVEN

Kaely was relieved to hear the captain announce that they were getting ready to land. She wasn’t a fan of flying. She’d heard the statistics, how much safer flying was than driving. But the problem wasn’t the flying part. The problem was the falling part.

She fastened her seat belt and prayed that this was the right thing to do. She’d felt led to reach out to Erin. She knew a lot about trauma. God had healed her of so much, and now she wanted to help Erin. They’d become close while working on her book, but would their online relationship endure in person? She wasn’t sure. But one thing she did know. If God put this together, He would see it through. She reminded herself of His faithfulness and that He loved Erin even more than Kaely did. She whispered a prayer of consecration.

“Do whatever You want to do through me,” she said quietly. “Not my will, but Yours.”

In a few hours, she’d be at the cabin. She hoped she and Erin would have a relaxed time together. No stress. Just fun and fellowship.

The chief was cautious when telling Gibson that he needed to be especially meticulous in his handling of the body. Although it was clear he wasn’t happy about Erin’s access to the dead woman, he seemed to understand how important it was to preserve evidence. Still, she was a little worried.

“You do have people trained in forensics, right?” she asked the chief when they were both back in his Jeep.

“Detective Sergeant Timothy Johnson. He trained at the National Forensics Academy in Knoxville, Tennessee. He’ll work with Gibson to get whatever they can from the body and the place where she was found.”

A late-model dark blue pickup pulled up behind them and a tall man with dark blond hair emerged. The chief rolled down his window and called him over. When he reached them, the chief introduced Erin. Then he said, “This is Detective Sergeant Johnson. He’ll do a great job of looking over and collecting evidence.”

Johnson nodded at her. “Erin Delaney?” he said. “Like the author?”

“This is the author,” the chief said. “But let’s keep that under our hats, okay?”

Johnson grinned. “No one will hear it from me, but you know how folks in Sanctuary are. If everyone doesn’t know it already, they will soon.”

“I’m sure you’re right. I just don’t want anyone hounding Miss Delaney.”

“Got it, boss. I’d better get over there before Gibson has a coronary. He’s not the most patient man.”

“And that’s with a natural death. This is different, Tim. Very different. We have an unknown subject that needs to be found—sooner than later.”

“Okay,” Johnson said slowly. “Now I’m intrigued.”

“See you back at the station.”

“Nice to meet you,” Johnson said to Erin. Then he pushed himself off the Jeep and headed toward the spot where Gibson waited.

“So, you think he’s up to the job?” Erin asked as the chief started the Jeep and headed back to the road they’d come in on.

“Absolutely.” The chief chuckled. “He reminds me of you.”

“I’m not sure how to take that.”

“I mean it in a good way,” the chief said. “He’s smart, knowledgeable, and thorough. There’s no one better. He graduated top of his class, and he did it on his own, without a family to help him. He won’t miss anything.”

“Good.” Erin sighed. “I wish Kaely was here.”

“Seems to me you already know how to read a crime scene. I doubt anyone could have done any better.”

“I appreciate that, but she could certainly have helped you more than I did,” Erin said. “Hopefully she’ll be able to see something in the photos I took for her.”

“Thanks for hiding your phone from Gibson. He would have been apoplectic if he’d known you were taking pictures. I hope they help, but if Ms. Hunter is able to add much to your analysis, I’ll be shocked. Seems like you learned a lot from her—or from your own research. I’m not sure you should give up your dream of working for the FBI.”

In an attempt to steer the conversation away from things she didn’t want to talk about, Erin said, “Do you know Steve Tremont?”

“The guy who owns the cabin where you’re staying? Sure.”

“I met him when I arrived. He seemed... nervous. It wasn’t because he knew who I was. It was something else. Do you have any idea what that’s about?”

The chief laughed. “You’ll think it’s absurd, but here goes. Steve got a good deal on the cabin, but he’s new to the area. Bought the cabin a couple of years ago and only moved here a year ago so he could oversee renovations. He didn’t know the cabin’s history. I think the locals are having some fun with him. He’s a little... How do I say this nicely? Pretentious? He moved here from the big city. He finds us... quaint.”

“Quaint?” Now it was Erin’s turn to laugh. “Wow. Yeah, that might make me want to mess with him.” She shook her head. “So, about the cabin’s history?”

“Are you sure you want to know?” the chief asked. Erin could see from his expression that he wanted to tell her.

“I’m fascinated. Spill it.”

“It’s pretty spooky. Don’t want to give you nightmares.”

A scene from Erin’s most recent nightmare flashed in her mind. “No,” she said more forcefully than she meant to. “Tell me.”

“The cabin where you’re staying was built in the early eighteen hundreds by a man named William Watcher. He built it for his new bride, Emma. He also bought about fifty acres around the house. That’s why it’s called Watcher Woods.”

“Sounds good so far.”

“It was good... until it wasn’t. About two years after they moved into the cabin, he killed Emma. Then he killed himself. The poem began to circulate not long after that. It’s been passed down for generations.”

“The poem?”

The chief nodded. “People say they’ve seen Emma walking through the woods in her dark cape, crying for her lost love.”

Erin felt a chill run down her spine as she remembered the sound of sobbing the night before. She realized she was holding her breath, so she let it out slowly. This was silly. There were no ghosts wandering the woods.

“And the poem?”

“You asked for it. It goes like this: ‘William Watcher slew his wife. Slit her throat with his butcher knife. Now she wanders Watcher Woods, a ghastly visage in a cloak and hood. If you should hear her mournful cries, you will be the next to die.’”