Page 35 of The Executioners Three

“Well,” Freddie pointed out as she inched her bike after Divya, “the only way to make fear go away is to get to the bottom of it, you know? We have to face it head-on. Like a mosquito bite: the more you scratch it, the faster it heals.”

“That is not how a mosquito bite works.”

“Sure it is.” Another few inches toward the flapping tape. Freddie reached it first. Her sore left hand brushed plastic. Then in a swoop of speed—before she could lose her nerve—she dismounted from her bike, slipped under the tape, and held it high.

Divya followed two seconds later, and after furtive glances all around, the girls set off into the trees.

They were in. Freddie and Divya were now breaking the law .

And unlike the exhilaration that had sparkled in Freddie’s veins whenever she pranked Fortin Prep, she felt only determination now.

She was going to make this transgression worth it; she was going to clear her name; she was going to prove that Sheriff Bowman had it all wrong .

“So what’s the plan?” Divya’s voice was a half whisper, like she was afraid of being overheard. She even rolled her bike with extra caution.

“We’re going to find the bottle. Then we’re going to take a million photographs of it in the forest. After that, we’ll put the water bottle in a Ziploc, I’ll develop the photos, and we’ll bring it all back to Bowman.”

Divya glanced back. “Do you have a Ziploc?”

“Always.”

“My, my, aren’t you quite the Keylime PI.”

Freddie barked a laugh—too loud, too false.

“That was clever. And hey, this was the spot, wasn’t it?

” She stopped walking and toed down her kickstand.

“Yeah, I’m ninety-nine percent sure this was it.

” She spun in a circle beside the witch hazel where only three days ago, there had been a red water bottle.

“Yeah,” Divya agreed, knocking down her own kickstand. “Assuming your bike had been parked here”—she patted her handlebars—“and that I had been dumped on my butt over there…” She skipped two steps sideways and squatted. “Yep, that definitely looks the way I remember it.”

“Alright.” Freddie rubbed her hands together; it was really getting cold out. “For argument’s sake, let’s assume a psycho murderer—”

“Eep.”

“— didn’t steal the water bottle and it simply got knocked by the wind. That means it would go…” Freddie squinted at the leaf-covered earth. Then pointed to a spot where the ground turned sharply downward.

Divya’s footsteps thudded over to Freddie’s side. Her face had settled into a familiar something does not add up here scrunch.

“Something does not add up here,” she said. “Like, even if the wind knocked the bottle out from under the tree, the ground is still pretty flat. It would have had to roll a full ten feet to even hit that drop-off.”

“Well,” Freddie declared, tromping ahead, “let’s assume that’s exactly what happened. If we don’t find anything at the bottom of the hill, we’ll trek back up here and head in the other direction.”

“What about the bikes?”

“Leave ’em. It’s not like there’s anywhere to hide them anyway.” Freddie reached the descent and in a very graceless—and very noisy—stumble forward, she thundered down the hill. Divya crashed a few paces behind.

By the time the ground flattened out again, both girls were red-faced, muddy-booted, and wild-haired. Even Divya’s flawless braid had not survived the clawing branches and gnarly underbrush.

“Now,” Freddie said, scrambling over fresh detritus, “let’s search. Hopefully the red of the plastic will still stand out.”

“Against all these fallen leaves that are red, you mean?”

Freddie glared. “Just look, okay?”

For several minutes, the girls scoured the area in silence.

They peeked under rocks and inside rotting tree trunks.

They kicked up leaves and rustled around in hedges.

Freddie was moving in a very meticulous counterclockwise course, letting her eyes move and her gut guide her, until suddenly Divya cleared her throat.

“So, uh, I know you’re not going to like what I’m about to say—”

“Uh-oh.”

“—but I think it’s worth mentioning.” Divya plunked to a seat nearby. “Have you considered the possibility that maybe Sheriff Bowman is the one who moved the water bottle?”

Freddie barked a laugh, grinning Divya’s way. Then she caught sight of her friend’s expression and realized Divya was Very Serious Indeed.

“Are you out of your mind?” Freddie straightened. “You think Sheriff Bowman— the Sheriff Bowman who protects this town—moved the water bottle?”

“Think about it.” Divya hugged her knees to her chest. “She had access to both the bottle and the film. Plus, you called her on Wednesday night. If she was out here murdering someone, then she could have conveniently avoided finding the dead guy when you called, and instead found the drunk party.”

Freddie’s face wrinkled with a frown. Like, sure, if she cocked her head at just the right angle, she could maybe see what Divya was saying…

But no. No . There was no way her hero, the Blue-Eyed Badass of Berm, was the murderer. Bowman had no motive. Plus, “Explain why Bowman would attack her own mother.” Freddie planted her hands on her hips.

“I don’t know.” Divya shrugged. “But you said yourself the sheriff wasn’t at the station when you tried to find help.”

Rubbing her eyes, Freddie shuffled toward her best friend. “I refuse to believe Sheriff Bowman is out here hanging people.” Her hands fell. “And she’s definitely not beheading them.”

“Beheading?” Divya squawked. She shot to her feet. “What the heck? When did that happen?”

“Sunday, I think”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because,” Freddie began, “I didn’t know until this… morning…” The words died on her tongue. Her attention was suddenly snagged by whatever Divya had just been sitting on. “What is that?”

“A trail marker.” Divya waved the question aside.

“There aren’t any trails out here.” Freddie pushed past her best friend and dropped to a crouch before a foot-high stretch of stone.

Granite, maybe, and definitely carved by humans.

And also definitely not a trail marker. There was fresh wax on it, like a candle had recently melted all over the top.

Just like the wax candles Freddie had seen at the Allard Fortin crypt.

“Gravestone,” Freddie blurted. Then, louder and excited: “Aha, eureka, and gesundheit, Div! I think you just found a gravestone!”

“Holy crap.”

“Look, you can even see the tops of letters here! We need to dig around it and see.”

“Um, do we?” Divya recoiled. “I thought we were out here for water bottles. Not graves . Also, can we please get back to the beheading?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Freddie mumbled, searching for a suitable shovel. “A body was found by the lake without its head. That’s all I know.”

Now Divya was the one to exclaim, “Oh my god.” She clapped a hand to her mouth. “Maybe we should go back to the bikes.”

“The lakeshore is nowhere near here.” Freddie snatched up a sturdy branch.

“Nowhere near here? It can’t be more than half a mile!”

“Yeah.” Freddie nodded, because clearly this proved her point. “Nowhere near here. But look, if you help me with this”—she waved to the gravestone—“then we’ll get out of here faster.”

Divya seemed to realize Freddie wasn’t leaving until she’d uncovered the rock, so seconds later, she too was clearing away soil. Soon the letters were fully visible. Worn down, certainly, and with a few letters gone entirely…

But still, enough was left behind to read.

D AMIEN, LE PORTIER

19 O CTObrE, 1687

“Who was he?” Divya breathed.

Freddie pursed her lips. The Curse of Allard Fortin had said that Ropey, Hacky, and Stabby were originally a footman, a steward, and a carriage driver. And while Freddie might not know much French, le portier sure looked like porter —which was basically another word for footman.

And, oh god. Porter was also the last name of a certain boy she had very much been making out with.

Could his family be descended from this guy?

It certainly seemed possible, and just because Freddie had established that Original Fabre had been as mad as a hatter over some unpaid bills, that didn’t mean the three servants in Allard Fortin’s employ hadn’t actually existed.

Those servants almost certainly hadn’t been murderous, but that didn’t mean they were never real figures from history.

And now here was one of their graves.

“Aha, eureka, and gesundheit,” she said again as she popped off Xena’s lens cap.

This was a huge historical find—and could lead to some really interesting genealogy for the area.

Mom was going to flip the freak out in the best possible way.

Like, Freddie could practically see dollar signs forming in her mom’s eyes already.

A gravestone that might link to José Allard Fortin? Bring on that research funding!

Freddie snapped photos of the front of the gravestone, then the back, and lastly the top, where all the wax had collected (and yes, was making all her Answer Finder instincts go wild).

Six pictures later, she fixed Divya with a hard eye and said, “There might be more graves. Look for them.”

“On it,” Divya chirped. She seemed to have briefly forgotten her horror over the decapitation, and together, she and Freddie scrambled around the clearing.

With forceful kicks, they knocked leaves left and right. Until Freddie’s toes kicked stone. “Ow!” She crumpled to the earth. “Ow, ow, ow .”

“Did you find another?” Divya scurried to her side.

“I think so,” Freddie groaned. “But don’t worry about my health or anything.”

“Pshaw. You’ve already recovered from your wrist—”

“No, I haven’t!”

“—so I’m sure you’ll bounce right back from this too.” Divya punted away the leaves with her toe until a second stretch of stone peered up.

“Well, well, what have we here,” Freddie said, and together, she and Divya cleared away the rest of the detritus, a handful of earthworms, and some roly-polies. Soon, the stone was revealed enough to read:

J USTIN, LE CHARRETIèRE

19 O CTObrE, 1687

L E POUVOIR RéSIDE DANS LE SERVICE

“Whoa.” Divya rubbed her hands together, shedding dirt. “He died the same day as the other guy.”

“Yeah, and that’s the quote on the Allard Fortin crypt.” Freddie’s voice was breathy with excitement.

Because here was proof this guy had, in fact, worked for Allard Fortin. Not only did that fully guarantee research grants for Mom, it also proved that at least one piece of The Curse of Allard Fortin had held some accuracy.

Freddie took more pictures. A rapid-fire snap, snap, snap . Until Divya suddenly cried, “Aha! And to quote you, Fred: ‘Eureka and gesundheit!’”

Freddie whirled toward her. Divya had moved a bit outside of the clearing, toward a cluster of maple saplings. “There’s a third grave, Fred!”

Freddie surged over. Like the second gravestone, this one also had no wax on top of it. Unlike the other stones, it was almost entirely buried.

“Hey,” Divya hissed as Freddie crouched before the third headstone, “do you hear that?”

Freddie tipped her head. A voice, she thought. Coming this way. It rode the wind that bit off from the lake. And now, a shape was coalescing within the trees.

“Oh god,” Divya whispered, tugging Freddie to her feet. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Wait.” Freddie lifted her wrapped hand. Her gut was swelling, but not with a sense of danger or death. This was the keen of someone else in trouble. Like when she’d sensed Divya’s cat was dying.

The wind butted against Freddie. Leaves clattered, briefly drowning out the voice—briefly hiding the walker behind a curtain of gold and russet.

Then the wind cleared; the leaves fell; and Freddie saw who approached.

“Oh no,” she said at the same time Divya cried, “ Laina? Is that you?”