Chapter 29

This was new. Sitting beside Rhett at the police station, Heidi gave him a sideways glance. It was very different having someone accompanying her for no other reason than to be supportive. She was sort of afraid to look at him for fear he’d evaporate and she’d slip back into her normal state of self-reliance. It was an anomaly she struggled to comprehend. Being an independent woman by nature and by sheer circumstance of life, the element of having someone on her team was comforting. Maybe too much so. She didn’t want to get used to it, and as she’d guarded herself with the Crawfords before, one moment of face-planting in Rhett’s chest didn’t mean he was her cohort in life forever.

Footsteps on the hard linoleum floor of the station drew her attention. Detective Davidson came toward them from down the hall, wearing a polite smile, a flicker of interest in his eyes. He was nice too, Heidi remembered from the night of the lodge break-in . . . but he wasn’t Rhett.

Oh man. She needed to quit this right now. She was already getting too soft toward the giant.

“Why don’t you come in here?” Detective Davidson waved them toward a tiny room with a table and chairs.

They each took a seat. Heidi drew her hair back into a ponytail, then released it, letting the blue-blond strands fall over her shoulders. She drew in a sigh. To calm herself. A familiar weight settled on her chest. Unsolved questions. A vivid image of a woman slamming her hand on the window, screaming at her, and then vanishing afterward.

“All right.” Detective Davidson leaned forward on the table, folding his hands together. “I’ll get straight to it. We confirmed that the fire at the lodge was arson. I’ve already met with Vicki and Brad.” He shot Heidi a hesitant look. “I guess you’re staying at the Crawfords’ for now?”

A raised eyebrow.

For sure, he’d want to deduce any strife between family. Motives. Possible interpersonal reasons for striking at each other.

Heidi nodded. Connie had extended the offer, she’d taken it, and probably had the best sleep in her life last night, camped out in their guest room. Rhett had gone back to his place not long after her meltdown, and she’d ended up sipping hot cocoa with Connie until midnight. Talking. Just . . . talking.

“Okay.” The detective rolled his lips together in thought. “So, what we know is, between the original break-in and the message on your mirror, the graffiti at the asylum ruins, and now the fire, all this really does seem to be targeting you, Heidi. Your sister mentioned a note card left under your windshield wiper too?”

Vicki was thorough. Heidi nodded. While she didn’t miss the fast glance Rhett tossed her, she decided to ignore it.

“It wasn’t too unlike the message on the mirror. Basically implying I am mad or insane.”

“Do you still have the note?” Detective Davidson asked.

Now she felt stupid for not reporting it. “Yes.”

He smiled. “We’ll need to get that from you, Heidi. We haven’t turned up much for fingerprints or evidence. But your sister seems to think”—he looked at Rhett—“maybe you have someone from your past or even present who might have it in for you?”

Heidi bit back an irritated response. She swallowed.

Rhett spoke before she could say anything. “Mike, there’s more to this that you need to know.”

Mike? First-name basis. Small town. Heidi let Rhett talk. Let him help her, he’d asked. Okay. She’d try to do that.

Mike leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, frowning. “Ooookay?”

Rhett ran his fingers over the brim of his greasy cap. “Heidi told me a woman helped pull her from the flames. It wasn’t a guest of the lodge either. When we accounted for everyone after the fire, there was no such woman.”

Mike glanced between them. “Yeah, I heard about that.”

“I believe her,” Rhett stated.

Heidi blinked and stared at him. The three words were simple. But they were ginormous. The act of believing what she said . . . Heidi bit the inside of her cheek.

“Also,” Rhett continued, firmness lacing his voice, “the woman who pulled Heidi from the cabin was the same woman she saw looking in her window the day of the break-in.”

“Really?” Mike was interested now. He leaned forward again.

Rhett nodded. “Where it gets strange is that this woman looks exactly like someone in a photograph my parents found in an old album at a sale. And both women look just like Heidi.”

Mike blinked, not saying anything.

Heidi squirmed in her chair, but she noted Rhett sat there casually as though he hadn’t sounded just a tad off himself.

“Next, you’re going to tell me it’s Misty Wayfair.” A wry smile teased Mike’s mouth.

Rhett responded with a small grin himself. It transformed his face from grumpy to rustic-handsome. “It’s not, no. But the photograph does have her name penciled on the back of it.”

Mike chuckled. His expression was disbelief and interest all rolled into one. “So . . . Misty Wayfair has returned, eh? After, what, a hundred and fifty years?”

“She’s more interesting than Paul Bunyan,” Rhett retorted.

“She’s still just a legend.”

“With some credibility.” Rhett’s words put a final exclamation point on the banter.

Mike nodded. “Fair enough. She was murdered in these parts, they say, but her ghost? Are you saying you believe in a ghost story?”

“No.” Rhett shook his head.

“Okay, I give up.” Mike palmed the air. “What are you saying?”

Rhett looked at Heidi. She tried to read his face but couldn’t decipher if he wanted her to talk now that he’d used his quota of words for the day, or if he wanted her permission to explore ideas. Heidi opted for the latter and gave him a nod of encouragement. She was shocked when he tossed her back an almost imperceptible wink.

“I think Heidi is connected to Misty Wayfair. I think Heidi might be a descendent of the Coyles, who were rumored to play a part in the murder. Heidi coming here now seems to have exposed some old local history. Could be there are relations in the area who are protective of that story.”

“Why do you think she’s related to the Coyles?”

Heidi could tell Mike’s brain was trying to wrap around the theory. She wasn’t sure she understood it herself, but then added, “The woman in the old photograph was identified as Mary Coyle. If I look exactly like her, it’s possible I’m—”

“Related to her,” Mike finished. “Got it. But you’re not from around here?”

“Not that I know of.” Heidi shook her head.

Mike frowned. “Have you talked to Vicki about this possible family connection?”

Heidi’s shoulders sagged. “I did ask her about our family history, and she’s clueless.”

“Okay.” Mike braced his palms on the tabletop. “Here’s where we need to start. Let me do some investigating around town. See if there’s anyone still in the area with some odd vested interest in this whole legend. Especially anyone connected to it who might also have reason to want to see you hurt. Heidi, you dig into your family history some more and either confirm the link to the Coyles or eliminate it. I need to see a solid connection, and right now it’s a stretch. But if you think it’s valid,” Mike said, tipping his head at Rhett, “then I don’t mind looking into it.”

Heidi couldn’t squelch the gratefulness that swelled within her. She tried not to let it show but had a feeling her emotions were splayed all over her face when she met Rhett’s eyes.

Rhett turned back to Mike. “Thanks,” he said and then stood.

Mike stopped him. “Wait. I need to see this picture. For real. Heidi, if you have a doppelgänger from the turn of the century, and one running around town starting fires and leaving odd messages, there’s something really strange going on. And we need to get to the bottom of it.”

An understatement if she’d ever heard one. But, Heidi had to admit, it was nice to finally be heard.

Heidi gave the memory-care facility a hesitant look. Rhett put the truck into park, rolled down his window a few inches, and reached up onto the dash to give Archie the complimentary scratch behind the ears. The cat trilled and nudged his hand. Heidi could only assume when it got significantly warmer out, Rhett would finally leave Archie at his place. But for now, the dash of his truck seemed to be the cat’s happy place during the day. They had left Rüger at the Crawford home, leaving a gaping space between her and Rhett on the truck’s front seat.

“What are we doing here?” she asked.

He shut his door and came around to meet her. He eyed her with his commonsense stare.

“I just saw my mom two days ago,” Heidi added.

“Yep.” Rhett stepped to the side, motioning for her to step out of the truck.

She did, but she didn’t take any further steps toward the facility. Instead, she rolled the hem of her shirt between her fingers, the navy blue material soft in her hand. “My mom isn’t going to help us. She can’t remember things, and she—she doesn’t know me at all.”

Another major understatement. She thought Heidi was dead. Their conversation returned so vividly in Heidi’s memory, her stomach turned.

“Let me see it.” Rhett held out his hand.

“See what?” Heidi countered.

“Vicki said you came here ’cause your mom sent you a letter. I’d like to see it.” His hand remained outstretched.

Heidi raised an eyebrow while nervously scratching the tattoo on her left wrist. “And you think I have it with me?”

Rhett just stared at her and waited.

“Okay fine.” Heidi scrounged in her military green bag, pulled out the crinkled letter, and gave it to him. Impatience welled inside her. It was nice having him help, but it was also intrusive. Every step she let him in was one less brick in her protective wall.

He skimmed the letter, then folded it and handed it back to her. “What did your mom say about it?”

Heidi made a pretense of carefully tucking the letter back into her bag. “Oh, not much, other than insist I didn’t exist.” Heidi zipped the bag shut. She waved her hand toward the home. “Can we just go in, then?”

Rhett didn’t budge. His eyes narrowed.

“What?” Heidi pressed.

“Did you ask Vicki what your mom meant?”

“Since the fire, Vicki won’t talk to me. She didn’t want to talk much before it either.”

Rhett gave a grunt and turned toward the home. Heidi followed, lagging just a few paces behind him. An aide buzzed them into the locked-down facility. Within moments, they were in a lounge area and standing over Loretta Lane, who stared off into the corner. Her eyes empty.

Heidi wasn’t sure what Rhett’s intentions were. Getting any more details out of her mother seemed miraculous at best. She flopped onto a chair, as if they were here simply to eat cookies and watch TV with the old woman. Her mother. Her vacant, sad mother. If she thought too long about it, Heidi knew her emotions would twist into fits.

Rhett eased onto a chair beside Loretta, swiping his hat off his head. His hair stood up in bunches, a thick mess, but he somehow seemed more vulnerable. More approachable.

“That’s better,” her mother stated baldly. She still stared into the corner. “That hat has seen its time, Rhett Crawford.”

Heidi’s mouth dropped open in disbelief—and hurt, if she were being honest. Her mother remembered who Rhett was? But not her own daughter? She blinked fast to shoo away the scalding tears that sprang to her eyes.

Rhett gazed into the same spot Loretta did. “I like my hat.”

“Always did.” Loretta’s hand lifted and settled down atop of Rhett’s larger one.

“Got a question for you,” he stated. No dancing around the conversation—he was diving straight in.

Heidi bit the inside of her lip.

“All right then.” Loretta nodded. Her eyes were so cloudy, so unclear, it was odd that she spoke with such precision.

“Are you a Coyle?” Rhett asked.

Heidi shot forward, stopping herself when Rhett lifted a finger toward her. She leaned on her knees, her breaths coming fast. Just like that? He thought he was going to just ask and Loretta would tell him? It couldn’t be that easy. It wouldn’t be. It was obvious that—

“Why, yes. Yes, I am.” Loretta’s face transfigured into a vague smile. She turned her head and met Rhett’s eyes. “Are you?”

“No, I’m a Crawford,” Rhett responded. His eyes met Heidi’s. She knew her expression was one of wounded incredulity.

How had her mom given that up without question, without even a blink? Heidi leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. Maybe her mother’s fragile mental state had loosened the locks on the secrets she held. But when Heidi asked, her mother spoke only riddles in return.

Somehow, Loretta Lane knew Rhett, and trusted him, more than she did her own daughter. The pang of that truth stung Heidi.

Rhett addressed Loretta again. “Was Coyle your maiden name?”

Loretta gave a slight nod. She raised a tremoring hand and pushed a strand of hair from her eyes. She searched Rhett’s face, her furrowed brows pulling even tighter together. It seemed she was thinking, remembering—or trying to.

“Coyle. Yes. I was a Coyle.” Her tone made it sound more like a question than a statement.

Again Rhett exchanged looks with Heidi.

“Do you remember anything about being a Coyle?” he asked.

Heidi could see where he was going, making sure there were memories, even vague ones to back up Loretta’s hurried agreement. To provide proof that she wasn’t entertaining a random question as fact.

Loretta nodded. “My schoolgirl friend called me Lorrie Coyle. Yes.”

Rhett nodded but didn’t speak.

Loretta tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair. “My father changed it, though—when I was twelve. Too much stuff and nonsense being a Coyle in these parts. All those old ghosts that trail after us, even after all these years.”

Heidi ran her palm over her neck. Agitated, she leaned back in the chair, then forward again. She wanted to interrupt. To ply her mother with questions, but for some reason, Loretta trusted Rhett. She found her voice, her memories . . . with Rhett.

“Is that why you moved back to Pleasant Valley?” Rhett asked.

Loretta gave a tiny shrug. “Ohhh, I don’t know . . .” Her voice trailed, and she shifted her attention back to the high corner of the room. “My husband took a pastorate here. It seemed—good to come home. No one remembered me, though. We left when I was twelve. No reason to remember the Coyles. And I wasn’t one anymore. We were the last of them, you know?” She smiled.

Rhett shook his head. “No, I didn’t know.”

“Yes,” Loretta nodded. “We were.” She twisted in her chair to eye him. “Now, there was a young woman here. She kept saying she was my daughter. She’s not. My daughter died.”

“When did she die?” Rhett shot Heidi a warning glance. Any interruption now could be detrimental.

Loretta frowned. She reached up and, with a shaky hand, pushed her hair behind her ear. “Who?”

“Your daughter,” Rhett replied. “When did she die?”

“Oh.” Loretta shook her head. “No, no, Vicki is fine.”

She was leaving them again. Fading into a world of disordered thoughts trapped deep inside the vanishing memories of an old woman.

Rhett pressed his lips together in a kind smile and gave Loretta’s shoulder a squeeze. “You take it easy, Mrs. Lane.”

“Oh, I will,” she smiled.

Rhett stood and motioned for Heidi to follow. She dogged his steps, biting her tongue until they had left the facility.

Heidi sucked in the warm spring breeze as they started across the parking lot. Rhett mashed his baseball cap back on his head.

“What was that?” Heidi strained to keep up with his purposeful strides. “How did you—? My mother knew you! How? Wha—?”

Rhett clicked the locks and opened Heidi’s door in the old-fashioned gesture of a gentleman.

“Your dad was my pastor. Before he passed away.”

Heidi stared at him. “He what?” The reminder of her dad and his funeral that she’d not attended . . . no wonder Vicki hated her. Heidi always had a reason, and that week, well, there really hadn’t been a good enough one, so she’d opted to say she had a stomach flu. She couldn’t face her mom and Vicki. Not when she spent the weekend curled up in a recliner, watching movies and digging her fingers into kinetic sand trying to cope with her nerves. The dark, apocalyptic pall that settled over her the minute she’d gotten the call from Vicki about Dad.

Rhett continued explaining as he rounded the truck and opened his door. Heidi dragged herself back from her guilt trip. “That’s how I got to know Vicki and Brad. Offered Brad a job at my shop about five years ago. Your family used to have Sunday dinner with us sometimes.”

“Why didn’t I know this?” Heidi blurted without thinking.

Rhett raised an eyebrow. The kind that told her she’d have no way to argue against him, because he was going to respond with sheer, annoying logic.

“Because you never came to visit.”

There it was. The truth. She turned to look out the truck window and away from Rhett, who had climbed into the driver’s seat.

“And my mother is a Coyle? Why didn’t I know that?”

Rhett tilted his head. “Maybe because you never knew to ask before. Referencing her letter gave your mom no details. Nothing to spark a memory. She can’t recall why she wrote it. But, asking about a specific name? Apparently the detail jarred her.”

“I wonder if she would have told me if I’d asked her today instead of you?” It was a murmured question. Not one Heidi really wanted an answer to.

Inserting the key into the truck’s ignition, Rhett stopped and gave her a long look. “Maybe.”

Again. A one-word answer. It didn’t make her feel any better. Not at all.