Thea tried to calm her nerves as she gripped the desk in the asylum office. She held her hand over her stomach that still swirled darkly. Last night had been restless, and she’d lost the contents of her stomach twice. Today, even the walk to the asylum seemed laborious. A walk she normally half ran after her unsettling interlude with whoever had taunted her from the woods.
She lifted a cup of tea Rose had given her. Even the nurturing Rose had noticed Thea wasn’t feeling well, but Thea had no intentions of letting Rose know it was emotional angst. Or at least she thought it was. She certainly wasn’t going to announce to Rose that Simeon had suspicions their grandmother had killed Misty Wayfair in a jealous fit. That Edward Fortune had later built an asylum by Misty’s grave in what seemed to be a gesture for the mentally ill daughter Misty had left behind. Thea’s mother.
By no means did she intend on saying anything about her suspicions that Effie—Effie!—was the mystical Misty Wayfair who haunted the woods of Pleasant Valley, who somehow escaped from the asylum in bouts of freedom. And if it was Effie, then more than likely it was also Penelope, when she’d been alive.
Thea dropped onto her chair, holding her head in her hands as the room swirled. Had Penelope been the first “ghost” sighting? An asylum patient snuck from her prison in the dark of night, haunting the home of the Coyles?
Only Effie would know the answer to that—if Effie was well enough to tell. Or sane enough.
Thea stood, stumbling into the desk. She righted herself. Now was not the time to be falling ill. She peeked into the asylum hallway, hoping to avoid Dr. Ackerman or one of the nurses. She had no idea if she would be able to make it upstairs undetected, let alone to Effie’s room. But she had to try.
Her steps were purposeful, in spite of how heavy her legs felt. She reached the top of the stairs and paused. She could hear voices to the right, down the hallway toward the dormitories and the commons room. A nerve-wracking howl from a patient. Nurses’ footsteps as they hurried to calm them.
Thea turned to the left. The hallway was empty. She hurried down it, reached Effie’s door, and pushed it open. She darted inside and shut the door behind her.
Effie lay pale and listless on the bed. If possible, even more gaunt and ill than before. But her eyes were open. She moved her mouth on sight of Thea. Her words barely above a whisper.
“You came back.”
Thea hurried to her side, kneeling by the bed and grasping Effie’s hand. The room whirled for a moment, and Thea blinked fast to clear her focus.
“I’m here.”
“I can see Death. It’s knocking on my door.” Effie coughed, squeezing her eyes shut.
“No. No, it can’t be.” Thea gripped Effie’s hand. “Effie?”
The older woman opened her eyes and stared at Thea. “I saw you, in the window of the boardinghouse, that night.”
It had been Effie. Thea remembered seeing the woman dancing, free and unfettered, down the street. She hadn’t imagined her. But, she was not Misty Wayfair’s ghost. She was real, and hopeful, and longing for a different life.
“Yes.” Thea nodded.
Effie closed her eyes and whispered hoarsely, “Penelope always hoped you would come back. I wish she were here to see you.”
Thea swallowed hard, squeezing Effie’s hand tighter. “Did my mother—did she know how to escape this place too?”
Effie offered a weak nod. “Through the basement. It’s simple to sneak past the night nurse. And it’s often forgotten to lock the basement hatch from the outside.”
“Why do you come back here? When you’re free? Why did my mother come back here to die—to be tested and experimented on?” Thea swiped at a tear that trailed down her face.
Effie smiled in resignation. “We had nowhere else to go. She couldn’t go back to the Fortunes. They’d left her here to be cared for.”
“Why? Why did Edward Fortune take my mother in as a child? Why did he create this place for her? A place of torment and a—a prison?” Thea blinked a few times in succession as the room grew blurry and then cleared.
Effie seemed to be fading. Drained and tired. She opened her eyes. Tired eyes that had lost their will to fight but had regained some clarity in the wake of Thea’s arrival.
“Edward Fortune was her father, and Misty Wayfair her mother. He made it look as though it were Fergus Coyle who’d spawned a love child, but it wasn’t him. He was innocent. Mathilda Coyle killed Misty for no reason, and Edward Fortune kept her secret. Penelope never forgave Mathilda—even though she’d been lied to. She would watch their house at night. She would sing to calm herself when she longed to scream at the woman who killed Misty—Penelope’s mother—in a jealous fit.”
Thea’s breath shook as she drew it in, attempting to steady herself. Her suspicions were all being confirmed. She was a Fortune. A non-blood-related distant cousin to Simeon. The lofty, entitled Edward Fortune’s granddaughter. He had directed her to move a plant during his portrait, stared down his nose at her as she provided photographic services in the wake of Mr. Amos’s attack. If Effie could see her striking resemblance to Misty Wayfair, then so must Edward Fortune! Yet he’d said nothing. Done nothing!
Thea rose from beside Effie’s bed. The woman had slipped into a deep sleep. She laid Effie’s hand over her stomach and brushed the woman’s graying hair from her forehead.
“Sleep, Effie. Rest,” she whispered.
The hallways were empty again. Thea hurried toward the stairs, her head feeling as if it were too heavy to hold up. Her heart pounding from the shock of the revelation. She was a Fortune! Effie and Penelope were the elusive ghost of Misty Wayfair!
But then who had taunted Thea from the woods outside the asylum? Certainly not Effie, not in the middle of the morning! And why had the Coyles died, one by one, so suspiciously? Penelope could not have been responsible for all that. She couldn’t have! Thea reminded herself that her mother had passed away well before Mary Coyle. Even so, she couldn’t avoid the niggling sense of worry. She would need to revisit the dates of Simeon’s parents’ passings and Mathilda Coyle herself. If her mother, Penelope, had been bitter enough to hover in the woods and watch the Coyles every night she could escape her prison, who was to say she hadn’t?
Thea palmed the wall as she took a step down the stairs. She choked back nausea, holding her hand to her mouth. The stairwell seemed to narrow and then expand. Thea squinted, attempting to see the next stair, when movement at the bottom captured her attention.
Simeon.
He stared up at her, an inquisitive look on his face. Then he cried her name as blackness swamped her vision and Thea sensed her foot slip.
The world built around Misty Wayfair’s cursed life went dark.
Kramer Logging. The place where it had all started so many years before. It looked like a modern-day logging company. Warehouses for lumber. A lumberyard. Dump trucks, front-end loaders, trailers, and other strange trucks that Heidi didn’t even know the names of. Men and women were scattered about, busy at their various tasks. The whole place smelled like fresh-cut wood. Heidi hiked toward the central office, Emma by her side. She wasn’t sure where Murphy, Emma’s father, worked, but Emma seemed to be keeping an eye out for him.
The door opened, and a bright office greeted them. The front desk resembled a doctor’s reception area, and an older man sat behind it, eyeglasses perched on the end of his nose as he finger-punched a computer keyboard. He looked up. Smiled.
“Help you?”
“Yes.” Heidi nodded. “I was wondering if I could speak with Mr. Fortune.”
The man choked. “Mr. Fortune? You must mean Ms. Fortune. She runs the company, but uh, well, you realize she doesn’t work from here?”
“Oh.” Heidi’s resolve sank.
“She works out of the head office in Wausau.”
The reference to the closest city, about two hours away, pretty much sealed Heidi’s intention of outright confronting the Fortunes with historical facts and lineage and asking them if they had any idea about their family. She had a tough time reconciling that Kramer Logging would be behind the recent incidents.
“Are there any of the Fortune family here I could speak with?” she asked.
The man hesitated a moment before answering, “Well, there’s Bonnie.”
He blinked. “Can I tell her who’s here?”
“Heidi Lane, please, and Emma Crawford.”
The man groused as he got to his feet. “Be right back.”
Apparently, they didn’t have an interoffice phone system. Or more than likely, he just didn’t know how to use it.
He returned a few minutes later, accompanied by a tall woman with a kind smile on her face. Her graying hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Her dress was stylish but simple. She extended her hand.
“Hello, I’m Bonnie Fortune Pierce. Vice President of Kramer Logging. My older sister is the president, so I apologize she’s not here to meet with you.”
“Oh—I didn’t have an appointment,” Heidi admitted.
“Well then.” Bonnie Fortune looked between them. “What can I help you with?”
Suddenly, Heidi was at a loss for words. She’d been so intent on coming here, the revelation of family history. But now . . .
“Heidi is your relative.” Emma broke the awkwardness.
“Oh!” Bonnie’s voice rose in high-pitched surprise. “Perhaps we should go into the conference room.” She led them to a quiet room just off the lobby. “Please. Have a seat.”
Once seated around a small table, the door closed, Bonnie’s face grew a bit sterner. “I will admit, we’ve heard this before. Many people would like to find ties to the Kramer-Fortune legacy.”
Heidi ducked her head. Barging in and declaring a direct-line relation probably hadn’t been the smartest thing to do. She could almost see Rhett’s expression of mildly entertained disbelief if he were here with her.
Emma filled the silence for Heidi. “Heidi’s great-grandfather was Simeon Coyle. Who married Alice Fortune. In 1911.”
Bonnie blinked.
Emma continued. “They had children. Their eldest son had a daughter, Loretta, who is Heidi’s mother.”
Bonnie brightened. “Oh! Loretta! You’re Loretta’s daughter?”
Heidi drew back, surprised at the instant recognition and friendliness. She nodded. “I am. Her youngest.”
“Oh my,” Bonnie nodded. “Yes. I’ve known Loretta for some time now. Several years ago, she came to me and introduced herself. Obviously, she wasn’t after any part of the company, and legally we’re protected anyway, but it was an interesting conversation. To say the least.”
Heidi glanced at Emma, who adjusted her infinity scarf. She cleared her throat. “I didn’t realize my mother had spoken to you.”
“Oh, yes.” Bonnie tapped the table with her fingers. “She did. In fact, your sister—Vicki? Yes, she was with your mother during our meeting.”
Heidi stiffened. Vicki? Her sister who had denied knowing anything about their family heritage? A twinge of betrayal resurfaced. Heidi bit the inside of her cheek.
“Such a fascinating history,” Bonnie went on, “and all of it tied to that story of Misty Wayfair. What a sad story. And what a pity she’s been sensationalized so. Her tale—the stories of our families—is quite unfortunate.”
“You know what happened to her? To Misty Wayfair and the Coyles?” Heidi tilted her head in confusion.
Bonnie gave her a questioning look. “Didn’t your family tell you?”
Heidi shook her head. “No.” She opted for honesty. “Mom is unwell, and my sister and I aren’t close.”
“Ahh, I see.” Bonnie seemed to consider her words now. Caution flickered in her eyes. “Well, I know some of it. I know they long ago uncovered who killed Misty Wayfair. I believe it was—well, they say anyway—Mathilda Coyle. In a jealous fit.” Bonnie gave Heidi a regretful look. “Sadly, it wasn’t anything she should have been jealous about.”
“What do you mean?” Heidi asked.
“According to the story as my family tells it, Mathilda found out the day of her wedding to Fergus Coyle that Misty Wayfair had an illegitimate child. A daughter who was already a toddler. Because Mr. Kramer, Mathilda’s father, believed an affair had gone on between Fergus and Misty, his telling Mathilda might have been a last-ditch effort to stop the marriage. But Mathilda married Fergus anyway. Although apparently her plan was already sealed with intent to kill her rival, Misty.
“But, it wasn’t a Coyle who had fathered Misty Wayfair’s child. Mathilda had no reason to be jealous. None. Unfortunately, it was a Fortune. Your mother’s and our mutual great-great grandfather, Edward.”
“A child? And Edward?” Heidi raised an eyebrow. “How do you know this?”
Bonnie gave a small shrug. “Edward kept a diary. Our family hasn’t published it, of course. The town has fun with Misty Wayfair sightings and—well, frankly it does add a bit of pizzazz for the tourists. Old legends die hard, anyway. Besides, everyone except the very superstitious knows Misty isn’t real. She never was—well, not after she died. But her child was. Her child was very real. Penelope Wayfair. If you investigate the historical records of the asylum, you’ll find more of her story. Regardless, it’s a sad chapter in the Fortune history that we share.”
“And telling it was never an option?” Heidi tried to control the irritation in her voice. Had the truth been told, the Coyles would have finally had the stigma removed from them as cursed and ostracized. The Fortunes, in all reality, would have a century-old scandal that very few currently would care about. It seemed unfair that Bonnie and her family had let the legend continue uninterrupted.
Bonnie gave her a look of surprise. “Well, I suppose we could. But it’s messy and old and irrelevant.”
“Or not irrelevant,” Heidi offered. The message on her mirror, the note card, the arson, but more so, the strange woman both she and Emma had seen. “I’ve had—sightings,” Heidi began, knowing she sounded rather delusional herself.
“Yes?” Bonnie waited.
Heidi glanced at Emma. The young woman met her gaze, expecting Heidi to continue. “There was an arson fire at Lane Lodge recently. One of the cabins. A woman, she pulled me from the fire. She looked exactly like me, and she strongly resembled a photograph I found in an old album. A photograph of Mary Coyle, Simeon Coyle’s sister.”
Bonnie’s expression grew serious. She looked down at her hands folded on the table and clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “I . . .” She searched for words. “Listen, I know we’re distant relations. And after your mother and sister visited me, well, let’s just say I carefully vet my potential relations. In doing so, I discover many things. Private investigators are quite nosy, you know? I would suggest strongly that you speak with your sister.”
Heidi frowned.
Bonnie gave her a sympathetic look. “Sometimes we search all over for answers when really they’re very close to home.”
Vicki.
She’d known all along then. Whatever the truth was.
Heidi pushed back her chair, attempting to tamp down her fury, her betrayal, and once again that horrific panic that twisted her stomach into knots.
“So you’ll say nothing more?” Heidi offered up a weak challenge.
Bonnie drew a sigh in through her nose and let it out with a regretful shake of her head. “I’m truly sorry, Ms. Lane, but it isn’t my place.”
Heidi nodded. “Thank you for meeting with us, Ms. Fortune.” There was an edge to her voice. Bonnie Fortune was kind, in a distant way, but not in a way that indicated she would offer any reconciliation or closure to the past.
Bonnie graced her with a parting smile. “If you ever need anything . . . I mean, I know the Fortunes may not be known for their past benevolence, still, you are family—no matter how distant. And I honor family.”
Heidi managed a smile in return.
If only Vicki honored it too.