“Huh,” was all I could manage.
“Huh?” Marjory challenged. For once, she didn’t appear unflappable. “Isn’t this exactly what happened?”
“Not exactly,” I countered. “I only caught a glimpse of the shadow. And there were no minions.” I moved closer to the mural to study the individuals kneeling at the shadow’s feet. “Do you see anyone you recognize?” I asked.
“Why would I see anyone I recognize?” Marjory scoffed.
“I don’t know. That’s why I asked.”
“I don’t … .” Marjory trailed off as she studied the minions.
“Do you recognize any of them?” Julian asked.
There were no traces of mirth on Marjory’s face as her eyes bounced left and right. “This kind of looks like Helen Steele.”
The name meant nothing to me so I waited for Marjory to continue.
“Who is Helen Steele?” Julian prodded when Marjory clenched her jaw shut.
“She was a young woman on the island,” Marjory replied. “When she was eighteen, she was killed near the cemetery. Her body was draped over one of the stones in a very vulgar display.”
I could read between the lines of what she wasn’t saying well enough. “Was that one of the murders Declan was accused of?”
“He was technically never accused of anything when he was alive,” Marjory hedged. “At least to my knowledge. He disappeared and then the news came out.”
“Which is all very convenient,” Julian mused. He focused on the shadow. “Do you know what that thing is?”
The question was addressed to me, so I shook my head. “I’vedone some research. You wouldn’t believe how many malevolent shadows there are in the paranormal world. Almost anyone can take that form if they’re dedicated enough.”
“It looks like a religious scene,” Taylor said. “Like the shadow is God and the minions are slaves.”
“Potentially dead minions,” I interjected, my eyes going back to Marjory. “Do you recognize any others?”
This time, she didn’t mock the question. “That’s Daria Michaelson,” she said, pointing to a brunette. “She disappeared about twenty-two years ago.”
“And is assumed to be one of Declan’s victims,” I guessed.
She nodded. “This one is different.” She pointed to a young auburn-haired woman. “This is Lanie MacMillan. She died thirty years ago.”
“How did she die?” Lucinda asked. If her boss wanted to live in this house, it had to be safe.
“That’s just it. She wasn’t murdered.” Marjory’s eyes were turbulent when they locked with mine. “She died of an autoimmune disease. I’m pretty sure it was lupus, but I can’t remember.”
“We should be able to find out easily enough,” I said.
“She was my age,” Marjory continued. “Declan would have been a teenager when she died … and not on the island.”
“And there was nothing to suggest she was murdered,” Julian added.
“Nothing,” Marjory agreed. She looked so tense I thought she might pass out. I was just about to tell her to take a breath when she pushed forward. “There’s one other familiar image here, Hadley.” She almost sounded sad when she said my name.
Confused, I followed her finger on the mural—and almost fell over when I recognized the face staring up at the shadow. It belonged to my mother.
I reached out for a chair to steady myself but there was nothing close. I plopped down on the floor ratherthan fall.
“Who is that?” Julian demanded as he hunkered down next to me, his eyes filled with concern.
“That is Hadley’s mother,” Marjory replied.
