“What’s going on up there? The news channels are buzzing with word that the Youngstown chief of police is about to hold a press conference. What’s up with that?”
Sarah halted a couple steps shy of reaching her car. “When?” Willard hadn’t said anything about any news conference. If one was happening any minute, he had to have known when she was in his office. So much for cooperation. He and his buddy the mayor had been placating her. Giving her just enough slack to distract her from what they were really up to.
Unfortunately, it had worked.
“Apparently the chief is one of the people you’ve pissed off—so far.”
“He was pissed off before I got here.” She opened the driver’s-side door and plopped into the seat. “I should go and find out where that press conference is going down.” Damn Kale Conner for not calling her. He probably knew this morning when he was so happy to play the hero host. Why the hell had she trusted him, even a little bit?
“Answer one question before you go.”
She knew the drill. Twenty-four hours on location, assess the situation, determine if there is a story. If there’s no story, pack up and hit the road for the next assignment.
“There’s a story here, Don.” She started the car and dragged her seat belt across her lap. “No matter what the chief says in his press conference, trust me, there’s something else going on.” She hesitatedbefore shifting into reverse, her attention tugged back to Mattie Calder’s headstone.
The black crow had resumed his vigil.
Wasn’t necessarily the same bird. Probably not. There could be something close by the Calder headstone that attracted the damned creatures. Maybe a shiny frame around a photograph on one of the headstones. She hadn’t noticed one, but then she’d been distracted. Maybe some kind of prey that wasn’t readily obvious. Didn’t have to be the headstone or the person buried in that precise spot.
What the hell was she thinking? Of course it wasn’t.
Spooks, goblins, and ghouls—including witches and devils—didn’t commit murder. People did.
As Sarah watched, another crow landed on a tree branch not a dozen feet away. That creepy sensation she got when she was onto something big made her skin crawl.
Or maybe it was the need to find the press conference. And quite possibly the overwhelming urge to kick Conner’s cute butt.
Still, her attention lingered on the headstone and its ominous visitor.
“I’m waiting, Newton.”
“What?” She shook her head to clear it. “Oh, yeah. The whole curse thing was really hyped in the beginning. Other than a few who’d rather believe an unseen force is responsible for what’s happened, at this point I think most folks understand they’re dealing with a mere human here. But ...”
How did she explain this part? Her job involved debunking myths, cutting through the lore and getting to the heart of the matter when no one else appeared so inclined. Hanging around a stereotypical murder investigation wasn’t in her job description.
“But?” he prodded.
“It feels like ...” She bit her lip as she waited for the right words. “There’s something more than a cut-and-dried murder case going on here. I can feel it. It’s maybe not about curses or legends or woo-woo stuff, but it goes deep and involves more.” Damn it. She couldn’tpinpoint what she sensed. “Trust me, Don. I have to stay.” If for no other reason than to see how this turned out, she didn’t add.
Sarah held her breath through the requisite dead air. He never agreed too readily. Made him seem soft. Not that he ever said as much, but she knew his MO.
“Forty-eight hours, Newton. If you don’t have something concrete by then, you should move on. There’s a situation down in Louisiana with some missing bodies and a shitload of voodoo buzz. It’s got your name written all over it.”
“Forty-eight hours.” She could deal with that. “Gotcha.”
“But I want a call from you in twenty-four, understood?” She turned her car around, guided it onto the street. “Understood. Thanks, Don. You have my word, this story will be worth your patience.”
He let her off the hook with that promise.
Tracking down the location of the press conference was even simpler. She followed the news vans. The media hounds were back in force.
“Willard, you asshole.” She shook her head at her own lapse into the unsuspecting zone. No one understood human nature better than she did, and she’d been completely blindsided by this.
Just went to show she’d let herself get too comfortable with the handsome fisherman.
A crowd had already gathered around the steps of the public library. Must have been the mayor’s idea. The library was the most prestigious building, architecturally speaking, in the village. Set against the backdrop of the harbor, the picturesque scene made for the perfect news clips. Clapboard-cloaked homes clung to the cliffside across the bay. Schooners drifted in the water. Seagulls floated in the air. Even the snow worked to set the scene.
Several reporters were already filming lead-in shots with their mobile crews.
