“He picked her out way before she went missing. Just like he picked out Valerie.” She glanced toward the dock and a couple walking hand in hand. “They just don’t want to see it yet.”
“‘He’ being the devil? That’s what they don’t want to see?”
Matilda nodded. “He’s here.” She took a final drag and tossed the cigarette. “He’s always been here. They hold on to their old stories about maidens jumping from cliffs and ghost brides walking the shore, but they pretend he doesn’t exist.”
“You’ve seen him?” Sarah tried not to put the girl off with her skepticism, but she needed her to be more specific. Was she talking about a person? Or an entity?
Matilda held Sarah’s gaze for a long moment as if contemplating how she wanted to answer that question, then she said, “I can’t point him out to you, if that’s what you’re asking. But I feel him.” Her eyes tapered as she studied Sarah’s. “Can’t you?”
Sarah’s defenses locked into place. “You must have your suspicions?” Keep the focus on her.
She stared at the cigarette still smoldering on the ground. “Sure. I got my suspicions.”
Anticipation lit in Sarah’s veins. “Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.” Don’t let her see the deception. This kid was good.
Matilda glanced around. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. No one would.”
Just say it, kid! “I’m not like the people here, Matilda,” Sarah urged. “You can trust me.” She resisted the need to move closer. Stay still. No sudden moves.
The girl’s lips tightened. “Rich people can get away with anything.” Her gaze bored straight into Sarah’s. “Even murder.”
Rich people? “Do you mean Pope? Jerald Pope?” He lived near the chapel. He was definitely rich. He had a daughter around the age of the victims. Had Valerie and Alicia stolen her glory at some point?
“Maybe.” Matilda ground out the cigarette and kicked the butt aside. “My mom says he’s a freak.”
“You know those are bad for you.” Sarah would have been remiss if she hadn’t said as much even as she suppressed the temptation to ask what that last statement meant.
The girl shrugged. “I’m eighteen. I can do what I want.”
Not the point, but ... “I understand there was a break-in at your house the other day. Is your mom okay?”
Matilda moved her shoulders up and down with that massive dose of indifference only teenagers could dredge up. “We got nothing important for them to take. I’ve got all the good stuff hidden.”
“Good stuff?” Sarah felt for this girl. She had no one looking out for her. Sarah had bought her own big chunk of real estate in that lonely state.
“My grandmother’s spell and incantation books.” Matilda shrugged. “Stuff.”
“Your great-great-grandmother Mattie was Wiccan?”
Those curious gold eyes connected with Sarah’s blue ones. “She helped people, just as her daughter did when her time came.”
Sarah nodded. “Your grandmother, did she help people, too?”
A shake of the head. “She tried but people didn’t believe. She quit, just started pretending it didn’t matter.”
“Your mother?”
The girl belted out a laugh. “She only helps herself.”
“Why does your mother think Pope is a freak?”
Someone shouted to the couple on the dock. Matilda’s posture changed, a subtle preparation for an emergency egress. When her attention swung back to Sarah, she blinked. “Mom’s just crazy, that’s all.”
Sarah wanted to ask Matilda more personal questions, but that would send her running. Her feet were now flat on the ground, her knees slightly bent. She was ready to bolt. “Life can be tough sometimes,” Sarah offered.
Matilda toyed with the zipper of her jacket. “More for some than others.” She focused a look of challenge on Sarah. “You know what I mean.”
Not a question. Uncertainty or maybe surprise rippled through Sarah. “I do.” The kid had to be guessing. Maybe she’d done some research on Sarah and knew what little public knowledge there was regarding her crappy childhood. “You’ve read about me, have you?”
