The cabin, p.24
The Cabin, page 24
“Except for our case, the criminals aren’t the connection,” Gwen said. “It’s the victims that are linked.”
“How many crimes are we talking about?” Devon asked.
“Seven. Well, eight if you count Amy McKee’s,” Gwen said.
“I didn’t hear about that one,” Fiona said.
“It’s what created the association in Abby’s mind. Amy McKee moved into a fixer in Capo Beach. She had me come out to estimate the sales price. I suggested she get some work done on it first.” Gwen leaned forward on her elbows. “While she was remodeling, someone kept breaking in at night and drawing pictures from Dante’s Inferno on the walls.”
Devon pulled up a chair next to his wife. “Okay, that’s weird.”
“Yeah, right? Anyway, when it was all over, Amy got a job at St. Barnabas and met Art,” Gwen said. “Then, I found a body in your listing. Next, Olivia, whose son goes to St. Barnabas, got a job with you and ran into a stalker.”
“I know,” Fiona interrupted her. “Then Abby, who knows Olivia from school finds a dead body at the Mission. Rosie Ring happens to be decorating the house next door to Olivia’s father’s, and she too has a run in with a murderer.” Fiona recited this in a bored voice.
“Exactly.” Gwen’s eyes brighten. “Then Honey, Rosie’s best friend, finds a dead body out in Black Star Canyon; her daughter has that horrible experience at Sunset House; and now, you two.”
“Coincidence.” Fiona bit a chunk off her cookie.
Gwen pushed back into her chair as if distancing herself from Fiona’s opinion. Devon saw both women’s points of view. It was an odd set of circumstances. However, there didn’t seem to be a causal relationship between the crimes. He tried to imagine convincing a judge that the events were linked but couldn’t. It was all too circumstantial.
“What does Abby think?” he asked. “What’s her angle, other than locale?”
“She doesn’t know.” Gwen turned her palms up. “Something supernatural, maybe? The people who lived in Amy McKee’s house before she moved in held seances and black masses there. They believed the barrier between earth and hell was thin in many places in Orange County, that being one of them.”
“You see?” Fiona turned her gaze on Devon. “It’s crazy.”
Prior to his experience with Rico, Devon would have agreed with her. Now, he wasn’t sure. Logic had betrayed him more than once during those terrible days. He was learning to listen to his gut. His gut was interested in Abby’s theory.
“Did you know that the years between 1970 and 2000 are called the serial killer decades? There was a rash of horrendous crimes all across the country, although California had more than its fair share,” he said.
“Your point?” Fiona said.
“Crime does seem to come in waves sometimes. Perhaps”—he held up a hand to stop the argument he saw building in her—“perhaps, there are forces at work we don’t understand.”
“There were a lot of sociological theories for the serial killer trend.” Fiona’s voice rose. “The 60s’ free love movement encouraged people to abandon long-held cultural norms. Many of the killers had dads that came home from war with PTSD. They saw violence early, were attracted by it, and freed from societal constraints. It was a recipe for disaster.”
There was something evil inside Chuck. Devon couldn’t get Rico’s words out of his head. He knew Fiona heard them as well, which was why this conversation had her so worked up.
“Maybe.” Devon inclined his head. He didn’t want to fight. Not with her. “And maybe there was something else going on as well.”
“Like demons?” Fiona’s words dripped with sarcasm.
Gwen broke in. “Abby isn’t saying she believes it was demons. She’s simply pointing out that there was a trend.”
Fiona snapped her head toward Gwen as if she’d forgotten she was there. “There was a trend? How do we know it’s over?”
Ah, that was the problem. Fiona was afraid. Devon placed a hand over hers. “It’s over for us.”
They sat in silence for a long moment, until Caleb’s voice broke the tension in the room. “Mommy.”
Three pair of feet padded into the kitchen—Caleb’s two, and Sophie’s four. The German Shepherd Chow mix would be as tall as Caleb soon. She’d become his constant companion since they’d brought her home from the shelter three weeks ago.
“Can I have a cookie?” Caleb eyed the plate. Sophie gazed at it with rapt attention as well.
Fiona handed Caleb a chocolate chip cookie, while Devon retrieved a biscuit for the canine half of the duo.
Gwen stood. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just finding the process of talking with Abby cathartic and thought you might as well.” She put her purse strap over her shoulder. “If we can find meaning in the things that happened... ” She shrugged. “Maybe there is no meaning. Maybe it was random.”
Fiona reached out and took her friend’s hand. “I’m sorry I overreacted. I guess I’m still raw. I’ll think about it.”
“Think about what?” Caleb said.
“Think about”—Devon grabbed his son, turned him upside down and carried him to the living room couch—“tickling you.” And he did.
7.7.6
FIONA
A week later, Fiona found Abby sitting at a table outside the Dana Point coffee shop where they’d agreed to meet. Abby stood and waved when she saw her coming. She wasn’t what Fiona had expected. Perhaps because Abby was a school librarian with an interest in supernatural things, she’d imagined an older woman given to flowing caftans and too much costume jewelry. But Abby was young, slight, and pretty, and had the most unusual brown eyes flecked with gold.
“Who’s this?” Abby held out a hand to Sophie when Fiona drew closer. Sophie sniffed and wagged her tail—a good sign. If the woman was deranged, the dog would know, wouldn’t she?
“This is Sophie,” Fiona said. “We’ve only had her a few weeks.”
“She’s beautiful.” Abby petted the chow’s head. “Carlos and I have been thinking about getting a dog.”
“Don’t think. Do it,” Fiona said. “We thought about it for much too long.”
Small talk reigned as they ordered drinks, and Fiona found herself liking Abby despite herself. However, an awkward silence fell as soon as they settled themselves at the table again. Abby blew in her coffee, sipped, then cleared her throat. “Gwen says you’re a little concerned about the book.”
She was direct. Good. Fiona had found it difficult to be anything but honest since the events of last month. “I am. I guess it’s the whole supernatural element that has me worried.”
Abby gave her three slow nods. “When I was living at the mission, my view of the unseen world changed.”
Fiona felt her jaw tense. She’d heard about Abby’s bizarre scheme to live like a medieval mystic then write a book about it. It was one of the reasons she hadn’t wanted to talk to the woman, but Gwen had assured her Abby wasn’t weird. The jury was still out.
Abby held up a hand. “But that’s not what this book is about. I don’t know what the link between these crimes is, and I don’t plan to speculate. What I want to do is present the facts, the viewpoints of the victims—or should I say victors—and allow the reader to make up their own mind.”
Fiona liked the term victor rather than victim, but she wasn’t entirely convinced this book was a good idea. “Gwen said something about thin places in Orange County between the natural world and hell.”
“That’s what some people believe. I don’t know.” Abby drew her shoulders forward in an almost apologetic gesture. “I do know I felt the presence of entities I couldn’t see when I was at the mission, but whether they influence peoples’ behavior or not, I have no idea.”
Fiona sipped her tea. She liked Abby, but she wasn’t sure if she trusted her. The last thing she needed was for her family history to be part of a sensational series that read more like science fiction than fact. She’d been humiliated enough for one lifetime.
She set her cup down. “Why are you writing this book?”
Abby wove her fingers together and rested her chin on them. “That’s a good question.” She paused. “I guess it’s because I want to understand why people do the things they do. The events that took place in your life, Gwen’s life, my life, they can all be explained on a practical level—the crimes were financially motivated.”
“Yes, and no,” Fiona said. “Rico wanted money in the beginning, but eventually it was something else.”
“Something else?” Abby gazed at her intently with those gold-flecked eyes, and Fiona wished she hadn’t spoken.
“No.” Fiona waved a hand. “You go on. What were you going to say?”
Abby dropped her hands to her lap. “I believe crime, at least these crimes, all have something in common besides where they happened and to whom.”
“What’s that?”
“They’re multifaceted. They each have an obvious motivation, like money. But there are less obvious motivations as well. Those are the ones that interest me.”
There was something evil inside Chuck. How many times had that phrase reverberated through Fiona? How many times had she woken up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, wondering if the thing was after her? But there was no thing. There was no evil entity stalking her. “What if things are exactly as they appear? What if the motives behind the crimes are simply greed or lust or one of the usual things?”
“Then they are,” Abby said and smiled. “I don’t have an agenda, Fiona. I’m not trying to build a case for a particular sociological or supernatural influence. I would simply like to understand what drives one person to kill another. There are easier ways to get money.”
“And you believe you will understand if you write these stories?”
“Better than I do now.”
Fiona couldn’t argue with that, but the idea of putting herself into the mind of a murderer to better comprehend him or her made her shudder. Abby was more courageous—or more something—than she.
“I have a couple of other reasons for writing the book,” Abby said.
“So you’re multilayered, as well,” Fiona said.
Abby laughed. It was a nice, transparent laugh. “I guess I am.”
“What’re your other motives?”
“First, the experience I had changed me.” Abby leaned back in her chair. “These kinds of things do. I want to examine that change, put it under a microscope, figure out what occurs in a decent human being’s soul when they’re pitted against an evil one.”
There was that word again, evil. Fiona hadn’t believed in evil until Chuck came into her life. Now, she knew it was real. “Either it makes you stronger—”
“Or it kills you,” Abby finished for her. “Honestly, I hope reading stories about victors, people who made it through terrible things, will help others who are dealing with lesser problems.”
“My dad,” Fiona said with a hitch in her voice, “used to read about people who were imprisoned by the Nazis in World War II whenever he got frustrated with life. He said it put things in perspective.” She hadn’t said anything positive about her father since she’d found out about his past sins. That needed to change. She didn’t want Caleb to grow up with the familial shame she’d been living with.
“That’s a great philosophy.”
“I think so.” Fiona gave her a faint smile. “What’s your other reason?”
“I’m not the only one who’s noticed the connection between these crimes.”
“Oh?”
“A journalist, Molly Shure, is planning a podcast. She approached me about my story. She wanted my take on everything that happened after that poor girl died at the mission. I’m sure you saw the story in the news back when it happened.”
Fiona’s heart skipped a beat. She’d read about it. It wall all over the networks for a week, maybe two, then it fell off the radar. Why not let the story stay buried? Why not let her on story die? True crime podcasts often went viral. “I hope you said no?” The question came out more harshly than she’d intended.
“I did, at first. But I like her. She’s honest and her motives are good.”
Fiona snorted.
“Really.” Abby’s brow furrowed. “She thinks exposing the whys and wherefores of these crimes might protect others from being drawn into dangerous situations. If people had a better understanding of what went on in murderers’ minds, how they act and react to things, it could only help.”
Fiona made a noncommittal noise, but Abby’s words were getting through to her.
“In fact,” Abby reached down and patted Sophie, “I agreed to help her with her research since I was already on the same path. We’re collaborating. It gives me some control over the narrative.”
“Control over the narrative.” Fiona parroted the words.
“Will you consider letting me and Molly interview you?” Abby asked.
Fiona gazed at the sky. It was clear and blue, only a few white clouds bobbing along on the breeze like ethereal sailboats. It sounded as if her story was going to come out whether she liked it or not.
Maybe that wasn’t all bad. It could be time to set aside the past. Maybe forgiving the sins of her father—verbally and formally—would destroy their impact on herself and future generations. Telling Abby and Molly her story might help her put it in perspective. And if it could help someone else, well, that would be an incredible bonus.
She brought her gaze to Abby’s golden flecked eyes. “Okay, let’s do it.”
MOLLY: And there you have it, the humble beginnings of my partnership with Abby. I’m grateful she decided to trust me. Not only is she a tremendous researcher, but she also has familiarity with something I don’t. She’s been through a life and death situation. She can relate to the men and women we’ve interviewed in a way I can’t.
I love Fiona’s thoughts about forgiveness here. After immersing myself in this series my worldview has changed, just as hers has. As Abby said, in the beginning I wanted to talk about the crimes for preemptive purposes, to make people aware, to help them recognize a predator when they met one.
And, while that’s still true, I’ve recognized something else this series has accomplished—at least for me. There are life lessons embedded in every season. Gwen learned how to trust those who deserve trust through her ordeal. Olivia and Fiona learned the power forgiveness. Abby and Willow found themselves and their purpose. Rosie embraced her own gifts and stopped comparing herself to others. Honey recognized that, while money is important, it didn’t cure her of insecurity.
And, me, what have I learned? I guess it’s that seemingly opposite truths can exist simultaneously. A door can be both an exit and an entrance. A person can be both a victim and a victor. A crime can be viewed alone and yet be part of a sequence. A criminal’s motive can be natural and supernatural at the same time.
I started this series thinking that if I kept picking at things, I’d find the thread that connected these crimes. I haven’t. At least nothing I could take before a judge, and yet, I’m satisfied there is a thread even if I can’t physically grab hold of it.
I hope you feel the same.
So, what’s next? Several of you have contacted me with that question, and this leads me to the news I’ve been waiting to share with you. There was a parking lot behind The Raven’s Perch, the last place Melissa was ever seen. It recently sold to a development company with plans to build a retail establishment on the site. A body was discovered when construction began.
A listener who’s married to a local cop emailed to tell me that the autopsy revealed it was Ariana Blackstone. Her family has been notified, and the press will be releasing the story soon.
I’m reeling from this news. I have so many thoughts swirling in my head, it’s difficult for me to put them into any kind of logical order, but I’ll try.
First, I’m both relieved and disappointed it’s not Melissa. Truth in tension again. Relieved, for obvious reasons. She may still be alive. Disappointed, because there is still no closure for her family or for me.
The timing of this discovery is uncanny. People, how strange is it that you and I have been dabbling in this cold crime for the past year? We’ve been turning over rocks the police never noticed, fishing in waters we were told were fished out.
In light of all this, it seems obvious to me that my next mission is to find out what happened to Melissa, Raphael, and Ariana. I’ll tell the detectives everything I’ve learned so far, and I’ll do my best to stay out of their way, but I plan to investigate.
I will document everything I’ve learned and continue to document everything I learn in the future. I hope you’ll come on this journey with me as soon as I figure out how to tell this story. Together we’ll explore more Murders Under the Sun.
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Also by Greta Boris
An Almost True Crime Story:
The Cliff House
The Garden
The Hiding Place
The Tower
The Keep
