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“Every one of us.” He got to his feet and dusted off the seat of his pants, which were wet and looked cold. As if reading his mind, Pascal shuddered and turned away, toward his vehicle.
“You know, the body we found. We’re pretty sure it’s Jessie Brentwood, so unless she’s a ghost with her own stationery, I don’t think she’s sending anyone any mail, not from Sellwood or anywhere else.”
“I’m just saying Glenn got a note, anonymously, okay? And inside were Jessie’s words.” His gaze was steady. “Maybe someone played a sick prank on him.”
“Someone who knew about the nursery rhyme.”
“We all knew.”
“You think anyone else got notes?” Mac asked, wondering if the jerk was bullshitting him. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“Ask ’em,” Scott said, then jogged away through the trees to a parking lot in a strip mall. Once there, he climbed into a dark gray truck and drove off.
“I will,” he said to himself. “I’ll ask every damned one of you.”
“Let’s start over,” Hudson said to Becca. “You saw an image of this note burning and you think it was sent to Glenn.” He was still holding the damning piece of paper in his fist and he was confused as all get-out. So far, it had been one helluva night. First the fire, then Glenn’s death, and now Becca’s visions or whatever you want to call them about a note he’d received just today.
“No, Hudson,” she said, her voice taking on an edge. “I don’t think it. I know it.”
“Fine. Then there were two of them.”
“At least.”
“Yeah, at least.” He wanted to know what this meant. Needed to know.
She’d examined the message and then placed it on her coffee table, shrinking away from it as if it were poisonous. He felt a little repelled himself. Who had sent the note? Jessie? He couldn’t believe that. Wouldn’t.
“Why?” he asked.
She shook her head and walked into the kitchen.
He followed her as she heated some water for decaf herbal tea or something equally innocuous in her microwave. Her dog had decided Hudson wasn’t worth the fuss and had settled into a round little bed in the living room. Ringo was now snoring softly.
“There has to be a reason I got one and…Glenn got one.”
“Maybe Jessie wants some of us to know she’s alive,” Becca said.
“You don’t believe that any more than I do.”
“I know, but-” The microwave dinged and she retrieved her cup, then dunked the bag of aromatic non-tea into it. “There has to be a reason. This isn’t just happening all of a sudden, after twenty years. Everything has to hinge on Jessie and those bones at St. Elizabeth’s.”
“So, why me? Why Glenn?”
“Maybe there are more,” she said and stared at him.
He felt it, too. That they were being manipulated. “Someone’s got a sick sense of humor.”
She tossed her tea bag into the trash. “Who?”
He thought of everyone connected even vaguely to Jessie and couldn’t think of a soul. “And why? I’m just not buying that someone’s getting his rocks off by trying to freak us out.”
“Maybe we should go to the police,” she said, testing the hot brew in her cup.
“And tell them what? I got a note and you ‘saw’ one that was meant for Glenn? If the police get involved, they’re not going to accept that you just ‘saw it.’”
“They’ll think I wrote the note,” Becca concluded. She walked back to the couch and sank into the cushions.
Hudson shook his head. “I don’t know what they’ll conclude, but calling McNally now might create more problems than it’s worth. Becca…” He trailed off, sounding uncomfortable.
