Page 97 of 5 Golden Flings

“Town leadership?”

He squinted as he flipped through some picnic photos. “County council, I think. The mayor. County judge.”

Beside him Brynn shivered. Somehow he knew it wasn’t from the chill in the air. “What about these girls?” she asked. “They are repeated too. This one in the floral-pattern dress, though these appear to be from two different events.”

“I wonder...” Colby tried to think back. “I believe at one time this was one of those homes for unwed mothers. You know, where people sent their daughters if they became pregnant out of wedlock.”

Brynn nodded. “Maybe she didn’t have another dress,” she murmured.

So she had to wear the same one to every event. “The girls were probably included in any church events.” Now that she’d pointed it out, he saw several of the same women in various stages of pregnancy on the church grounds, but not in the town celebration pictures.

“I also don’t see pictures on the grounds of the other church.”

Brynn glanced up from the photo she was studying. “What do you mean?”

“There are only two churches in town, which is unusual for the South, really. Usually there’s one on every corner. Large and small. But our town has two—the Catholic church and the Baptist one. It’s just my personal opinion, but church here has less to do with religion and more to do with your station in the town.”

“How so?”

“The Catholic church hosts middle to lower income classes. You’ll see some of the church leaders at events, but they don’t ‘do’ church there. They support programs like a food pantry and”—he raised one of the photos—“homes for unwed mothers.”

He leaned back, thinking out loud. “The Baptist church is where the upper class go on Sundays. It’s a bigger, fancier church on the eastern side of town. They have fancy picnics on the grounds. A Valentine’s Day dance. Catered dinners, as opposed to potlucks. And put on a Christmas event every year that has to cost thousands. It's the difference between night and day.”

“We never went to church anywhere, so I really wouldn’t know, but that sounds like an odd thing. At least, for it to last so long.”

“It’s been that way since way before I was born, according to my grandfather.”

Brynn glanced behind them to the stained-glass window. “Makes me wonder which kind of people attended this one.”

Colby wasn’t sure he wanted to know, considering the blood stained altar downstairs. “There are some film reels in here too.”

Brynn pulled one out to study the negatives. She grimaced. “It’s all covered in grime. Dad did do some filming, but none that I ever had to work with. We specialized in his photos and prints. I’d have to do some research on how to clean these.”

As he glanced at the photo that had been beneath the reel, Colby cursed.

“What is it?”

He was vaguely aware that his hand shook as he pulled a final photo from the bottom of the box. The lighting of the picture told him it was either shot at dusk or dawn from quite a distance. A row of figures in black walked along the edge of some woods, but Colby didn’t recognize the setting. What hit him hard was the one face turned back toward the camera.

A face in a golden mask.

“No,” he breathed.

“What is it?” Brynn demanded.

He handed the photo to her. A frown appeared as she studied it. “I don’t understand.”

“Did your dad ever tell you stories of the ghosts in the golden masks?”

He could tell she was trying to remember, but nothing was coming to her.

“It’s an old legend in this town. That there are ghosts that wear golden masks that haunt the woods in the national forest, and those areas where it is forested closer to town.”

“That may be vaguely familiar.”

“Most parents use it to deter their kids from sneaking out at night. It’s kind of morphed into an urban legend here now, because with phone cameras and social media, people—mostly teenagers—claim they still see them and post snapshots of them online.”

She held up the photo. “That must be cramping someone’s style.”

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