Page 32 of The Souls of Lost Lake
The image of the old doll, the burned-out cabin, the cellar with broken jars and cobwebs flashed through her memory. Wren swallowed her own doubts. “It’s an old story from the 1930s.”
“And there’re no relatives of Ava Coons, no one around who could tell my wife that it’s just a story? That the Coons family isn’t a generational tree of raving lunatics running around the woods? Or ghosts?”
She’d never thought of that. “Um, I-I don’t know. I don’t know if there are any Coonses left in the area.”
Ben’s expression made Wren squirm. She looked everywhere but at him. She looked at Troy as he gave instructions to the people in his search party. She noted Sheriff Floyd at one of the folding tables, leaning over Officer Bruce’s shoulder and his laptop. She saw Pippin enter the shed and head toward John, probably to get assigned to another search team. Eddie was absent. He was directing the kitchen staff to provide support for the camp and its campers.
“Let me help Meghan.” Wren winced the moment the words escaped her lips.
Ben looked at her sharply. “We need to work with the authorities.”
“But would it hurt?” Wren battled herself internally even as she responded to Ben. “If Jasmine did talk to a woman at the park, maybe she knows something. Maybe it’s worth looking into?”
“And leading my wife on to believe there’s a ghost woman in the woods snatching children?” Ben’s dark eyes flashed.
Wren couldn’t blame him. “I-I didn’t mean that we look for a ghost. I just meant—”
“The police already looked into that angle.” Ben ran his fingers through his hair. Agitated. “They didn’t find anything.”
“But would it hurt for us to look?” Wren bit her tongue. She really needed to back off. Leave it be. She was as bad as Meghan, but that twisting in her gut had only worsened. The vision of Jasminelying dead on the shore of Lost Lake throbbed in her mind like a haunting that was far worse than Ava Coons.
Ben glanced over his shoulder to make sure Meghan hadn’t returned. “I just want her to sleep. She hasn’t slept. And she’s not acting rationally. I need—I need her to rest, not chase a wild idea.”
“Assuming she’s wrong,” Wren concluded.
Ben’s mouth thinned. “Let the search parties look for myniña. Let the authorities do what they do best.”
“Would you let me spend time with Meghan?” Wren hurried on. “Let me help her look into who Ava Coons was. What the real story is. If the Coons family has a reputation for doing bad things in these woods, it may help her feel like she’s doing something to find Jasmine, even if she’s—ifweare wrong.” It was a weak argument. Wren knew the camp would give her time off because it was what they did here. Helped people. And Lord knew Meghan needed the support. Yet Wren couldn’t convince herself she was offering a disservice to Meghan. Helping Meghan chase after her own suspicions wasn’t fair to her emotionally if there was evidence to conclude any legitimate suspicions.
Ben locked eyes with Wren. “Fine.” His shoulders dropped in resignation. “Do whatever you need to. I can’t fight her on this anymore.”
Wren touched the man’s elbow, hoping her sincerity seeped into her words. “I promise—we’ll just explore the idea.”
“Sure.” Ben shrugged off her hand. He held up his palms. “I need to go look for my baby girl. You do whatever you and Meghan need to do.”
Wren watched him stalk away, his shoulders ladened with a grief so thick, and an anxiety so heavy, she wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d toppled over. She squeezed her eyes shut. What had she done? Offering to help Meghan explore her conviction that something more had happened to Jasmine? Wasn’t that interfering with a police investigation? Or was it? There was just a missing child. Not an abduction.
Ava Coons was long dead.
The woods of Lost Lake weren’t haunted.
Dreams weren’t reality.
Even as she repeated the truths in her mind, Wren admitted she herself was not completely convinced.
13
Ava
“Dyin’ of boredom ain’t far off,” Ava mumbled to herself as she paced the front room. She couldn’t even look out the window. Noah had instructed strictly that window peeking was too high a risk, and then he’d hauled his merry self off to the church or some go-gettin’-saved mission. Of course, Ava had to admit he wasn’t especially peppy in his step that morning. His fedora made him look distinguished, and his brooding eyes brought a sense of obligation to the preacher. Heck, she’d get saved just to spare herself from having him glower all over her like a sad puppy dog that had been separated from its mama.
Hanny had hustled, or waddled rather, her way next door to her own house, her bag of belongings in hand. She reallywasgoing through with her plan to move back home and leave Ava here alone with the preacher.
“Fine fix.” Ava plopped onto a chair, hiking her right leg up to balance her foot on the seat cushion. The leg of her overalls was frayed, threads hanging around her calf. She wasn’t wearing shoes or socks, and that at least was a bit freeing. “I didn’t kill no one,” she mumbled to herself. Maybe if she snuck out and found Ned, he would help her hide. Then she wouldn’t be trapped here in the parsonage, staring at a painting of Jesus, who looked off to the side as if He were ashamed to match her stare.
“You of all people should know, the time I snared that rabbit and then broke its neck when Frisk told me to just about done me in.” Ava jumped to her feet and stared up at Jesus. “How on your green earth could people think I’d hack a body to bits like a demon outta hell?” She paused. “Sorry ’bout that.” She stared at the motionless painting. He didn’t answer. Which wasn’t uncommon. Jesus, God, the saints, they’d all been silent for as long as Ava could remember. But then she couldn’t remember much, so that didn’t say a whole lot about any of their existence.
“You know, you could say somethin’.” Ava crossed her arms and leveled a final glare at Jesus. “Seems like you expect a lot of folks to talk to you, but you don’t say much back.” She waited. Silence.
