Page 60 of The Premonition at Withers Farm
Molly offered Gladys a tolerant smile. She hadn’t really expected the elderly grocery store woman to follow her to the coffee shop to meet up with Gemma, mostly because she didn’t think the older woman wouldwantto. It was awkward sitting next to her, a stranger, and even more awkward feeling as if she would panic if this tiny old lady chose to leave. Gladys had adopted Molly as her own to protect. Her mind seemed sharp enough, but a stiff breeze could blow the poor lady down the street, and Molly wasn’t confident that Gemma wouldn’t become that stiff breeze.
“Speak of the devil,” Molly muttered as Gemma tugged a chair out from the opposite side of the table and sat down. She hadn’t bothered to order coffee, but then neither had Molly.
“I’m going to try to stay civil,” Gemma announced.
Gladys looked between them.
Molly wasn’t certain her cocktail of antidepressants would be strong enough to help her endure the madness that was to come from this conversation.
Gemma leaned forward, her athletic arms tanned from the New Mexican sun. “I found January’s journal online.”
“Like I suggested.” Molly couldn’t avoid the barb.
“Right before youslippedin your basement,” Gemma quipped in return. “Anyway,” Gemma continued, “you know why January was here.”
It was a statement, not a question.
“No, I don’t.” Molly shook her head.
Gemma snorted and smiled, but it was lopsided and only half friendly. “Fine, I’ll humor you with the reasons. Ancestry. That’s why she was here. She wanted to learn all about our lovely Wasziak roots.” The sarcasm was so unexpectedly thick, Molly would’ve needed a chainsaw to cut through it.
“The Wasziak name goes way back in Kilbourn,” Gladys added.
“I’m sure it does.” Gemma’s lips thinned. “Along with the murders.”
“The murders?” Molly’s uneasiness only intensified. She shifted in her chair.
Gemma tilted her head and studied Molly for a moment. “I almost believe that you know nothing about this. But January wrote she’d met with the family in Kilbourn several times and discussed just that.”
“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
“The Cornfield Ripper of Kilbourn, Michigan. Look it up. It’s folklore and legend around here, and our grandfather, with however many greats you want to attach to it, was smack in the middle of the whole thing.”
“Oh,thattale!” Gladys clapped her hands together like a happy child. “I love murder mysteries. Have either of youwatchedMurder, She Wrote? Angela Lansbury is fabulous in it!”
Molly looked between them. “We never met with your sister, Gemma.”
Gemma lifted her phone and swiped her thumb over the screen. “‘Met with M today. Stated that Trent was purchasing the farm where the murders occurred.’” Gemma looked up. “Explain that.”
“That’s an initial. That’s not my name!” Molly protested.
“But it’s Trent’s name.”
“I know nothing, Gemma. I raise chickens and try to stay out of people’s way.” She sounded like a defeated martyr, and Molly knew that her own issues with mental health would not contribute positively to this conversation. She could already feel herself spiraling between intense anger, shortened breaths, and the onset of a full-on panic attack.
Gladys’s warm hand slid over hers. She squeezed, and Molly met the rheumy eyes. “It’s okay, dear. Let’s deal with this calmly.” She turned to Gemma. “I’m not new to the area, and I know a bit about the farms around here. If you’re talking about the farm associated with the Cornfield Ripper, that’s the old house and barn off Highway 34.”
Molly felt her insides curdle. “That’s where we live.”
Gladys gave her a sympathetic look. “Well, dear, you’re living in a murder house.”
Gemma slapped the table. “I knew it!”
“Wait. No. No. The real-estate agent would have said something.” Molly’s mind spun with the finality of Gladys’s pronouncement. “Maynard knows the area well. He’s a Clapton, and they own practically everything anyone else doesn’t!”
“Whether you knew about it or not, January was murdered while she was investigating our ancestors, who apparently wereveryinvolved in a historical set of murders,” Gemma protested. “Murders that also involved your farm.”
Gladys gentled her voice. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
