Page 70 of The Premonition at Withers Farm
Save a feather.
I stroke my face with its softness.
I remember.
Feeding the beast will keep it content.
For now.
Until another robin decides to fly.
22
Molly
“It’s not possible.” Molly climbed the ladder steps into the attic of the chicken coop.
Sid followed but with less enthusiasm. Caution seemed to envelop her, and Molly was very aware that they were swapping roles. Typically, Sid was the adventurer and Molly wallowed. But now she was motivated. Motivated by the reality that maybe Gemma Rabine was righter than she wanted to admit. That seeking justice for January would illuminate secrets long buried that perhaps haunted them in the present. Not that the past could answer for her and Trent’s personal losses, but resolving the past and the present seemed to promise some sort of undefined hope she couldn’t explain.
And hope wasn’t something she’d had for some time. Even if this was more desperation than anything, it was something. At least she wasdoing something.
“I can’t believe it truly is a killer’s kit,” Molly emptily reassured both herself and Sid as they entered the attic. She crossed the floor and approached the crate that held the itemsSid so brazenly had dubbed a serial killer’s kit a few days before.
“Even if it is,” Sid argued, “it has nothing to do with the Cornfield Ripper. That was in 1910. They didn’t have duct tape in 1910.”
“What did they have then? Someone could’ve tossed a roll of duct tape in later. Maybe it’s a clue.” Molly sorted through the contents again. She pulled out the leather belt strap and studied it. “See? This could be vintage.”
“A clue to what? What are we looking for?” Sid toed the corner of the crate.
“I don’t know.” Molly didn’t want to admit it, but she felt as directionless as she felt invigorated. “But if it involved our grandfathers in the Cornfield Ripper killings even a little bit, then that ties to January’s ancestral research, which could lead us to why she was killed.”
“I almost expected Gemma to say a ghost killed her.” Sid chuckled, crossing the room to duck and look out the small window.
Molly stilled and eyed Sid’s back. “What if it did?”
“Molly.” Sid turned and leveled a look on her that left Molly pretty sure she’d just about revealed her hand as far as what she believed when it came to spirits.
Believed?That was too strong of a word. What she was afraid was true about spirits? Maybe that was more accurate.
“Well, think about it.” Molly wasn’t quite willing to let it go. “People have said ghosts have scratched them in the night. Cut. Sometimes strangled even. Who’s saying that—”
“Molly!” Sid half laughed and half twisted her face in disbelieving laughter. “You can’t seriously think there’s any credibility to the idea that January was killed because she was researching an old murder case? By a ghost, no less. Do you know how many people have researched the Cornfield Ripper before? It’s a cold case—just like Gemma indicated. That stuff intrigues people. Looking into it doesn’t get a person killed.”
“Is this a killer’s kit, though?” Molly dangled the leather belt. “Coincidence?”
“Then take it to the police,” Sid concluded, her hands at her hips. “If you really think those items are somehow tied to January’s death, then you need to call the cops.”
“I’m just saying ... there are a lot of unanswered questions here.” Of course, that wouldn’t make sense to Sid. She wasn’t aware of half of what Molly could sense. Couldfeel. She hadn’t seen the ghoulish remains of January Rabine in the basement. She hadn’t been haunted by the vision of the little girl in the coop attic. That this was the old Withers farm? Why would a killer target two sisters? And had other deaths come after? If so, who were they?
“Earth to Molly.” Sid was waving her hand in front of Molly’s face. She’d returned from the attic window and now crouched beside her. Concern was very apparent in both her body language and her words. “I don’t deny that things are weird. Even scary, what with January being murdered just down the road.”
Molly ignored her as an idea struck. She tugged out the duct tape and looked at the logo on the internal cardboard core. Current enough that she recognized it. She tossed it aside and reached for the gloves. Unmarked, no tag. She leaned over the crate. There had to be something to date the items by.
“What are you looking for?” Sid asked.
Molly didn’t answer but instead gave a quick yelp of joy. She reached in and lifted the newspaper that lined the bottom of the crate. “A date!” She drew the stiff yellowed paper toward her. “A clue or something to tell us how old the stuff in this crate is, and whether it’s a killer’s kit.”
“It’s not,” Sid replied.
