Something clanked to my left, and I saw Mrs. Pascal coming towards me with a serving tray. I rushed over to take it from her, noting the carafe, cookies, mugs, plates, napkins, sugar cubes, and creamer boat.
“Oh, thank you, young man.”
“My pleasure, ma’am,” I commented.
I placed the tray on the coffee table as she sat on the couch, shooing away the cats as she went. They meowed or glared, but moved. At her waved hand, I sat down too.
“Now,” she said as she started to pour the coffee, “you said you needed to speak with me about a case you’re currently working on?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I accepted the mug from her with a nod of thanks. I wasn’t in a coffee mood, but I was not about to reject her kindness because I was being picky. “Mrs. Pascal, have you ever been to Atelihai Valley? It’s a small town down by Sitka.”
She paused, studying me over her wide glasses, and then went back to plating my cookies. “Well, that’s a very specifically vague question. From it, I think you know that I have.”
“Thank you,” I said as I took the cookies. “I apologize for the roundabout, but I appreciate your honesty. Can you tell me when and why you were in Atelihai Valley?”
“Hm, let’s see. It was 2014, I think, or thereabouts.”
When she didn’t continue, I took a sip of coffee before prompting, “And why were you there?”
The only way to describe her smile wascocky, which looked completely out of place on her older face. She took a bite of a cookie before saying, “I figured one of you would be knocking on my door soon enough. As soon as I saw the news, I knew. Just didn’t expect it to be the handsome one from the interviews. Has there been a reason the Ice Queen has taken over the press conferences? Personally, I think if you took off your shirt for the audience, they’d be in a much better mood when they questioned you.”
I about choked on my bite of cookie.
Mrs. Pascal cackled, shaking her head. “You found the book, did you? It’s the only reason you could possibly have connected her to me. Truthfully, I was hoping she would find it, but apparently not. It’s been there for nearly a dozen years, which is such a shame.” She gestured to the massive quantity of bookshelves throughout her living room. “I hated leaving the book in the grass, but I didn’t know how else to find her and I certainly wasn’t going to leave it with those godawful—excuse me, Lord—parents of hers.”
I drank some coffee to clear my throat. Still, my voice was a bit raspy as I asked, “Who are you talking about, Mrs. Pascal? You left the book for Holly Marteen, but Holly’s dead.”
This woman didn’t appear to have dementia, but sometimes it was hard to tell.
“Is she now?” Mrs. Pascal challenged. “Tell me, young man with the strapping muscles, what day did she die?”
“February 10, 2011.”
“Hmmm,” she hummed into her coffee mug before taking a sip. Then she got up, walked over to her many bookshelves, and pulled out a large album.
It had been a long time since I’d seen a photo album like that. My brother, Tony, had converted all our childhood photos to digital years ago as a birthday gift to our mom. I was sure she still had them, but they were probably up in the attic now, instead of in easy reach in her living room.
Mrs. Pascal flipped through the album as she came back to the couch. I stood, my mother’s manners instilled in me. Mrs. Pascal handed me the open photo album as she sat back down. I sat too.
I knew immediately which photo she wanted me to see. I couldn’t make out her face, but I recognized those brown curls and the way she was hunched over a book.
“This is Holly Marteen,” I said as my eyebrows drew down. “What year is this? I have no record of her being institutionalized prior to her suicide.”
“2013.”
My head snapped up. “What?”
Mrs. Pascal nodded, sipping her coffee again. “Holly Marteen isn’t dead, Agent Mallory. Or, if she is, then she died after that gravestone was put into the ground in that cemetery. I always felt so sorry for her, the poor thing. Her parents committed her after her suicide attempt, and never visited her once!” She shook her head in disgust. “I know it’s not allowed, silly privacy laws and all, but my husband and I never had kids to show off. I took pictures of all my pupils at that hospital. I took care of them, looked out for them. Holly was such a bookworm. I had to start bringing in books from the outside to keep up with her!” Mrs.Pascal let out a reminiscent laugh. “I tried to get her to talk, but she was such a loner. Only ever had one visitor to my knowledge. When I had foundEast Lynne, I knew she would love it, but she’d already checked herself out. I hadn’t even known it was her birthday, poor girl! I’d have made her cookies. Anyway, I figured she’d go home and convinced my husband to drive us all the way down the coast to Atelihai Valley so that I could give her that book. Only, when I got there, I learned that an entire town thought she was dead. Even went to her grave because I just couldn’t believe it.” She shrugged, taking another sip of coffee. “I left the book for her, not knowing where else to leave it. I hoped she would return for it, but it seems it found its way into your very large hands, Agent Mallory.”
I stared at her for a very long moment before my eyes dropped to the photo in my lap. Holy fucking shit! Holly Marteenwas alive!
It all fit. I knewexactlywho was killing her rapists fifteen years later. I knew who’d used the townspeople who’d failed her as practice-runs over the years. I knew who had Roman Fitzgerald.
Iknewit had all led back to Holly Marteen’s rape… I just hadn’t realized this case led back to Holly Marteen herself.
Holy fuck! She wasalive!
Chapter Fifty-Seven
