Tangled Threat. Heather Graham

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СКАЧАТЬ little worried. Even if it has nothing to do with the past, there’s something not good going on now. Haven’t you watched the news? They found the remains of a young woman not far from here.”

      “Not far from here, but not here,” Angie said. “Hey,” she said again, frowning with concern. “That can’t have anything to do with anything—the Frampton ranch killer committed suicide, I thought.”

      “One of the cooks killed himself,” Maura said. “Yes, but... I mean, he never had his day in court. Most people believed he killed Francine—he hated her. But a lot of people disliked her.”

      “But he killed himself.”

      “Yes. I wasn’t here then. I did hear about it, of course.”

      Angie was pensive for a moment, and then she asked, “Maura, you don’t think that the tree is...evil, do you?”

      “Trees—a palm laced in with an oak. And no. I’m quite accustomed to the spooky and creepy, and we both know that places don’t become evil, nor do things. But people can be wicked as hell—and they can feed off legends. I don’t like being out here—not alone. There will be a campfire tonight with the history and ghost stories and the walk—we’ll join that. I have waivers for whoever attends tonight.”

      “What if someone doesn’t want to be filmed?” Angie asked anxiously. “You tell the story just as well as anyone else, right? And the camera loves you—a perfect, slinky blonde beauty with those enormous gray eyes of yours. Come on, you’ve told a few of the stories before. You can—”

      “I cannot do a good video for you as a selfie,” Maura said patiently.

      “Right. I can film you telling the story,” Angie said. “Just that part. And I can do it now—I think you said that the stories were told by the campfire, and then the historic walk began. I’ll get you—right here and now—doing the story part of it. Oh, and you can include... Oh, God!” Angie said, her eyes widening. “You weren’t just here—you saw the dead woman! The murdered woman...I mean, from this century. Francine Renault. And they arrested a kid, Brock McGovern, but he was innocent, and it was proved almost immediately, but then... Well, then, if the cook didn’t do it, they never caught the killer!”

      Maura kept her face impassive. Angie always wrote about old crimes that were unsolved—and why a place was naturally haunted after ghastly deeds had occurred there.

      She did her homework, however. Angie probably knew more than Maura remembered.

      She had loved the sad legend of the beautiful Gyselle, who had died so tragically for love. But, of course, she would have delved as deeply as possible into every event that had occurred at the ranch.

      “Do they—do they tell that story at the campfire?” Angie asked.

      Maura sighed. “Angie, I haven’t been here since the night it happened. I was still young. My parents dragged me home immediately.”

      She was here now—and she could remember that night all too clearly. Coming to the tree, then realizing while denying it that a real body was hanging from it. That it was Francine Renault. That she had been hanged from a heavy branch, hanged by the neck, and that she dangled far above the ground, tongue bulging, face grotesque.

      She remembered screaming...

      And she remembered the police and how they had taken Brock away, frowning and massively confused, still tall and straight and almost regally dignified.

      And she could remember that there were still those who speculated on his guilt or innocence—until dozens of people had spoken out, having seen him through the time when Francine might have been taken and killed. His arrest had really been ludicrous—a detective’s desperate bid to silence the horror and outrage that was beginning to spread.

      Brock’s life had changed, and thus her life had changed.

      Everything had changed.

      Except for this spot.

      She could even imagine that she was a kid again, that she could see Francine Renault, so macabre in death, barely believable, yet so real and tragic and terrifying as she dangled from the thick limb.

      “Oh,” Angie groaned, the one word drawn out long enough to be a sentence. “Now I know why you were against doing a video here!”

      Angie had wanted the History Tree. And when she had started to grow curious regarding Maura’s reluctance to head to the Frampton Ranch and Resort—especially since the resort was supposedly great and the expense of rooms went on Angie’s bill—Maura had decided it was time to cave.

      She hadn’t wanted to give any explanations.

      “Angie, it’s in your book, and you sell great and your video channel is doing great, as well. It’s fine. Really. But because they did recently find what seems to be the remains of a murder victim near here, I do think we need to be careful. As in, stay out of these woods after dark.”

      “There is a big bad wolf. Was a big bad wolf... But seriously, I’m not a criminologist of any kind, but I’d say the killer back then was making a point. Maybe the bones they found belonged to someone who died of natural causes.”

      Angie wasn’t stupid, but Maura was sure that the look she gave her tiny friend at that moment implied that she thought she was.

      “Maybe,” Angie said defensively.

      “Angie, you don’t rot in the dirt on purpose and then wind up with your bones in a cache of hotel laundry,” Maura said.

      “No, but, hey—there could be another explanation. Like a car accident. And whoever hit her was terrified and ran—and then, sadly, she just rotted.”

      “And wound up in hotel sheets?”

      Maura asked incredulously. Angie couldn’t be serious.

      “Okay, so that’s a bit far-fetched.”

      “Angie, it’s been reported that the remains were found of a murder victim. Last I saw, they were still seeking her identity, but they said that she was killed.”

      “Well, they found bones, from what I understand. Anyway,” Angie said, dusting her hands on her skirt and speaking softly and with dignity and compassion, “I wish you would have just said that you were here when it happened. Let’s get out of here. I’m sorry I made you do this.”

      “You didn’t make me do it. If I had been determined not to come back here, I wouldn’t have done so. But it’s going to get dark soon. Let me shoot a bit of you doing your speech by the tree while I still have good light.”

      Maura lifted her camera, looked at the tree and then up at the sky.

      They wouldn’t have the light much longer.

      “Angie, come on—let’s film you.”

      “Please—you know the stories so well. Let me film you this time.”

      “They’re your books.”

      “But you’ll give me a great authenticity. I’ll interview you—and you СКАЧАТЬ