CHAPTER 12
“How?" Diana asked. "How could a little girl have done that? What could she have done if he'd killed her?"
"I don't know. Yet. But I know that something changed when Missy died. I feel it."
Diana didn't know how to challenge his certainty. She didn't even know if she should. So all she said was, "We have a lot more questions than answers."
"Yeah, I noticed that."
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but we won't know anything new from Jeremy's remains, or the bones down in the cavern, for a while yet."
"Maybe quite a while. Forensics takes time, especially when it comes to skeletal remains."
She hesitated, then said, "I have the sense that something is going to happen here, and soon. Something bad. I — I haven't told you, but I've seen other ghosts. People who very obviously lived in another age. Two women, a man, two little boys. Not in the gray time, but here, looking flesh-and-blood real. Like Jeremy. Asking me to help them. And at least one said something about it being time. There was an intentness about them, an urgency I could feel."
Quentin didn't bother to ask why she hadn't told him until now. "I gather they didn't tell you how you could help them."
"No." Diana got to her feet. "But Becca told me there was something in the tack room, and she was right about that. She also told me there was something in the attic I needed to see. That it would help me understand."
Quentin smiled, wondering if she had any idea of how much stronger she was since waking up. He didn't know how, but it seemed that providing a voice for Missy down in those caves had somehow enabled Diana to turn a corner. She had stopped protesting the reality of her abilities; she wanted answers.
"I wondered why you asked Stephanie so pointedly about the attic," he said.
"Now you know. Shall we?"
Quentin took only a few moments to lock his laptop and notes away in his computer case, habit making him cautious. Then he walked with Diana back to the main building.
It wasn't until they were climbing the stairs toward the attic that he said, "I guess Rebecca wasn't very specific about whatever it is she thinks you need to see in the attic?"
"No. As you said, they never seem to be specific when it would be helpful."
"They?"
"The guides. Spirits, I guess."
"Nice to see you're coming to terms with their reality," Quentin said.
A little laugh escaped Diana. "Reality? I'm not sure I know what's real anymore. Actually, I'm not sure I ever did."
"You know. You just have to trust yourself."
"Forgive me, but that sounds a lot like the psychobabble I've been listening to for years."
"There's a major difference," Quentin said, taking her hand as they climbed. "I know damned well you aren't sick and you aren't crazy, and I'll never try to convince you that you are. You can trust me. And you can trust yourself, you know."
"Can I? How do you know that?"
"Diana, what you've been through just in the past couple of days would have sent half the psychics I know into shock or into a coma." He nodded as she glanced up at him. "You're a hell of a lot stronger than you realize."
"I hope you're right," she murmured.
A few minutes later they reached the attic, and looking around the vast, cluttered space, Diana really did hope he was right. Because it was going to take plenty of strength and energy just to go through everything up there, never mind coping with anything unexpected they might find.
"Damn," she said with a sigh. "Why can't things ever be easy?"
"The universe frowns on that." Quentin sighed as well. "Want to flip a coin, or should we just start at opposite ends and work our way toward the middle?"
"You're the seer," she said, only slightly mocking. "Why don't you see where we should start?"
"It doesn't really work that way."
"Figures." Diana looked around, absently admiring the beauty of the stained-glass windows illuminated by the afternoon sunlight. There were shafts of colored light shining in, almost beaming in, she thought, so that a stack of old storage trunks in the fairly clear aisle down the north/south axis of the attic seemed to glow in a brilliant spotlight.
Spotlight.
"Or maybe," she murmured, "it can be easy, after all."
Quentin followed her gaze. "Well, well. Almost as good as a sign, huh?"
"You sound a bit doubtful."
"I mistrust signs, as a rule. They tend to point me in directions I probably should avoid."
Diana lifted her eyebrows and waited.
"This is your sign," he said. "Let's go."
As they worked their way toward the stacked trunks, Diana said somewhat ruefully, "I can't decide if I should blame you for all this or just be glad you're here to help me steer."
"I vote for the latter."
"I'll just bet you do."
"Like I said from the beginning, you and I are both here for a reason. We both need answers."
Reaching the trunks, Diana eyed them and said a bit tentatively, "Yeah, but what are the questions? You want to know who killed Missy, and I want to know if I'm nuts?"
"We've already established you aren't nuts."
"Then what answer do I need?"
"Maybe the one Rebecca told you was up here." Quentin reached for the side handle of the topmost trunk. "Hang on, and let's see if this is as heavy as it looks."
It wasn't, thankfully, and they were able to line all three trunks up end-to-end along the aisle. None of the trunks was locked, and when all the lids were raised, Diana and Quentin found themselves contemplating semi-organized chaos.
"Lovely," Diana said with another sigh. "The one on this end looks like it has mostly old clothes inside." She pulled out a feather boa that more or less disintegrated in her fingers, and sneezed. "Mostly."
"Bless you. The one on this end and the one in the middle also have old clothes, but — " He knelt at the trunk on his end and pulled out a creased box filled with loose papers. " — we also have what look like letters, invoices, receipts. At least a couple of ledgers and journals. Jesus. It's going to take hours to go through all this."
"No kidding." Diana knelt at the middle trunk and pulled out a scrapbook that was barely holding together. She checked a couple pages, and said, "You'll love this. Lots and lots of photos of The Lodge, some of them from when it was being built."
"Great. Set it aside to take downstairs, will you? We'll get Stephanie's permission to look over anything interesting somewhere more comfortable. The light up here is very colorful, but not the best for studying this sort of thing."
"That's for sure." Diana set the scrapbook aside, along with another one she found in the trunk. Then she pulled out an old box with lost and found stamped on its lid. She opened the box, discovering bits of costume jewelry, several hair clips and combs, a beaded change purse, other small items, and a number of loose photographs.
She lifted up the photos to see what lay under them, and one slid out to the side. In the bright, colorful light spilling into the box, the old black-and-white image seemed to glow.
Diana reached for the picture, allowing the box to tumble back into the trunk. She saw her fingers tremble, and wasn't surprised.
"What is it?" Quentin asked. He shifted a bit closer, looking at the photo she held, and sucked in a surprised breath. "That's Missy."
She sat on what looked like the front steps of an unidentifiable house, dressed for summer in shorts, her long dark hair parted in the middle and caught up by ribbons beneath each ear. She was smiling, one hand stretched out to touch the big dog lolling beside her.