Peter, naturally, veered to the right.
I stopped.
“What’s wrong?”
“I want to check something out.” I pulled him toward the left path.
“Lex, people don’t normally want to ‘check something out’ in a cemetery.”
“It won’t take long. Promise.”
Peter raised his eyebrows, but didn’t argue.
As we were walking, I realized the urge to go deeper into the cemetery was for peace of mind. I wanted to prove to myself that the historical section of the Hazel Cove Cemetery would look nothing like my nightmare.
Fat chance.
I knew every tree, tombstone and twist in the path. Everything was exactly the same. Minus my shadowed-face killer, thank goodness.
The tombstones grew larger the deeper we went. The graves were marked with piles of crumbling stone with weeds that were as tall as my knees. To my right, I could see the large wall that encircled the cemetery.
We were getting close.
I recognized the small hill. I pulled Peter off the gravel path and underneath a low tree branch. He didn’t protest as I dragged him to the scene of my nightmare.
Sure enough, in the midst of the crumbling markers was the sleek marble headstone. It was in the exact position. The same size and color. No dates, no epitaphs.
I noticed a few insignificant differences. Etched in the dark marble was a first name and a last name—I’d only seen a single name in my dream. And there wasn’t a jack-o-lantern sitting on top of the marble. It didn’t matter, though. It was undoubtedly the same tombstone from my nightmare.
I stopped in front of the grave.
Peter bent to get a closer look. “Why is this tombstone new? I thought they stopped burying people in this section two hundred years ago?”
“I don’t know.”
“How did you know this was here?”
I turned to Peter. “I saw it in a dream.”
“You dreamed about a tombstone?”
I pointed to the base of the headstone. “In the dream, I died right there.”
“Lex, this is a little creepy.”
“It’s very creepy,” I agreed.
“Who is Ethan Longfellow?”
“I don’t know. But I’m going to find out.”
* * *
Snow covered Hazel Cove the next day. A major storm, crippling most of the northeast, dropped over a foot of snow and ice. School was closed and I was thankful that I wouldn’t have to face my classmates yet. The town had been abuzz since Bradley’s death and I knew I’d be center stage for the sympathy and gossip train at Hawthorne. No, thanks.
Barefoot and in my pajamas, I went downstairs to get breakfast. Mya was staring into the sink.
“Hi, Mya,” I said quietly.
“Morning, Miss Ramsey. What would you like for breakfast?”
“I’m going to grab a bowl of cereal. Where is everyone?”
“Mr. Ramsey left late last night for a business trip—I guess he wanted to beat the storm—and Mrs. Ramsey is asleep.”
I kissed Mya on the cheek. I grabbed a bowl of cereal and took it upstairs. This was the perfect opportunity to do some digging and I knew exactly where I wanted to start.
I inhaled my cereal, showered, texted Peter, bundled up from head to toe and headed out. I was halfway there when I realized I didn’t think my plan through very well. My toes were frozen and my thighs were sore from sloshing through the snow drifts. I couldn’t drive because of the weather and I didn’t feel like asking for a ride. The only solution was to walk the two miles, through the snow, to the Hazel Cove Public Library.
The library was open (it hadn’t dawned on me that it might’ve been closed due to the weather) and completely empty. Mrs. Green was at the reception desk reading the latest John Grisham novel.
“Hello, Alexandria, how are you?”
Mrs. Green had been my second grade teacher. She accepted the job at the library a few years ago. A quiet library had to be better than a roomful of eight-year olds.
“Hi, Mrs. Green. I’m doing all right.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your father’s driver.”
“Thank you.”
“What can I help you with today?”
“I wanted to look at old local newspapers and the death records.”
She cocked her head to the side.
“I have a history project on the founding of Hazel Cove,” I lied.
“Oh yes, of course. Well, let’s see. You’ll want to go to the local section. We have hard copies of all the death certificates in the filing cabinets. They are alphabetized by last name. We also have hard copies of each edition of the Hazel Cove Weekly from 2002. If you want to go back further, then you can access them on the library’s secure website. They’ve all been scanned and put into the system.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Green.”
“Let me know if you need any help.”
I walked down a broad aisle of bookshelves to the back of the library on my quest for information about the life and death of Ethan Longfellow. Excitement bubbled inside of me at the possibility of finally finding answers. I knew the chances were slim. I didn’t have any facts—no birth date, no death date, no family names—nothing, just his name. I was basically searching for a needle in a haystack, but at least I was doing something.
The library smelled of mothballs. The harsh track lighting was on even though a flood of natural light came in from the east wall of windows. The local section was behind a partitioned wall in the back corner of the library. It included two computer labs with new equipment. A few tables were set up in the middle of the room for research. Filing cabinets lined the back wall. Books were shelved on the remaining walls.
I wasn’t sure where to start. Probably the death records, since I knew Ethan Longfellow was dead. If I could find his death certificate, then I’d have a time range of when he was alive.
The large metal filing cabinets were taller than me. A small plastic letter was attached underneath each handle. The ‘L’s were at the bottom. Dust particles flew up my nose when I pulled open the drawer. I flipped through the old death certificates. Lizzle. Lonahan. Isaac Longfellow. Matthew Longfellow. And about fifteen other Longfellows. No Ethan Longfellow.
I went to the computer and searched his name. There were no direct matches, but hundreds of hits on the Longfellow family.
Maybe the newspapers would be better? I accessed the scanned Hazel Cove Weekly from the library’s website. Since I didn’t have a time range, and because the library was tiny and underfunded, I couldn’t do an effective search. When I typed in “Ethan Longfellow,” the search results brought up hundreds of documents. The computer highlighted “Longfellow” in each of the articles, but I’d manually have to scroll through all the 1,217 hits.
Great. I pulled my legs under me and settled into the chair.
After a few hours, Peter showed up. He unceremoniously plopped a turkey sandwich on the desk in front of me. “You have to eat, Lex.”
“Mrs. Green will kill you if she finds out you snuck food in here.”
Peter grinned. “Mrs. Green thinks I’m an angel.”
“I forgot you were the teacher’s pet.”
Peter leaned over and kissed me. He caught me by surprise, but after a moment, I kissed him back. His lips moved softly against mine.
“That was nice,” I said. We hadn’t really had the chance to enjoy the benefits of being boyfriend and girlfriend. I liked kissing Peter. “We have to do that more.”
“Tell me about it.” Peter unwrapped my sandwich and handed it to me. “Things have been crazy, but they’ll settle down. Everything is going to be okay.”
“I hope so.”
“Have you found anything?”
“No,” I said. “But there’s a lot to sift through. It’s going to take forever.”
“I can help until I have to go to work.”
“That would be great. There are tons of articles on the Longfello
w family, but I haven’t found anything specifically about Ethan.” I swallowed a bite of turkey. Good thing Peter brought food. I didn’t realize this was going to turn into an all day project.
“The family’s from Hazel Cove?” Peter asked.
“I think so. Do you know any Longfellows?”
“None.”
After lunch, we continued the search. I scrolled and scrolled. The sky outside gradually darkened, which was one of the things I hated most about winter—sunset came too early.
I’d almost given up my search when an article caught my attention.
Hazel Cove Weekly. March 22, 1994. Hazel Cove, Massachusetts. Authorities are baffled by the disappearance of twenty-eight-year-old Ethan Longfellow. Longfellow, of the prominent Longfellow banking family, was last seen a week ago by friends and family. The police were notified of his disappearance when he failed to show for work.
Subsequently, police entered Longfellow’s home and found much of the residence in disarray. Traces of blood were found in the study, the kitchen and on the back door. The blood samples were sent to a lab for testing. However, there has been no word yet if the blood matches that of Mr. Longfellow. Authorities confirmed there were signs of a possible struggle. No evidence has been found that indicates Mr. Longfellow abandoned his home of his own free will. According to family members, none of his personal belongings appeared to be missing. His keys and wallet were found at his premises and his car was parked in the garage. Authorities have hinted that they suspect foul play, but have yet to name any suspects.
Ethan is the only son of Isaac and Nancy Longfellow. The family has deep roots in Hazel Cove, dating as far back as 1650. The family, always considered reclusive, gained financial notoriety in the early 1940s when they made a fortune in the Massachusetts banking industry.
This, however, is not the first time tragedy has struck the prominent family. Mathew Longfellow, grandfather of Ethan Longfellow, died in a house fire when the family’s vacation home burned down in 1978. Ethan’s father, Isaac Longfellow, committed suicide in 1985. His body was found hanging from the stairwell in the foyer of their downtown Hazel Cove mansion. Emily Longfellow, Ethan’s older sister, was killed in a violent one-car accident on Essex Street in 1989.
Ethan Longfellow, engaged to Ms. Emma Lily Ross, also of Hazel Cove, is the heir to the Longfellow fortune. The Longfellow family has announced a reward of $250,000.00 for any information that leads to the whereabouts of Ethan Longfellow.
I sucked in a big gulp of air.
Peter was behind me in a heartbeat. He read over my shoulder while I reread the last paragraph of the article, just in case my eyes were playing tricks on me.
They weren’t.
Emma Lily Ross.
“Holy shit,” Peter said. “Your mom was engaged to Ethan Longfellow?”
Chapter Seventeen
I stood in front of the familiar little house on Saturday afternoon second-guessing my decision.
If Emma had this whole other life before she married Victor, she didn’t tell me about it, and she probably wasn’t planning on telling me about it. I could ask Peter’s mom. Mrs. LaViollette and Emma were good friends, but they didn’t meet until they were both pregnant. I was pretty confident that Mrs. LaViollette didn’t know anything about Emma’s prior life.
Mya would have no idea. She started working for us when I was a baby. Victor wasn’t even an option. Which only left one person.
And a trip to Salem, Massachusetts.
Grandma Claudia opened the front door. She pulled her shawl up to cover her exposed neck from the wind roaring off the ocean. “Alexandria! What on earth? How did you get here?” She descended the porch and searched the driveway for my car as if it would pop up out of nowhere.
“I took the bus,” I admitted.
Emerald green eyes narrowed. “Is something wrong?”
“No, well, yes. Can we go inside? It’s cold,” I said.
We had the same color and shaped eyes and it made me feel uncomfortable when she looked at me like that.
“Of course, let’s go inside. You should’ve called me. I would’ve picked you up. Taking the bus isn’t safe.”
“It wasn’t too bad,” I lied. We walked into the balmy living room.
“Sit down. I’ll make some tea.”
Grandma Claudia guided me to the couch near the fireplace. I held my hands out to warm my fingers. It was a five-block walk, in the snow, from the bus stop to my grandmother’s house and I was frozen solid.
My grandmother returned with a tray of tea and cookies. She poured me a cup and one for herself. Once she sat down in her favorite rocking chair, the rapid-fire questioning began.
“Where’s your car?”
“In the repair shop.” True statement.
“What did you do to it?”
“I had a minor car accident two weeks ago. No big deal.” That was a lie.
She looked at my wrist, but didn’t say anything. “Why didn’t you get someone to drive you?”
“Everyone was busy.” I wasn’t in the mood for the third degree. I came here to get answers from her. I just didn’t know how to begin my own line of questioning.
“Where’s Peter?”
“At work.”
“Your mother?”
I raised my eyebrows. Did I really need to answer that? Last time I checked she was passed out on the couch.
The corners of my grandmother’s mouth pulled down. “What about Victor?”
“Business trip.” I sighed dramatically. I think she got the point.
“Well, I am glad you’re here.”
I couldn’t hold back any longer. “Who’s Ethan Longfellow?”
Grandma Claudia’s hand, holding her cup of tea, froze mid-sip. She blinked twice. She placed the mug on the coffee table. Long locks of chestnut hair fell in front of her shoulder. She looked younger without her hair pulled back in her customary bun. The gray hairs didn’t seem as harsh when her hair was loose.
I waited for her answer.
She inhaled deeply. “He was your father.”
Silence.
I couldn’t formulate an actual thought, so I sat there. Several minutes passed.
Was she joking? I checked for a smile or a gleam of the eye. Nope. She looked pretty darn serious to me. Maybe I hadn’t heard her right. “My father?”
She nodded.
My cheeks grew warm. Denial slithered around inside my head. I sat up straighter in the chair. “That’s not true. Emma… would have told me.”
Grandma Claudia didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. Emma wouldn’t have told me. Of course she wouldn’t. Realization flooded through me like a broken dam. I lowered my forehead to my knees and rested my head. My entire life was a lie.
I heard a coffee mug scrape across the table. “Please don’t be angry with me. It wasn’t my secret to tell.”
I sat up and accepted the mug. The tea was steaming. I took a large gulp of some kind of herbal mixture, not caring if I burned my throat.
Grandma Claudia watched my every move. “Do you want to hear about it?”
“I’m listening.”
“Ethan was Emma’s first love. Probably her only love. The short story is they got pregnant and then engaged immediately thereafter. They were young, but madly in love. She was happy. He was crazy about her. They were excited to start their lives together.”
“What happened?”
“Ethan went missing about a week after they announced their engagement.”
I remembered the article from the Hazel Cove Library about Ethan’s suspicious disappearance. “Did they eventually find him?”
Grandma Claudia frowned. “Not alive.”
“He died before I was born.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“He was murdered.”
“By who? How?” How could my family have kept this from me? Didn’t I deserve to know any of this?
She shrugged. ?
??They never solved the case. Nancy Longfellow, that’s Ethan’s mother and your grandmother, wanted all the media attention to go away. So it did. They had a small private funeral and that was the end of it. The Longfellows were a very powerful family.”
I had another grandmother. I had an entire family I’d never met. “Nancy?”
“Yes. She’s your Grandma Longfellow.”
“Where is she?”
“She left Hazel Cove after Ethan died. I think she lives in Ipswich now.”
I stored that piece of information for another day. There were more important issues at hand. “Where does Victor come into the picture?”
Her face twisted in distaste. “Emma married Victor a few months after Ethan’s funeral, when she was pregnant with you.”
“What? She married Victor that quickly?”
Grandma Claudia gave me a stern look. “What do you want me to say? Emma’s impulsive. She was pregnant and her fiancé was dead. Victor swooped in. He had a lot of money and he promised to take care of her. Times were different back then. I told her it was a bad idea, but you know how well your mother and I get along.”
That explained the dynamics of Emma and Victor’s relationship. Emma hadn’t married Victor for love, but out of necessity. Maybe that was why she was depressed. How often did Emma think about Ethan? Did I resemble him? Was I a constant reminder of him? No wonder Victor hated me.
I tried to absorb all the information that had been thrown at me. There was a lot to think about. I was feeling a wide range of emotions, all at the same time. Everyone had lied to me for the past seventeen years (anger). My real father was dead (sad and curious). I now had a valid reason why my mother was so screwed up (relief). I had family out there that I’d never met (happy). Victor wasn’t my biological father—in fact, I wasn’t even related to him (smugness).
“How did you find out about Ethan?” Grandma Claudia asked.
“I was at the cemetery for Bradley’s funeral and—”
“Bradley died?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Thinking of Bradley’s death was a sure way for me to lose it. I swallowed back the knot in my throat. “I found him hanging from my balcony during the Halloween party.”