The Curse of Jacob Tracy: A Novel by Holly Messinger Page A

morning. “Are you sayin … you think I brought this down on them—?”
    “Not in the least.” Miss Fairweather’s brows drew together. “Why would you suspect that to be the case?”
    “Because it’s happened before!”
    “Under what circumstances?”
    “I told you, everyone I’ve told about my—about this thing in me, tends to die from it, and not long after.”
    “Did you unburden yourself to these latest victims?”
    “No, but…” It sounded like madness, spoken aloud. “That job I did for you, down to Sikeston—my partner Boz found out I could see things. And I been fearful ever since…” He made an embarrassed gesture. “I just thought, if not him, maybe somebody else.”
    “Have you any idea what precipitates these deaths? Do you notice an increase of spirit activity around the person in question? Have you noticed an increase, these past—?”
    “No. You asked me that in your note. The answer is no. I still see them, they just ain—they haven’t been comin close or makin such a nuisance. And I never saw anything out at the Herschels’ farm, not even today.”
    “So the victims were known to you?”
    Trace nodded, once. “Good man. Good family. Three of ’em chopped up with an ax and thrown in the well.”
    “Ye gods.” Miss Fairweather actually looked shocked, which eased a suspicion in Trace’s mind he had not quite acknowledged. “By someone in the family? That is, did it appear to have been done by a family member?”
    “They’re sayin the younger daughter did it. And that’s why I came up here today—not cause you sent for me, but because the detective and everybody else seems to think that poor girl’s a murderer.”
    “Clearly you disagree.”
    “I think it’s hogwash. Anna Herschel ain—she’s not much bigger than you. There’s no way she overpowered her father.”
    “Where is the girl now? Have you seen her?”
    “No, they said she’d already been taken to the jail. But they were still haulin the bodies out.”
    “Then you have been to the scene of the crime.”
    “Yes ma’am. Just came from there.” He drew a short, sharp breath, and so did she, as if they both knew what his next words would be.
    “And you saw something sinister,” she finished for him. “And you came here seeking explanation for it.”
    “Yes, ma’am. For Miss Anna’s sake.”
    It was hard to read the look she gave him. There was recalibration in it, for sure. “Perhaps you would like to join me downstairs for tea, Mr. Tracy, and you may tell me what you saw there.”
    The next hour was one of the strangest of Trace’s life. Not because there was anything peculiar about sitting in a lady’s library and drinking tea—he wasn’t that far lost to the refined side of life—but because he had never before related such strange events to such a receptive audience. Miss Fairweather listened avidly as he described the unnatural neatness of the Herschels’ living room, the paprika on the floor, the black tadpoles that swam out of the corpse and evaporated. She only interrupted once or twice, to request clarification, and she showed not a flicker of disbelief, either in the events themselves or in Trace’s perception of them. That alone was worth the tea he choked down. He despised tea, but talking was thirsty work.
    “There are several points that interest me,” Miss Fairweather said, when the bulk of it was told. She pursed her lips, not quite touching the rim of her cup. “You are quite sure you saw no evidence of spirits at the farm?”
    “None.”
    “Only the black emanations from the corpse. And the stench in the house.”
    “That’s right.”
    “And the spilled pepper in the kitchen.”
    “Yes, ma’am. Though I’d say one of the girls did that—there was a woman’s shoe-tracks through it.”
    Miss Fairweather set her teacup down with a click. “Well. I do have some theories, but before I jump to conclusions, I believe we should speak to the girl.”
    “I’ll be