The Curse of Hollister House

Cass called shortly after I’d jumped in the shower to get ready for my shift volunteering at the Harvest Festival. He left a message on my voice mail, letting me know he was heading out to follow up on a lead in Patricia Long’s death and would call me when he returned to the office. I didn’t figure there was a lot I could do in the meantime, so I dressed in layers and headed to the park in the center of town.

“You’ve been assigned to the ring toss,” Hope informed me. “Anyone who wants to try their skill will give you a ticket they will have already purchased, and you will give them five rings.” She handed me a sheet of paper. “Here is the key to show you which prize to give them. One ring on a bottle is a small prize, two a slightly larger prize, and so on.”

“Looks self-explanatory,” I said.

“It’s one of the easier games to monitor. Just be sure that everyone gets into a single line and that only one person is given rings to toss at a time. If you have questions, you can ask one of the other volunteers. Most of the locals volunteer every year and know exactly what to do.”

“Okay, thanks.” I took the rings and the jar into which I was to deposit the tickets I collected and headed toward my booth. The place was already busy. The volunteers had all come early and most had brought family members who were wandering around, waiting for the games to start.

By the time Hope’s voice came over the loudspeaker announcing that the games had officially opened, long lines had already formed at each game. I stepped up to the railing with my rings and greeted the first person in line. I took his ticket, handed him the five rings, and then waited while he tossed them. Two of the five landed around a bottle’s neck, so I handed him the appropriate prize, gathered the rings, and greeted the next person in line.

Things continued to run like clockwork for the first half hour until Billy wandered into my line.

“I’m sorry, but you’ll need to go to the end of the line,” I said when he pushed his way to the front.

“I was in line. You just didn’t see me.”

“No,” I countered. “You were not in line. I saw you come over from the game across from us and squeeze into the front. As I said, if you want to play this game, you will need to go to the end of the line.”

“Make me.”

Oh, how I wanted to. How I wanted to leap over the barrier in front of me, take the smart mouthed tween by the shoulders, and forcefully set him to the side. Of course, I’d probably get arrested for assaulting a minor, and he’d get off scot-free.

“Come on, Billy, let’s go to another booth,” his friend said.

I sent the friend a smile of gratitude, which seemed to make Billy dig in his heels even deeper. He held out his hand. “The rings, lady.”

I wanted to say “bite me,” but instead, I simply crossed my arms over my chest. I looked at the long line behind Billy. If I just let him play, he’d move on, and then the line could move up, but there was no way I was letting this punk get the better of me. “If you don’t go to the end of the line, I’ll have to close the booth, and then no one will get to play.”

That got Billy’s peers grumbling. I waited for someone from the line—someone Billy’s age and therefore unlikely to get arrested for child abuse—to take matters into their own hands and move the obnoxious child along.

Surprisingly, no one did as I’d expected. Maybe Billy was one of those kids everyone was afraid of.

“Is there a problem here?” a man who looked vaguely familiar, though I couldn’t place him, stepped up to the front of the line.

“I’m afraid this young man has cut the line and is holding up everything,” I answered, figuring the man, who looked to be about forty, was one of the parents.

“Let’s move along, shall we?” he said to Billy.

Billy nodded and walked away. I was about to thank the man when he walked away as well. It was then I noticed the prosthetic hand.

Oh my God, I thought to myself. The man I was more and more sure had killed two children was here at the festival, where there were hundreds of children to prey on.

“I need to take a break,” I announced to the line. I jumped over the barrier, creating a chorus of protests, and then followed the man toward the parking area. When I saw him climb into an old pickup—white truck, brown camper—I knew that the man we first suspected of killing Tracy was the one who actually had.

“Pick up, pick up,” I said after dialing Cass’s cell.

“Hey, Callie. I’m kind of busy; can I call you back?”

“The man who has been hanging around the middle school is here. Or at least he was.”

“Here where?”

“The Harvest Festival, where I am supposed to be volunteering.”

“I see. Is there a problem?”

“I found a photo in Gracie’s attic. The same man was at the middle school when Stella died. He has to be the killer.”

“Both Stella and Tracy were strangled, and Craig Grainger has a prosthetic hand. There is no way he strangled anyone.”

“I know about the hand, but the guy just left here in a truck. A white truck with a brown camper.”

Cass paused. “Okay. I need to finish up here, then I’ll come to meet you. Give me thirty minutes. Meet me by the snack bar.”

Thirty minutes might not seem like a lot of time in the grand scheme of things, but when you were certain that you’d just seen a serial killer drive away, it seemed like an eternity.

I used the time to find Hope to let her know that I’d had to abandon the game. I headed back into the festival crowd. I was pretty sure Hope would be at the entrance, where a volunteers’ check-in table was set up, so I went in that direction. When I arrived, I pulled her aside to fill her in on the situation. She assured me that meeting with Cass was a lot more important if doing so would help him find Tracy’s killer, and that she’d find someone else to cover the ring toss.

By the time I’d explained things to Hope, Cass had arrived, and I followed him out toward the parking area, where I’d last seen the white truck with the brown camper.

“Okay, exactly what happened?” Cass asked.

“I was working the ring toss when this brat cut the line. I told him to go to the end of the line, but he wouldn’t. We ended up in a battle of wills that seemed as if it was never going to find a resolution when a man walked up. He asked what the problem was, and thinking he was another volunteer or a parent, I explained, he told the kid to move on, and he did just as he was asked. I was going to thank the guy for helping me out, but he walked away too quickly. It was then I noticed he had a prosthetic hand. I followed him out to the parking lot and saw him get into an old white truck with a brown camper.” I took a breath. “And there’s more. I was looking through some old photo albums I’d left up in Gracie’s attic this morning and found one from when Stella and I had just started middle school. I took a photo of her on her first day of volleyball practice, and the truck I saw this man get into was in the background. I am sure that was the same man Naomi described for us, the man she’d seen in the woods, and I suspect he is the same man Anna told Paisley about.”

Cass blew out a breath. “Okay. I still don’t see how Craig Grainger could have done what was done to Stella and Tracy with only one hand, but I’ll talk to him again.”

“Can I come with you?”

He hesitated.

“Please. I’ll stay out of the way.”

“You can ride along, but only if you agree to wait in the car.”

I’d hoped that Cass would let me listen in on their conversation, but waiting in the car was better than nothing, so I agreed to his terms. He suggested that I leave my car at the festival and come back for it later. I supposed I should call both Gracie and Paisley to let them know I might not make it to the pumpkin patch as we’d planned, although I hated to disappoint Paisley. I decided to see how Cass’s interview went and take it from there.