Lie Down in Green Pastures: Part Three - A Halloween Mystery

Liz Chambers husband, Peter, died in a terrible car crash. Two years later, Liz accepts a job as church secretary in a remote hamlet. Now, her recurring dreams of a horrific fire are becoming terrifyingly real as a serial arsonist stalks the tiny village of Green Pastures.

Liz is sure the grisly murders are somehow linked to the Peter's death. It falls to her friend, Ida, to unravel the mystery of the murders and of Liz's ghostly visitor, and to save her friend in a deadly race against death.

Read Part 1: Lie Down in Green Pastures: A Halloween Mystery

Read Part 2: Lie Down in Green Pastures: A Halloween Mystery

"From ghosties and ghoulies, and long-legged beasties,
And things that go bump in the night, Good Lord..."

Later, the same evening, October 31st

Liz leaned back in the comfort of the cozy wing chair. Her hand idly caressed the soft green velvet of the padded arm. "This used to be Peter's favorite armchair," she thought, remembering how it had always stood beside the window in his study. She smiled at the sudden picture she had of him, placidly reading the morning news, coffee in hand.

She could hear voices - Ida dealing with the police a terrified Liz had summoned just minutes before. "Was it only minutes?" Liz glanced at the mantle clock. Barely thirty-five minutes had elapsed since her panicky phone call. "Well," she thought wryly, "it's not every Halloween night you arrive home to see a dark shape moving about your supposedly empty living room."

Liz listened as Ida assured the patrolmen that she would keep a wary eye peeled for anything out of the ordinary. With a final, "Take care, now, ma'am. We're only a phone call away if you need us," the harried constables were off to check on yet another report of Halloween pranksters.

Ida, paused by Liz's chair on her way to the condo's compact kitchen. "Tea?" she asked.

Liz looked up. She smiled at her friend's solicitude, but noted the twinkle in the depths of Ida's green eyes. "You could have called first," she said, mildly, as Ida, taking her assent for granted, headed off to make tea.

"And spoil the surprise?" Ida's cheerful voice wafted back from the kitchen. "Seriously, Liz, I am sorry to have given you such a scare." Ida didn't sound even the tiniest bit contrite, but Liz realized she was so relieved to have Ida there she would have overlooked any number of 'surprises.' She settled deeper into the chair, comforted by the homey sounds issuing from the kitchen.

"Liz, honey, are you OK?"

Liz blinked. Ida was standing over her, steaming mug of tea in hand.

"Ooh, that smells lovely." Liz cradled the mug in both hands, savoring the soothing, rich aroma of her favorite herbal blend. "I must have dozed off for a minute." She sat up straighter. "What have you been able to turn up?"

"That's my girl." Ida settled on the footstool beside Liz. "First, you were right about a connection between the murder victims. They all had ties to Global International." Ida stopped abruptly and stared at Liz, her eyes speculative, as if consulting some inner oracle.

"What is it, Ida?"

Ida's green gaze flicked to Liz's hands, tightly clenched around the mug. "You were right about the victims having a connection to Peter, too," she replied, finally.

"What? How -" Liz lurched forward in her chair, slopping scalding liquid across her thighs. She barely noticed the heat, and brushed away Ida's attempt to sop up the spilled tea. "A connection - to Peter's death?"

"No, honey, to Peter." Ida looked miserable.

"Miserable! Why? What would make her so unhappy?" Liz set the mug down carefully. "Start at the beginning," she said.

October 31st, just before midnight

Liz stared at the papers spread across the living room floor. Ida and her forensic account certainly had been thorough. Liz had to admit there was no doubt that the murder victims and Peter been involved.

Their scheme to defraud the company had been clever; meticulously planned to keep them just under the radar, avoiding any red flags that might trigger an alarm and lead to an investigation. It would have continued successfully, unnoticed, for years, gathering small amounts - an unclaimed benefit here, an uncontested payout there - moving the money in and out of various accounts, and funneling it all, inevitably, off-shore, but for the murders and Liz's questions.

"I can't believe Peter was part of this," Liz said, shaking her head, still dazed by the idea.

Ida grimaced, ruefully. "Not just part, Liz. He was the one who connected all the players, all the parts of the plan, and with him gone, no one can access the off-shore account."

Liz flapped one hand weakly, waving away Ida's words. "You said there was another man involved in the scheme - Howard ...somebody?" Liz mentally groped for Howard's last name, then discarded the effort and plunged on. "Oh, my God, Ida. Peter's death wasn't an accident! What if one of them killed him, and then found they couldn't get the money with Peter gone? What if Howard's killing them all out of revenge for wrecking the scheme?"

"No, honey, I think it's simpler than that. I think it's always been just about the money."

A man spoke from the doorway. "You always were a clever girl, Ida."

His too-familiar voice seemed to fill the room. Liz's heart felt squeezed dry. Black spots danced before her eyes and darkness threatened to engulf her. As she teetered on the edge of consciousness, a warmth touched her, wrapping her like a cocoon, drawing her back from the brink.

"P... Peter?" she finally stammered. Her throat felt sandpapered. Her lips were so dry she could bare frame the word.

"Yes, Liz, it's your loving husband, back from the dead."

Liz felt her world shatter and whirl around her in brightly colored shards, like bits of a child's broken kaleidoscope. When the pieces finally coalesced into coherent forms, Liz saw Peter standing before her, a kitbag over one shoulder. Ida was still perched on the footstool beside her. Such a normal scene - three old friends having tea and chatting in their comfortable living room.

Then Peter stepped into the light and her world lurched on its axis again.

One side of his face was savagely scarred from crown to chin, Knotted, livid scars snaked down his neck, to be mercifully hidden by shirt and tie. He smiled mockingly at Liz's shock, the scars writhing and twisting under his waxen skin like living things.

"I've grown accustomed to this face, my dear." His normally light, baritone voice was cutting, thickened with barely-repressed savagery - a savagery that was all the more frightening for being held in check. "Actually," he continued, "the fire after the crash was a blessing in disguise - and poor Harold did me a great favor. No-one knew he was in the car, so the police assumed his body was mine."

"You bastard," grated Ida. "The police found your wedding ring welded onto his finger by the heat."

"I only had a few seconds to act," replied Peter. "Being dead solved some rather pressing problems."

"Yes, problems like explaining to your wife and children what Daddy had been up to."

Peter rounded on Ida with a vicious back-hand blow that knocked her to the floor.

Blood welled from her split and rapidly-swelling lip and dripped on the pale carpet. Ida glared up at him. "...and will we be another unexplained, tragic death?" she asked bitterly.

"My God, I'd almost forgotten what bitch you can be." Peter's laugh was ugly. So was the automatic pistol he pulled from his pocket. He dropped the kitbag and reached in, pulling out several lengths of rope. He flung one at Ida and pointed at Liz, saying curtly, "Tie her up."

Ida didn't move. Peter reached into his pocket. He withdrew a silencer, and screwed it onto his pistol. "Or I can just shoot you both now," he said pleasantly.

Within minutes both women were securely bound. Kerosene pooled in the sodden papers on the floor and dripped from their clothes.

Peter stood back to admire his handiwork. He gave Liz's ropes a tug. "Just checking." He winked at Ida as he reached for a roll of duct tape from his kit. Ripping off a long strip, he taped Ida's eyes and mouth shut, then grabbed her savagely by the hair and wrapped another strip several times around her head.

He reached for a second can of kerosene, drizzling it with specious care over her head, and laughing as she tried to jerk away from the stinging flow.

Putting the can down, Peter knelt beside Liz. She was staring at him silently, like a mouse watching a snake, tears rolling down her cheeks. He ruffled her hair, almost playfully, then twisting a handful round his fist, he forced her head back roughly. "Don't cry, princess. It'll all be over soon." His voice lingered over her pet name, cold, cruel.

Something snapped inside Liz. She lunged at him fiercely, tearing her hair from his grip, smashing her head against his face. She felt something break - his nose? She heard his pistol clatter to the floor. "Run, Ida! Run for the door!" she shouted.

She threw herself on top of Peter, biting at him, fighting to be free of the ropes. Kicking and thrashing, they rolled across the floor. Liz spotted the pistol and kicked it away with her bound feet.

She could hear thuds, bumping noises - Ida? Liz risked a quick look. Ida had managed to reach the door but was struggling to get to her feet and open the door.

Liz managed to free one of her hands and clawed at Peter's face. He shrieked in pain, flinging her off. As she rolled away, he staggered to his feet and pulled a lighter from his jacket. Blood and sweat dripped down his face, mingled with kerosene. "We'll all go to Hell together," he shouted and flicked the striker.

With a roar like a ravening beast, the room burst into flames - hungry, red, licking tongues that raced over the kerosene-soaked rug and up Peter's pant-legs. He stood for a moment, in the center of the raging blaze, arms outstretched like some demon summoning its unholy powers.

As the flames reached Peter's scarred face, he began to scream - terrible, guttural shouts of agony. He lurched towards Liz and Ida, where they lay, stunned, on the floor.

Liz pressed back against Ida, trying to shield them both. Then, for a second time that night, she felt a warmth steal over her, reassuring, blanketing her in protection.

Peter fought to reach her. He screamed again, in anger this time. Something was pushing him backwards into the room, away from the two women huddled at the door. Some force was keeping Peter and the flames at bay.

Peter fell to his knees, still reaching for Liz.

A few minutes after midnight

Liz lay panting for a moment, coughing in the acrid, black smoke that drifted across the room. Rolling off her friend, she grabbed one end of the tape on Ida's face. "This is going to sting a bit," she said apologetically, and pulled. She could hear sirens wailing in the distance. "Sounds like the cavalry's on the way," she said.

As Liz untied their feet and legs, Ida inspected the remains of the tape, removing several strands of auburn hair. Silently, she held them out. Liz merely shrugged and went on unraveling their bonds. Neither woman looked at the blackened thing that had once been Liz's husband.

The sirens were closer.

"Liz?"

"Yes, Ida."

"Liz, what stopped the fire?"

"I... I'm not sure."

"Something stopped Peter." Ida was insistent. "Something put out the fire - or, at least stopped the flames from reaching us - and look at all these papers. They're barely touched!"

"We were lucky."

"We were more than lucky. Liz... I felt something - we weren't alone. We were protected."

"I know."

"Is it still here?"

Liz reached out to the familiar, comforting warmth. Nothing. "No, It's gone."

"What was it? You told me about your dreams, but this - " Ida's voice broke. She finished in a whisper, "What - who was that?"

"I'm not sure," Liz replied. "I think... maybe it was part of Peter - the good part - that died in the crash two years ago, and came back to try to help me..." Liz climbed stiffly to her feet. She could hear vehicles pulling up in the parking lot, and footsteps racing across the boardwalk.

Reaching down, she pulled Ida erect. "C'mon," she said. "We better put the kettle on. It's going to be a long night."

© 2011, Elle Fredine, All rights reserved.