she might faint at any moment. “My God,” she whispered. “It’s like your brother. He was the same age as Jeff when he—when he—” She fell suddenly silent, unable to continue.
Phillip stared at his mother. “Like Conrad?” he echoed. “Mother, what on earth are you talking about? We don’t even know what happened yet—”
But Abigail was shaking her head, and her eyes had taken on a strangely empty look, as if she were seeing something far removed from the dining room. “Your father,” she whispered. “He always said something like this would happen. He was always afraid—”
“Mother, please,” Phillip said, taking her arm and guiding her back into her chair. “We don’t even know what happened yet,” he repeated.
“What did they say?” Abigail demanded. “Phillip tell me what they said about Jeffrey.”
Phillip swallowed, and glanced at Tracy and Beth, reluctant to repeat what he had been told in front of the girls. But both girls were staring at him, Tracy’s eyes glinting strangely, Beth’s wide and frightened. “Apparently he tripped,” he said quietly. “There was a pick lying on the floor. He fell on it.”
“Oh, God,” Carolyn moaned.
Abigail gasped, and sank limply into her chair. “Like Conrad,” she whispered. “It’s just like Conrad.” Her eyes seemed to focus again, and fixed on her son. “Phillip, maybe your father was right about the mill. Maybe we’ve made a mistake. Perhaps we should simply board it up again.”
But Phillip shook his head, his face setting grimly. “For heaven’s sake, Mother,” he began. “It was an accident. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. Jeff shouldn’t have been in there in the first place. He was—” And then he broke off his own words, the look in Abigail’s eyes telling him she wasn’t listening. Once again she seemed to have disappeared into another world. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he told Carolyn. He kissed her quickly on the cheek, then was gone.
“I must call Maggie Bailey,” Abigail said suddenly. “I must try to apologize to her for what we’ve done.” She started from the dining room, but before she reached the door, Carolyn blocked her path.
“No,” Carolyn said. “If you call Maggie Bailey, it will only be to tell her how sorry you are about Jeff. But you will not begin filling her head with any superstitions about the mill.”
Slowly, Abigail turned to face her. “Superstitions?” she echoed. Then she smiled bitterly. “Well, I suppose that’s easy for you to say. But you don’t remember the last time something like this happened, do you? Of course not—you weren’t even born then. But it was an evening very much like this. And the telephone rang, and the police told us that Conrad Junior had been found in the mill. He’d tripped, they said. Tripped, and fallen on an old tool.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “It was the same thing, Carolyn. My husband always said that what happened to our son was not an accident, but I never believed him. But now? What do you expect me to think? It’s happened again, just as my dear husband was afraid it would.”
Almost in spite of herself, Carolyn felt a flicker of sympathy for the old lady. “Abigail, what you’re saying just doesn’t make any sense. The mill is dangerous—we all know that. And it was locked up precisely in order to prevent any more accidents like the ones that happened to your son and Jeff Bailey.”
“But what if it wasn’t an accident?” Tracy suddenly asked. “What if there was someone else in there?”
Carolyn glanced at Tracy, then felt her stomach tighten as she saw that although Tracy had directed the question to her, the girl’s eyes were fixed on Beth. “Just what are you suggesting, Tracy?” she asked, her voice cool.
“Nothing,” Tracy replied with exaggerated innocence. “I was just asking a question.”
Before Carolyn could reply, Abigail spoke again. “Conrad’s last words,” she said so quietly that Carolyn wasn’t sure if she was speaking to them or to herself. “He said, ‘She’s still there. She’s there, and she hates us.…’ ”
Tracy’s eyes brightened. “Who, Grandmother? Who hates us?”
But Abigail shook her head. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “It was the last thing he said. I … I didn’t think it meant anything. But now—”
“And you were right,” Carolyn declared. “It didn’t mean anything. As it happens, I agreed with your husband about the mill—I don’t think it should be reopened. It was an evil place, a place where people were exploited, worked till they dropped,