them—Tad, Wren, Hank, and Caitlin. I assumed the fifth was mine.
Backing out, I turned to the other door and found myself in a room almost as large as the main office. The room was filled with shelving, and the shelves were filled with lidded boxes. There were several spare computers on the shelves, and three big cabinets labeled “Supplies” in big black letters. I opened the first and began loading up my arms with notebooks and pens and tape and whatever else I could find that looked useful.
I headed back to my desk, feeling as though I had just successfully plundered a treasure chest. Like all writers, I had a thing about office supplies. I was just starting to put things away when Caitlin shouted and jumped out of her chair.
“I found another one!” she said, turning around, her eyes wide.
“Another what?” I asked, dumping the supplies on my desk.
Tad moved forward, frowning. “You mean for this year?”
Caitlin nodded. “Yeah, last week, old man, also found dead on the grounds. He was one of the regular drifters around town. Cops chalked it up to hypothermia, which yes, it could be, but otherwise the autopsy showed absolutely nothing wrong with him. He was known to frequent the shelters when the weather was too rough, so what the hell was he doing out in the middle of the woods, falling asleep under a tree?”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, frowning.
Tad motioned for everyone to gather around the table in the corner. “Here’s the case we’re working on. Yesterday, a real estate developer called us and we met with them this morning. They are looking to buy a plot of land outside the edge of town. They want to turn the old asylum there into a new housing development. However, a woman was found dead on the grounds last evening. The autopsy can’t pinpoint a cause of death. There was nothing on the tox screen. No sign of blunt force, or anything like that. She was just…dead.”
“I heard on the news last night. I knew her in high school—Arabella Jones,” I said. “So they decided she didn’t die of hypothermia?”
“I’m sorry—I didn’t realize you knew who she was,” Tad said. “And no. Of course, she was frozen by the time they found her body, but the ME said that wasn’t what killed her.”
“I hadn’t talked to her in years, but still…it was a shock to hear. Could she have gotten lost?”
It didn’t seem likely, although the forested areas around the town were magical—especially the Mystic Wood. There were odd happenings in the forests around the city all the time and sometimes it seemed like the paths through the woods shifted and changed at will.
“No, that’s doubtful. She was found less than two hundred yards from a street. Her car was found parked near the entrance to the building—the gate leading into the grounds was open. It’s usually kept locked. The lock didn’t look broken, and nobody knows who has the key. We’re talking about the Stellarview Institution for the Criminally Insane.” Tad paused.
I vaguely remembered mentions of it from my childhood. “I don’t know much about the history of that place. I barely remembered it existed,” I said.
“Right, well, here’s a brief background: The institution opened in the 1940s, but by the 1950s, rumors were circulating that inmates were being brutalized and underfed. While these were hard-core criminals, they were also so mentally ill that it would be dangerous—for them and others—to house them among the general penitentiary population. However, it came to light that the owners of the institution dabbled in dark magic.”
“Oh, lovely,” I said. “The most I remember was my mother telling me to stay away from it. By the time I was born, I think it had closed.”
“Oh, I’m sure it was closed—while the building still stands, the institution has been out of commission since the early 1960s. But at one point, it was home to an inmate named Psy Schooner,” Caitlin said. “Psy was a seriously deranged killer. He had basically staged a home invasion and taken a family hostage. They lived out on Cambdon Road with no neighbors for a mile or so. Anyway, the family wasn’t all that friendly and they didn’t come into town often. They stuck to themselves—the mother, father, and three kids.”
“I don’t think this has a happy ending, does it?” I asked.
Hank snorted. “Not so much. One December, Psy was skulking around and he invaded their home at night. Before the