Chapters (206)
- Praise for Maplecroft
- Title page
- Copyright page
- Contents
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- THESE ARE THE THINGS AN EARTHQUAKE BRINGS
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- A DOCTOR, A LAWYER, A MERCHANT, A CHIEF
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- Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University
- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- BE SURE YOUR SINS WILL FIND YOU OUT
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- I CROSS THE MAGPIE, THE MAGPIE CROSSES ME
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- Nance O’Neil
- THIS KNOT I KNIT, THIS KNOT I TIE
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- AND IF YOU HAVE A HORSE WITH ONE WHITE LEG . . .
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- THE WORST IS TO BE JUDGED WITHOUT HOPE
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- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- BUT NETTLE SHANT HAVE NOTHING
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- CUT THEM ON FRIDAY, YOU CUT THEM FOR SORROW
- Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University
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- HAPPY IS THE CORPSE THAT THE RAIN SHINES ON
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- A DWELLING PLACE OF JACKALS, THE DESOLATION FOREVER
- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- Nance O’Neil
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- Emma L. Borden
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- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- RIGHT CHEEK, LEFT CHEEK—WHY DO YOU BURN?
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- Aaron B. Stewart, Fire Chief, Farthington, Mass.
- Emma L. Borden
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- Gerald Macintyre, Telegraph Clerk, Western Union
- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Physalia, Z. University I Was Not Now
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- DEPART, ALL ANIMALS WITHOUT BONES
- Emma L. Borden
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- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- Owen Seabury, M.D.
- Phillip Zollicoffer. Physalia Zollicoffris.
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- Christoff Dane, M.D., Ph.D., University of Rhode Island, Kingston
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- Emma L. Borden
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- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Emma L. Borden
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- FAMILY SLAIN IN MAYFIELD
- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- Emma L. Borden
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- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- Inspector Simon Wolf
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By that, I mean that I did not have to intervene in anything. No one else was involved, and the woman was dead before I arrived, the scissors opened just enough to stab through both her eyes. Self-inflicted. I saw it in a moment.
I saw it in the gory fingerprints, and the bloody messages she’d scrawled across the floor, the walls, the windows. Using her blood for ink.
They were hardest to read on the windows, for they were runny and almost washed clean with water. Like everywhere else I’d seen the phenomenon so far, the water came from nowhere and smelled terrible. It drained out through the store, and seeped through the floorboards to soak the foundations. It was gone by the time I got there, just like the life of the woman whose troubles had summoned me.
(As for the message—mostly it was one word, written again and again: out. And perhaps even more oddly, the handwriting did not appear to belong to one person alone. It came in script, in print, and in combinations of the two. It was smeared in angular lines, and smoothly composed with a flowing hand. I do not know what this means, but I’m writing it down as I write everything down, and for the same reason. It might be useful. To someone. Eventually.)
I told the officer on the scene that I’d send for Inspector Wolf, and whoever the young man was, he looked relieved—for this was out of his hands at last. Thank heaven there was someone more qualified to manage these unmanageable acts.
It isn’t true, really. To the best of my immediate knowledge, Wolf is no more qualified than anyone else. Certainly no more qualified than Lizzie or myself, and if we are the best informed of mankind, then there are dire times ahead indeed.
Or . . . no. I might be wrong.
It could be, Wolf is looking at patterns just like we are—but he’s seeing different ones, that’s all. He’s seen the crimes as they connect, even if he cannot draw the lines precisely between them. And I call him “inspector”—everyone refers to him thusly—but now that I pause to consider it, I have no idea what force or office employs him. Is he a policeman? A federal agent? Some kind of marshal?
I wonder whether I ought to call him and tell him to join us at the spinsters’ house, that he may wait with us. He did offer to deploy security men, didn’t he? I’d prefer if he came himself, alone. He might be able to help.
Or he might be one more body when the smoke clears.