In the quiet heart of southwestern Wyoming, a small town clings to its small-town ways. But when a sudden boom brings big money and bigger secrets, what’s left of the town they thought they knew?

As usual, I want to thank Malady for beta reading, and helping edit.
I'd also like to thank those who comment for their part in beta reading too! :-)

Chapter 32

July 5th, 2028

10:00 AM

Subject: You’re not who they cheer for

From: millieB@ghosttrail.net

To: denise.smith@gradecounty.org

Denise,

You looked radiant in the parade. The ponytail, the swimsuit, the cheers. All so perfect.

But let’s be honest. They weren’t cheering for you. They were cheering for the land. The trust. The inheritance. You’re the vessel, not the victory.

They smile because they want something. They praise because they’re afraid to lose access. You think they see you—but they see acreage, not identity.

You’re not their daughter. You’re their deed holder.

Enjoy the spotlight while it lasts.

—Millie

Denise sat staring at the email. But she didn’t see her screen anymore. It was awash in tears that refused to fall. Fran had told her what Millie was like, but this… Even though she knew it was Millie’s manipulation, designed to tear her down… It did.

As if in a dream, Denise stood and took her phone to Fran.

"Well," Fran said, “the good thing is that we know Millie's still around.”

"That's the only good thing,” Trey said when she told him. "That's pretty mean after the good time Denise had yesterday.”

“I think that was her point,” Fran responded. “She really seems to like creating bad feelings. Manipulating people into them.”

“Yeah. So what do we do now that we know that she's still around?” Trey wondered.

“Is she? Or is someone here who's letting her know what's going on? Maybe sharing a video?”

“Oh, I wish we had DNA samples from Julie and Millie. I'd like to compare them against Sylvie,” Fran exclaimed.

As she was speaking, the door opened and Trish entered. “I couldn't do that anyway. In fact, I'm stumped on how to get DNA from any of them.”

Trey gave her a questioning look. “Whaddya mean?”

“I've gone through all the DNA we were able to pick up at their homes. All three of them, and I didn’t find any from any of the women. Just from those people who were there to pick up the DNA.”

“What about the proverbial hair brush sample?” Trey asked.

“Wigs from all three. Oh, yeah. It was human hair, but no follicle from any of it. And when I compared the hair to any wigs we found, it always matched.”

“Makeup?” Fran wondered.

Trish shook her head. “And that's where things get really strange. I got some from Sylvie's. But it's not from her, but Charlie.”

“Huh?”

“I'm serious, Trey,” Trish said. “It was Charlie's DNA.”

“But you didn't get any from Julie's or Millie's makeup?” Fran asked.

“There wasn't any makeup there. No toothbrushes, nothing.”

“Are you saying Charlie is Sylvie?” Trey asked?

“Not definitively, but it could explain some things.”

Trey stood up and went out to the hallway, grabbed a picture of Sheriff Goldman off the wall, and brought it in to lay on his desk. He reached into a drawer and pulled out a red sharpie and colored a short, red head of hair on the picture glass. He studied it for a moment. “Maybe, maybe not,” he said.

“Sylvie's hair isn't scarlet,” Trish told him.

“Millie's is close,” he countered.

-=#=-

Fran lay back down on her bed again, ready to delve into the log of things as recorded by Peg.

If it was oddities that she was looking for, she didn't have to look far.

I'm seeing different people. People who are masquerading as Charlie. I don't like these people. Why are they wearing Charlie's face? How did they get it? Does he know they have it?

Charlie talked about Cyndi last night. But it wasn't Charlie. It was another. Someone wearing Charlie, but it wasn't him.

Whoever it was thought it was funny that Cyndi killed Denny then made killed herself.

I told this false Charlie that Cyndi didn't do that. He slapped my face. Told me that was wrong. Cyndi killed Denny. That was how it was. I wasn't to think anything else.

I'm afraid of this Charlie.

Suddenly Fran sat up, stunned and choosing to understand what she was reading in a different light.

Sylvie came to see me today. She's a nice one. She asked me what happened. How come my face was dark. I told her about the fake Charlie.

Her eyes widened and she said if there was ever any Charlie that wasn't real, I was to let her know as soon as she arrived.

So if Sylvie really was Charlie, Peg knew? Did that mean the others might be as well? Were they separate people, but the same? Alternate personalities? And if that was the case, Peg’s dementia might be a way to hide her sanity? If Sylvie was a friendly alternate, were Julie and Millie not?

She tried to think if she'd ever actually seen Julie and Millie together. Or either with Charlie. She couldn't.

She looked at the wording again. Sylvie was a nice one. Sylvie was a nice what? A nice person? A nice girl? Or a nice Charlie? She was starting to think it was the latter. She could read this diary as the ravings of dementia… or she could read it as someone who was becoming fearful for their own safety, never knowing who their husband would be that day.

She mentioned different people who she didn't like. But one that she did. She said they were wearing Charlie…

But from this point on, she doesn't mention Charlie himself. Only those wearing Charlie.

She skipped forward a bit.

Sylvie talked with me today. She started wearing Charlie when she was young. She didn't like people who hurt. She told Charlie she would let them hurt her and not him. How nice Sylvie is.

She said she's trying to talk to the other fake Charlies. To tell them they're not necessary, but they just stick their fingers in their ears.

I asked Sylvie if I've ever met the real Charlie or if it's always been her wearing him. Except when the others wear him, of course.

She says sometimes it was just him, but now they're always together. That's sweet.

Fran reached for her telephone. She dialed Trey's number.

“Have you looked at the diary any more?”

“Yes,” he confirmed. “And I just got off the phone with Tamara Burgh.”

“Do I know Tamara Burgh?” Fran wondered.

“No. But she used to be married to Professor MacTavish, and more importantly, she used to be Peg Goldman’s Psychiatrist.”

“Well, that’s a coincidence. Okay. It might be very useful.”

She couldn’t see Trey, but she knew he was nodding. “Yes, and considering what I just read, we can use anything useful.”

“And what does Ms. Burgh say?” Fran asked.

“She’s read the journal too, and she is flying over here tomorrow. She wants to talk about things.”

“She said nothing that we can use now?”

“Well,” Trey said. “She said she would never characterize Peg as having dementia.”

“So everything we see in that journal…”

“Is probably how she worded things to protect herself.”

Chapter 33

July 10, 2028

10AM

Once again, they were in the conference room. This time, Tamara Burgh was present, along with Trish and Deputies Carlson, Wagner, and McBride.

“This is going to be tough for all of us,” Trevor said as he stood at the head of the table. His talks with Tamara and Fran had been kept confidential until this moment. He preferred to have the backing of the psychologist while filling in his department on the facts as they now presented.

“What’s going on?” Carlson asked. He was, for all intents and purposes the Undersheriff of Grade County, although that had passed back and forth between him and Wagner a time or two.

“We need to discuss some things about Sheriff Goldman,” Trevor told him. “It’s not going to be pleasant, but we’ve got to talk about them.”

Carlson looked at Tamara, and the folders that had been placed in front of each place at the table. He didn’t know what she was going to say, but it looked important. All the same, he took to heart what the new Sheriff said. It wasn’t going to be pleasant.

He sat down and opened the folder laying on the table in front of him.

Tamara sighed. “I probably shouldn’t have distributed those just yet. If you’ll wait a moment, Undersheriff, I’ll explain what we’re looking at, and my reasons for my conclusions.”

Once everyone had taken a seat, she picked up her copy of the folder and opened it. “This is the abstract of the journal Sheriff Grant found in the basement of the church. What it shows is a fascinating breakdown, not of Peg Goldman, but of her observations regarding her husband.”

“We believe she was frightened by some of what she was observing, and that’s why she kept the journal hidden.”

“Peg had dementia,” Wagner said. “What makes you think what she observed has any validity?”

Tamara locked eyes with Wagner. “I was Peg’s therapist. She did not have dementia.”

The room fell silent. She let the weight of that statement settle before continuing, her gaze sweeping the table.

“What I’m about to propose may sound wild. But I’ve discussed it with both Sheriff Grant and Dr. Grant, and we believe it’s a valid interpretation of Peg’s journal. Combined with some of Trish’s findings, strange as it is, it holds.”

She opened her folder, took a steadying breath. “It appears Sheriff Goldman has at least three alters. Possibly more.”

Carlson blinked, then asked quietly, “Alters?”

Tamara offered a dry, sardonic smile. “The more familiar term would be: Sheriff Goldman seems to have at least four distinct personalities.”

Carlson held her gaze. “Multiple personalities? You’re joking, right?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m not.”

“I’m listening,” Carlson said, “but you’d better have some convincing evidence.”

Trey leaned forward. “What Tamara’s saying makes sense in light of what we’ve found.”

Carlson’s eyes flicked to Trey, then settled on Trish. “What have you found that bears this out?”

Trish exhaled. “This wasn’t exactly how we planned to present it, but maybe it’s better this way.” She tapped her laptop, and the screen behind her lit up.

Four images appeared: Sheriff Goldman, Julie Madsen, Millie Brooks, and Sylvie Goldman.

“I want you to look at these,” Trish said. “You all know Charles Goldman and Sylvie Goldman are supposed to be siblings. But watch what happens when I change Charlie’s hairstyle and add some makeup.”

The screen showed her edits—simple, transparent, nothing more than what she claimed.

Carlson, Wagner, and McBride stared, mouths slightly open.

Finally, McBride muttered, “Sylvie’s hair is lighter.”

Fran turned toward him, incredulous. “Ever hear of bleach?”

“I definitely see how Sylvie, Millie, and Julie could all pass as sisters,” Wagner said, squinting at the screen. “But we’ve got different blood samples in the system for Millie and Julie.”

Trish nodded. “And I’ve checked. The samples we have are from children—and they’ve been frozen. There’s no way they came from either of them.”

Wagner frowned. “How come you’re just noticing this now?”

“Wagner,” Trey said, his tone low and warning.

Trish raised her hands. “It’s okay, Trey.” She turned to Wagner, steady. “I wasn’t looking for that. I was looking for evidence that Millie and Julie had possibly been killed. When the blood matched the records, I didn’t dig deeper. Why would I? I thought they were real people. Not alters.”

Wagner exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing. He couldn’t argue with her logic.

In a quiet voice, Carlson asked, “What’s Peg say about it?”

Fran answered. “She wrote about people she didn’t like—people masquerading as Charlie. She actually described them as 'wearing Charlie'.” Her eyes locked on Wagner. “She said whoever it was thought it was funny that Cyndi made Denny kill himself, then killed herself.”

Wagner looked down at his copy of the journal. His face flushed as he found the passage. “He slapped her and told her that’s the way it was?” His voice was low, stunned. “That doesn’t sound like Sheriff Charlie at all.”

“I agree,” Fran said. “I haven’t known him as long as you have, but that sure doesn’t seem like the man I’ve worked with—and in many ways, come to admire.”

McBride glared at Tamara, still apparently not convinced. “What would be the cause of this?”

“Generally, there’s been something with enough severity to break a psyche.” Tamara paused, thoughtful. “In most cases, it’s not a single event—it’s a pattern. A sustained environment of fear, control, or betrayal. The psyche doesn’t shatter all at once. It fractures slowly, creating compartments to survive what the conscious mind can’t endure.”

“So you’re saying it happened a long time ago?” McBride asked.

“Very likely. Perhaps as early as childhood.”

McBride frowned. “What’s the deal with all these… alters… being female?”

Tamara tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

“Is he… is he gay?”

Tamara shrugged gently. “I have no idea. Sylvie is described as kind. Peg speaks fondly of her, actually. Maybe Charlie is gay. Maybe he’s trans. Maybe he’s completely straight. Alters don’t always match the biological sex. It depends on what the alter is for.”

“And what are they for?” McBride pressed.

Tamara gave a measured look. “Deputy McBride, you’re asking me to speculate on something I wouldn’t officially diagnose for several sessions.”

“Damned right I am,” McBride said. “Look, you’re asking me to accept that a guy I’ve worked with for years is a murderer.”

“I didn’t say that,” Tamara argued.

“Oh, come on! This blood—supposedly from Julie—was spread in the trunk of Ross’s car. Who but Julie would know to use that blood? Who but Julie would have access to it?” McBride shook his head. “No, Doc. If you’re right, Sheriff Charlie is the murderer. At least of Ross.”

Tamara stared at him for a long moment. McBride wasn’t sure if she was about to agree—or come flying across the table, fingers curled like claws. Fortunately, she chose the former.

“I agree with your assessment, Deputy. But consider this: if Sheriff Charlie endured something so traumatic that it fractured his identity, then what does he know of the event? From what Sheriff Trevor and Chief Fran tell me, Charlie was helping you with this case. Genuinely helping.”

“But…” McBride trailed off, then turned toward the wall, studying a knothole in the wainscoting like it held answers. “I don’t know. I’m trying to process this. It’s rough, ya know?”

“I’ve no doubt,” Tamara said gently. “He’s your friend. And now you’re wondering who he really is.” She sighed. “The answer may very well be: the person you’ve always thought he is. But there’s something deeper too. Much deeper.”

“Oh, dear God!” Wagner suddenly cut in. “Scopolamine!”

“What about it?” Fran asked.

“What Peg said about the case with Cyndi and Denny! Scopolamine was found in Denny’s body. Also in Ross and Parker.” He stopped, voice trembling. “I was the undersheriff at the time of Cyndi and Denny. Charlie put me exclusively on the case—because Cyndi was his daughter.”

He wiped his forehead, then pressed a hand over his mouth as his eyes began to water. “Is this Julie’s MO?” His voice cracked into a near-squeak, eyes scanning the room, desperate. “Was Julie responsible for Cyndi and Denny too? Dear God!”

Fran slowly moved her eyes from Wagner to Trey, hoping for some assurance that Wagner was wrong. After a moment, she looked back at Tamara. The very thought that the Goldman that she knew – thought she knew – might have killed his own daughter and her husband exhausted her emotionally. Her breath was ragged as she simply asked, “Tamara?”

“Sometimes the original personality is completely unaware of alters and what they do – even that they exist.”

“Charlie might not even know?” Fran asked, voice just barely audible.

“He might be grieving his daughter with no idea of what actually happened.”

Speaking more to himself than anyone else, Wagner asserted, “He cried about what happened. He wasn’t acting. It was real! I’d swear to that. He didn’t know how Cyndi could do that to Denny.”

He turned to Tamara, his face torn between rage and grief.

“I quit the force for two years because of what that evidence showed me. I couldn’t stand telling Charlie what the evidence said.” His voice was steadily getting louder with each sentence. “I had to tell my friend that his daughter killed her husband, then herself, and now I’m finding out I may have been wrong! He might have done it himself!” He was shouting now, but his face was tending towards terrible grief.

No one spoke.

Tamara’s eyes didn’t flinch, but her voice softened. “You weren’t wrong, Wagner. You followed the evidence. You did your job. You told the truth as it was presented.”

“But it wasn’t the truth,” he shouted, fist crashing down on the table beside him. Then voice cracking, he whispered, “It was a mask. A damn mask.”

Carlson reached out and put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You followed the evidence, Al. You know that.”

“I should have seen, Jack,” he replied. “I should have seen what was going on!”

“How?” Carlson was shaking his head. “Even if you’d thought something else happened, you’d never have suspected that Charlie had multiple personalities.”

“But…” Wagner stopped. He knew Carlson was right, but he still felt he should have known something was wrong.

“Why’d you go back to the force?” Trey asked quietly.

“Charlie said he needed me back. Told me he didn’t hold anything against me for my conclusions.”

“I don’t think he knows, Alan,” Carlson said. “I really don’t”

Wagner glanced at his friend. “Thanks, Jack. I think you’re right. It’s the only thing that makes sense. If not, then…” He stopped. He didn’t even want to think about how, if this was true, and Charlie was aware of it,that reshaped everything he thought he'd known for years.

McBride looked around the table. He was the youngest of the group, but he put voice to something everyone was thinking. “If Sheriff Charlie doesn’t know about this, who’s responsible? Who’s controlling Julie?”

“Julie is quite likely, a personality all of her own. She has autonomy, and has one purpose.”

“And what is that?”

“We’ve come full circle,” Tamara said. “I don’t know. Not until I have a chance to talk to her.”

Chapter 34

“But look at what we’ve found out about Debra and Ross and Parker!” It was Quade shouting. Shouting and taking deep breaths through his nebulizer.

Rather than a Zoom meeting, the group was in the Sherrif’s conference room. It was the same people, even Halvorsen and Keene were there. This would totally change the direction of part of the case, and they needed to know if there was anything they could do to either confirm or deny the case against Goldman.

It was strange, but Chick was remaining quiet. He had an introspective look on his face, like he was reviewing times gone past. Charlie had been a few years younger, but they had known each other. Worked with each other. Respected each other.

The judge also seemed to be reviewing the past, but the other two city council people seemed too stunned to do anything but sit there, staring at Trey.

“I was building a relationship with Charlie also. I don’t want to believe any of this either, but it fits. Especially when you look at Peg’s observations.”

“Peg had dementia!” Ray Calder, mayor of Grade, shouted.

“No, she didn’t,” Tamara said firmly. “I’ll stake my career on that.”

“How do we know this program interpreted everything right?”

“Don’t be an (cough cough) idiot, Ray!” shouted Quade. He then took a deep breath from his nebulizer and sat back.

“I just think there’s more to this than we’re seeing!” Ray said, his voice starting to rise.

“Don’t be an idiot, Ray!” Chick finally broke his silence like a thunderclap, coming to the aid of his friend.

Ray looked angry, but he sat back. He might argue with Quade, but he wasn’t going to argue with Chick.

The room momentarily went quiet, except for the hiss of Quade’s nebulizer.

“I don’t like it any more than you do,” Chick said, his voice back at it’s normal calm sound, sans the good old boy accent. “But what they’re saying makes sense, and denying it won’t change a thing.”

“But…” Ray stopped. He knew Chick was right, but every instinct told him to protect the reputation of the former sheriff.

“Sheriff Charlie might not even know about his alters,” Fran said.

“He knows about Sylvie,” Tilda Wright, the mayor of Venture, said. “Peg said that.”

“But,” Tamara countered. “That doesn’t mean he knew about, for lack of any other names, Julie and Millie.”

“I still don’t understand that,” Halvorsen said, “but I’ll take your word for it.”

“Doctor,” said Keene. “What happens if he doesn’t know about them? He’s obviously well respected here. What then? How can he be prosecuted for something he doesn’t remember? It seems to me... he didn’t really commit them himself.”

Fran stared at Keene, as did Trey. It seemed totally out of character for Keene to say such a thing, although their observation of her character was admittedly, limited.

“It’s very likely that if arrested, Sheriff Charlie would be considered unfit to stand trial, and would be remanded to a mental hospital.”

“I’d rather he not have to endure that,” Gutierrez said, “but it’s better than the death penalty.”

“Yes,” agreed Chick.

“If it could be proven that whichever alter performed the murders, probably Julie I’d guess, was gone permanently, he could be re-introduced into society.”

Chapter 35

July 12th, 2028

1PM

“Hello, Sylvie,” the dark-haired woman on the screen said. “It’s so sweet how you take care of Charlie.”

Julie’s, the woman on the screen, makeup was quite pronounced. Darker than Sylvie’s, who sat in front of them. But where Sylvie’s eyes showed sorrow, Julie’s showed arrogance. A control not to be argued with.

Sylvie had called Trey, wanting him to bring Fran, Trish, and Tamara to Charlie’s hunting cabin. Trey wasn’t sure how Sylvie knew about Tamara, but they obliged.

“So, you probably want to know how I know of you, don’t you?”

“Pretty arrogant, wouldn’t you say?” Fran said out of the corner of her mouth, aimed at Trey.

“Yeah,” Trey agreed.

“Well, I’ve known about you since Peg was so scared. I knew she wasn’t crazy, but I played along with it, hoping she’d make you settle down and stop fighting."

“But you didn’t settle down. You kept trying to protect Charlie. Kept trying to protect Peg. Such a sweet little martyr.”

“But what you didn’t know was how Millie planted the ants. How I pointed them out one night, and how I acted like you, all sweet and syrupy, and told her I’d get some Diazinon to kill them.”

“Oh no!” Fran gasped, realizing what Julie was saying.

“Just a little bit of diazinon in the salt grinder was all it took, and ‘poof’. No more Peg.” She laughed, and her voice took on the sound of Charlie’s. “Peg. Peg! PEG!!! Come back, Peg!” She started to cry, still using Charlie’s voice. “Alan. I need you to investigate this. I don’t have the strength. Not so soon after Cyndi.”

Her voice became mocking. “Boo hoo! I lost Cyndi, now Peg. What will I ever do?”

“Millie and I have talked, and we’d like to show you a little play we wrote for you. I hope you like it. We both gave it rave reviews.”

The screen changed to show another scene, still in the cabin, but two men sat motionless on the sofa the four visitors now sat on. Fran moved uncomfortably as she realized the two men were Ross and Parker.

Both men wore collars which fastened them to the floor. Their hands fastened to be unable to reach their necks, but it seemed as though the shackles were unnecessary. Their expressions were slack jawed. They didn’t seem able to make any movement unless ordered to do so.

“George; Les; Do you hear me?”

George Ross and Les Parker both answered in the affirmative, but their gaze didn’t flicker, nor did their expressions change. The only muscles they had moved since the camera settled on them was an occasional blink, and what it required to say ‘yes.’

“Georgie-porgie; I want you to build me something. Do you know what a dead man switch is?” George seemed to struggle to answer, so Julie picked up a syringe, tested it dramatically, and injected something into an IV line placed on George’s forearm. “Let’s just let that settle in a little bit.” She turned to Les, and said, “Lester, you’re such a square. Let’s give you a little bit to loosen you up too.”

“You see, Sylvie. They’re both absolutely compliant babies when you g ive them the right milk.”

“I’m sure you’ve figured out how we gained our two little playthings. I’ve got to say, Millie came up with the really fun things. She likes to show everyone how dumb they are. To put them i n their proper place. I enjoyed letting her do her thing. Make everything so confusing for the poor, poor, baby police. Too bad they only now will understand how stupid they are.”

Trey glanced at Sylvie, but she was looking down at her hands, twisting in her lap. He didn’t trust her at all, but if he had to guess, she was not happy at the way things were playing out.

“Now, shall we see how Georgie-porgie is doing?” The camera found his face again. It was absolutely drained of anything even approaching emotion. “Georgie. I want you to build me a dead man’s chair. Then, we’re going to have you test it to make sure it works, alright?”

“Alright,” Ross said from the video. His voice had no inflection, no sign she had just told him he was going to build the very thing she was planning to kill him with.

“But that’s not what she did,” said Trish. “We found Ross at Beaver Pond.”

But Julie was already explaining.

She giggled. In a stage whisper, she told the camera, “I’m afraid I lied to Georgie-porgie. I’m not going to have him test the Deadman chair. That’s for you Sylvie. You decide who tests the chair. If you want to live, and I know you do. I’m going to have Georgie dive into Crab Pot.” She held up the syringe again. “I’ll season him with some butter and lemon juice for that.”

Fran felt ill at how Julie saw dropping Ross into the hotsprings. Apparently, it was something that she completely reveled in.

“Where does something this sick come from?” Trish asked, her voice low, almost afraid of the answer.

Tamara didn’t flinch. “I believe it was originally something meant to protect Charlie. Just as Sylvie tries to shelter him from hurt.” She turned gently toward Sylvie. “You were an alter, Sylvie. What was your function?”

Sylvie paused the video. Her eyes lingered on the frozen frame—Julie mid-laugh, syringe in hand—before she looked back at Tamara. “Charles had gender dysphoria. He tried to tell his parents, but they mocked him. They abused him. I gave him a female persona he could call himself.” She smiled, soft and sad. “Now, we’re blended. We have been for years. Since shortly after he married Peg.”

Tamara nodded. “You were born to help. Julie and Millie were born to fight.”

Sylvie nodded in return, the motion small but certain.

Tamara’s voice softened. “So without your parents to fight… they didn’t know where to turn?”

It wasn’t a question meant to accuse. It was meant to affirm—to acknowledge that Sylvie and Charles were one person now. That even though his parents had been cruel, calling them her parents was a way of recognizing Sylvie’s truth. Her history. Her personhood.

“So what now?” asked Trey.

“I think we can show that Sylvie wasn’t in control when the murders were committed,” Tamara replied.

“You don’t understand,” Sylvie said forcefully. “You don’t know what else they did.” She looked Tamara in the eye. “I wasn’t in control when I got Chelsea pregnant!”

Tamara didn’t even blink, so Sylvie went on.

“You know how they kept Chelsea quiet? Threats! Blackmail!” She looked like she wanted to spit. “That was Millie, by the way.” She took a deep breath. “Then there was my daughter, Cynthia. It was true about Denny and Lizbeth. Denny was Ginny’s dad, just like I was Lizbeth’s dad. But Cyndi forgave Denny. She didn’t carry any malice about that infidelity. Not anymore. But Millie. She was the one who was waiting in the shadows. Injected Denny. Told him what to do, and he did it. Then, when Cyndi found her husband, hanging in the barn, she met up with her father. Millie was in control. She escorted Cyndi back into the house, then threatened little Denny if Cyndi didn’t do just what she said. So Cyndi wrote the letter, then to protect her child, she shot herself in the temple. My little girl! The one who was made to protect me, took my little girl away from me!” She paused, and when she spoke again, her voice was low; almost a whisper. "Just to get control of the land."

“We can get you help, Sylvie. I can help guide you through this.”

“No!” Sylvie almost screamed the word. “I don’t dare let them out again.”

“We can keep that…”

Sylvie cut her off. “No!” She pointed at the screen “Look at that!”

They looked, but it still showed the same thing. Les Parker sitting slack-jawed on the sofa, Julie almost licking her lips at the control she had over George Ross, who was working on the chair.

Sylvie sat on that chair now. Everything was so…

Trey stared. Sylvie sat on that chair now. Had Ross succeeded, in his drugged state, to make a deadman switch? Was there a deadman switch in it still? If he did, was it still present, unused?

“Julie and Millie are joined, just like Charlie and me. They’re one. They are smart, and neither one of them cares about anyone but themselves.”

“Ross and Parker were partners. Millie found that out. Millie did want to marry Parker, She wanted to humiliate him. She got off on that type of thing. But before she got very far, she found out that Ross and Parker wanted to buy out the whole county at cut prices, then sell it at market price. And Ross would supply security and cleaning for everything.” She laughed bitterly. “I guess they were planning on writing that into the contract, or at least that’s what Millie figured.”

“She’s partially right,” Fran said.

“Well, that was enough to make Julie feel that she’d be losing out on everything if they bought everything at cut prices. If I’d signed for the sale, that is. So she killed them both so I couldn’t sign.”

“But that’s over,” Tamara said. “You’ve beaten them.”

“No. Nobody can beat them. You don’t even know if you're speaking to Julie, Millie, or Sylvie right now. You think I’m Sylvie, but you don’t know. Not really.” She pointed at the chair. “This is the only way.”

Suddenly, the door flew open and Denise ran in. “No!” she screamed. “Aunt Sylvie, you can beat them!”

-=#=-

Earlier, Denise had wondered where everyone was going. She was making some dinner for them all, and when they suddenly took off, she was shocked. The phone had rang, and they disappeared. She called Serena and asked if they’d been dispatched, which seemed odd as Tamara, the visiting psychiatrist, went with them.

Serena told them that nothing had come from her. Denise rang off, and wondered. Then she got in the little Yugo, which Chick had fixed up with some hidden features, and followed at a distance.

She almost missed where they’d turned off, but in the dust cloud, she saw Trey’s blazer heading up the rutted drive past Crab Pot. She knew her grandpa owned this spot himself. It was one of the few places that wasn’t in her name, but his.

She had parked just around the final curve, behind some brush, then snuck to the door to listen in.

-=#=-

“I don’t care if you’re Grandpa or Aunt Sylvie! I don’t want to lose you too!”

“Don’t you understand, Denise?” Sylvie said, shaking her head in exasperation. “I killed your mother and father. Your aunt or half sister, however you want to look at Ginny. I killed your grandmother!”

“Not you!” shouted Denise.

“Yes. Me! Or a part of me. What those two have done. It’s part of me. Something in me takes pleasure in it. You know that, or Julie wouldn’t be laughing at it.”

“You’re not laughing. You’re upset by it.”

“But there’s a part of me that isn’t. And what if that part takes control again and doesn’t let go?” She smiled lovingly at her granddaughter. “I love you, Neecee, and I don’t ever want to hurt you. You’re too precious for that.”

Sylvie’s voice rose, defiant. “You hear that, Julie? Millie? Just like Haman! He built gallows for Mordechai, and died on them himself.”

She pointed at the chair beneath her. “You wanted me to die here. You built this. You couldn’t trigger it in reality though, could you? Because you’d go with me.”

Her voice cracked, but her eyes burned. “Well I’m not going to disappoint you. I’m going to die here!”

She held up a syringe that had been hidden behind a book on the table beside her. “This isn’t symbolic. It’s real.”

She plunged it through her clothing, into her stomach.

“Is that—?” Trish whispered.

“Lots and lots of insulin,” Sylvie confirmed. “Fast-acting. I’ll be in a coma in minutes. And when I fall, I’ll be gone.”

Chapter 36

Fran jumped off the sofa and ran to the chair. She knelt down and moved Sylvie’s skirt out of the way. She saw the explosive underneath the seat.

She recoiled and Trey, who had bounded over, right behind her asked, “What is it?”

She bent closer and looked at the copper cone of the shaped charge. She looked at Trevor with a desperate expression on her face. “It’s a shaped charge. It’s wired to the chair. I can’t see the actual trigger switch. I don’t know if it’s normally opened or closed, nor can I tell if there’s anything anti-tamper in it.”

“Any change in impedance might set it off. The problem is, I just don’t know.” She turned her gaze to Sylvie. “Why are you doing this? With Denise here?”

“Denise wasn’t supposed to be here, and I can’t change this now. The moment I sat down in this chair, it activated. There’s only one outcome now. That’s for me to…” She pointed one manicured finger skyward while saying, ‘Boom’.

“I’m here Aunt Sylvie!” Denise yelled. “And I’m not going anywhere, so now what?”

Sylvie had made peace with the inevitable, however. “You’ve got to get out of the building, Sweetie. I’m going to die, but you can’t.”

“If you’re dying, I’m going with you!”

“No.” Sylvie smiled, but it was sad. “You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. I tried to guard you against what I went through. I tried to keep your life from being touched like mine had been, but… I made that one mistake. I couldn’t take you being home when you came out.” She sighed. “I’m so sorry, Denise.”

She looked around the room. “It’s so funny. Sylvie and I had merged by the time you were born. I told so many… untruths… about coming here, when I was really right there with you, just as the real me.”

“You don’t have to die!” Denise yelled, frantic. “I loved all those times with you. You were my role model. You taught me how to be a woman!”

“So don’t let that teaching go to waste,” Sylvie urged. “Go on. Get out of the cabin.”

“You can still come with me!”

“No. You don’t understand. Even if I wanted to, I can’t. There’s no way to stop the charge. If I try to stand, I’ll never make it. My fanny will be in Santa Fe by the time I get fully upright.”

Denise didn’t move, however. “Tell me a story, Auntie,” she implored. “Like when I was really little.”

Sylvie’s eyes softened. “All right, Sweetie. One last tale.”

She leaned back just slightly, careful not to shift her weight. “Once, when you were three, you decided you were a squirrel. Not just any squirrel—a detective squirrel. You wore your little brown hoodie with the ears, and you carried a magnifying glass everywhere. You interrogated the daisies. You cross-examined the garden hose. You even tried to arrest the Berlander’s cat for ‘spicious whiskas.”

Denise sniffled, smiling through tears.

“And I was your assistant,” Sylvie continued. “You called me ‘Deputy Acorn.’ I had to take notes on every leaf you found. You said they were clues. Evidence. Proof that the world was full of secrets, and it was our job to find them.”

She paused, voice trembling. “You were right, you know. The world is full of secrets. But you’re the one who gets to uncover them now.”

She sighed, her voice getting weaker. “You said you wanted to be like Gran’pa. I wanted so bad to tell you that I was your grandpa, but I didn’t want to influence you to be like me in another way. I guess I didn’t need to influence you. You’re like me anyway.”

Sylvie was starting to sway... Starting to fight for consciousness. Fran hated to do it, but she grabbed Denise from behind, tugging on her upper arms to get the girl out of the house.

Finally, she succeeded

Denise was weeping when it happened.

Chapter 37

Even though she knew what to expect with a shaped charge, the fact that there was only a small ‘whoomp’ sound outside the cabin when it exploded surprised Fran. Somehow, her mind envisioned the power of the explosive removing the entire cabin from existence.

Inside was a different story. To be sure, the interior of the cabin was pretty well intact, but the chair was almost gone, and a hole in the ceiling and roof. Sylvie was gone. There was meat splattered around the cabin, almost as if the damage to Sylvie had been because of her insides flashing to steam.

But it didn’t seem logical to Fran.

The deputies were called in, and Trish was a bear as she directed the gathering of evidence.

Fran didn’t stick around. She urged Denise to let her drive her home, which the girl eventually gave in to.

There were many tears on the road home, and Fran stopped and held the girl more than once.

It was one AM when Fran’s phone stopped ringing, and 5AM when it started again.

-=#=-

“Fran, I’m sorry to bother you, but I really need to talk to you. In private.” It was Trish on the line.

“Right now? I just laid down.”

“I’m sorry, Fran. I really am, but… Something’s not right.”

“No kidding! Charlie, or rather Sylvie is gone.”

“And that’s the problem. It wasn’t Sylvie that was obliterated in that chair.”

“What do you mean?” Fran's voice was low and dangerous.

Trish sighed. “As near as I can figure, what we found splattered around the cabin was a side of beef.”

Fran sat upright, her phone clattering to the floor.

It must have hung up accidentally. She reached for it, and it started to ring.

She answered it and, expecting Trish, heard Trey’s voice. “Fran, I’ve got Carlson telling me he just saw Millie heading south toward Grade. What is going on?”

“You heard from Trish?” she asked.

“No. What did she say?”

“We saw the aftermath of a very messy BBQ earlier. Forensic investigation says we saw the remains of a side of beef.”

There was no response for a moment, and Fran imagined the contortions of Trey’s face as he refused to let certain words exit his mouth.

A moment later, Trey’s phone tried to ring. “Hang on a sec, Fran. I’ve got another call coming in.”

Then, “I’ve got the airport administrator on the line, Fran.”

“Airport administrator?” Fran asked, too numb to realize what was happening.

“Troy Folsom here, Chief,” said a voice from her phone. “I heard that Sheriff Goldman died yesterday? When I got here, there was some red head getting in his plane. Before I could stop her, she closed the door, taxied to the strip and took off, just like she owned it.”

“Did she leave a car?”

“Sheriff’s car is in the long term parking lot. I checked.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Trey said, taking the lead and not informing the administrator that the woman he saw get in Goldman's plane was very likely Goldman.

Folsom thanked him and hung up, leaving Fran and Trey wondering what would happen next.

Finally, Trey said, “I’ll go to the airport and see what’s going on.”

“I suspect you’re going to find that Charlie drove his car to the airport on his own, and apparently took off in his own plane.”

“You're probably right. I’ll let you know.”

Epilogue

July 15th, 2028

12, noon

It was a Saturday, and Fran slept late. She’d put out feelers all over the states, particularly on the western side of the country, to no avail. She suspected that Sylvie, or perhaps Millie, had flown south, possibly across the border into Mexico, but she wasn’t entirely sure.

She’d also worked with her two prisoners, trying to make heads or tails of what to put in her report to the DA.

She stumbled out into the living room and found Denise on the couch. The girl quickly stood and hurried into the kitchen, bringing out a cup of steaming coffee, and a chicken salad sandwich.

Fran was grateful. She had debated whether she would get up or not, but the growling in her stomach settled the problem quite well.

Denise hurried back into the kitchen while Fran started in on her sandwich and brought out a plate and cup for herself. She sat down, and once they’d finished their food, she asked, “What did you find out about Aunt Sylvie?”

“I haven’t heard anything about where she got to. I’ve tried all over the states, and people are actively looking, but she may have crossed the border into Canada or Mexico.”

“My bet’s Mexico,” Denise said, shaking her head in disgust.

“Mine too,” Fran agreed. “I think we would have heard something if she’d gone north.”

“Deputy Carlson said it was Millie that drove to the airport?”

Fran nodded. She wasn’t convinced that it was Millie. In fact, she wondered which person they’d actually been talking to in the cabin. Or were they all merged now? Were there ever any alters to begin with? She didn’t voice these thoughts to Denise, however. She preferred to let the thoughts rest where they were.

Mercifully, Denise asked, “What did you find out about Reggie?”

But was that topic any better? Ginny was both cousin and half-sister to Denise. Oh, what a tangled web we weave, Fran thought as she mulled it over.

“It’s complicated,” Fran said, deciding to honor Reggie’s request where Denise was concerned and not tell her about Ginny's feelings either. She was saved by a knock at the door. Denise jumped up and answered it, letting Trey and Trish in.

“Okay,” Trish said as she sat down. “Give.”

Trey grabbed a chair from the dining room table and straddled it, folded his arms onto the backrest, then he placed his chin on his forearms.

Denise sat down on the braided rug. She sat with her legs crossed and arms folded. Looking at her, Fran decided there was no way she was going to get out of telling the three of them what she’d found out. Denise wondered what had become of her grandpa, or great-aunt, or... Complicated didn't do the situation justice.

She gave Trey a calculated look and said, “You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours. Have you heard anything about Millie?”

“Or Sylvie, Julie, or Charlie?” Trey finished. “No.”

“They can’t have just disappeared,” Denise argued.

“No,” Trey said. “They went somewhere, but so far, nobody seems to know where.” He looked to Fran. “Your turn.”

“That wasn’t a lot,” Fran said sourly.

Trey gave a ‘sorry’ gesture. “I can’t give what I don’t have.” He thought about it for a moment, then told her, “And don’t you say the same thing. You’ve got to have found out something.”

Fran nodded. “No, I can’t say the same.” She deliberately left them stewing for a moment as she went and topped off her coffee cup, then brought out some cups and saucers for Trey and Trish. “Coffee?” she asked innocently as she held up the carafe.”

“You’re stalling!” Trey accused, then, because he couldn’t say no to coffee, he held up his cup and she filled it, a smirk on her lips.

She slowly made her way back to the kitchen, and when Trey heard the coffee grinder come on, he let out a plaintive, “NO!”

A moment after he heard her start the coffee brewing, she slowly made her way back to her seat on the couch. It wasn’t just her way of teasing Trey. There needed to be some comic relief after the week they’d had.

“Well,” she said, over-dramatically, “I had a revealing talk with Reggie, and I think I’m going to tell the DA that I don’t have enough to convict Bill now.”

“What did he say?” Trish wondered.

“Reggie says Debra killed Ginny to control him.”

“How would that…” Denise’s voice trailed off.

“By showing that she had no fear of him, and that she was holding all of the aces, I guess,” Fran said. “But it backfired on her. It completely took away any chance he’d let her live. It removed the last of his feelings for her.” She paused. “Not that he had much left anyway."

"He really must have loved Ginny, though," Trey commented.

“What was Debra's deal?” Trish asked.

“Well, I had the Borg Queen there along with Halvorsen, when I questioned him. They say they can’t refute anything he said.” She sat back and crossed her legs. Get comfortable her posture seemed to say.

“Ross and Parker were looking, specifically, for flipping the property. Reggie didn’t know anything about oil. Apparently, there’s a lot of oil in the area, Denise.”

“That would make a lot of…” Trish cut off what she was going to say as she looked at Denise.

Denise, however, caught the look and understood. “That would give Grandpa’s alters quite a motive for murder. Especially if they were trying to buy the land from him.”

“Yes, but from what Sylvie said, they didn’t know about the oil. Only the flipping of property,” Trey said thoughtfully.

“What are you thinking?” Trish asked him.

“It just seems so odd that we’ve got two cases both seeming to revolve around Denise’s land.”

“Well, that may have been what Parker and Ross wanted, but Debra had a deeper purse than they did.”

“Uh… They didn’t carry purses,” Trey said.

“Well, her purse was deeper than their pockets,” Fran said, keeping to her metaphor.

“She wanted the oil,” Fran went on, “and she wanted personal information on people. Even the government.”

“Blackmail intel?” Denise asked. “That’s what she wanted?”

“I don’t think she had any idea that it wouldn’t work in Venture,” Trey said.

“What do you mean?” Fran asked. “This town has so many secrets.”

“That’s just it,” he said. “Like Birdie said. We don’t spread margarine. We spread gossip. Venture and Grade have so many secrets, but they’re not secret to the people who live here. Only to outsiders.”

“Huh?” Trish looked confused. “But everyone knows them.”

“They didn’t know their sheriff had multiple personalities,” Fran pointed out, then she slapped her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry, Denise,” she mumbled.

“It’s okay, Mom. But I think Uncle Trey’s right. The things that are secret to outsiders are all commonly known by the locals. Except about Grandpa.”

“Uncle Trey?” Trish said, eyebrows raising?

“That a problem, Auntie Trish?” Trey asked, grinning.

“Not in the least,” Trish said, smiling.

-=#=-

Fran woke up the next morning, head hurting. She suspected she’d been crying in her sleep. Crying for the people in the town that loved Sheriff Charlie. Crying for her daughter, and even crying for the former Sheriff himself.

What a terrible thing to happen. His alters were so different from the man himself. Two of them, anyway. Julie, such a powerful person. Millie, wanting to control others.

Control others.

She suddenly felt sick.

What if Millie was the one who wanted blackmail information. It was right up her alley!

NO!

Millie didn’t know how to program computers. Did she?

She was wanting to marry Parker.

She didn’t need to program. She just needed to control those who did.

Maybe...