Ronnie Willow and the Devil's Shadow: Ronnie Willow, #2

By W. S. Childress

A suspicious fire claims the life of someone close to Ronnie Willow, and she can't resist investigating the crime despite her friends' urgent warnings. As the mystery unfolds, so does a new romance. Ronnie struggles to navigate the perilous path of young love while searching for clues someone doesn't want her to find. In a quaint Cape Cod town, murderous minds lurk. Are Ronnie and her friends willing to risk their lives to solve the mystery?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sea Crow Press
• Release date: May 24, 2024
• ISBN: 9781961864078

Book preview

Prologue

Her room is engulfed in darkness, only a faint yellow glow from the hallway bleeding through the cracked slit of her bedroom door. The steady beat of rainfall on the side of the house begins to grow, followed by howling winds. Blue-white flashes burst through her window and illuminate her room, menacing black-armed shadows of the tree outside her window dancing on the shaggy white carpet. Ronnie pulls the comforter up over her head, dreading the inevitable sound of thunder she knows is coming. But it isn’t the low rumble of thunder that’s been rolling through, it’s the deafening crack — an explosion paired with hot red lightning — that makes her almost jump out of her own skin. When the glow from the lightning does not dissipate back into darkness, she reluctantly lowers the covers, curiosity overcoming fear. A hellish red-orange light grows in her window, highlighting the black shadows and making them look even more like devils. She creeps out of bed. Moving gingerly on the soft carpet, she steps over the shadows, leery of the writhing arms, and peeks out of her window. Through the thick branches of the ancient oak outside, she sees orange flames enveloping their neighbors’ house. Another flash of lightning, a jagged bolt finding its way to the ground on the other side of the house, as the thunderclap startles her and she fights the urge to jump back into bed. She stares at the house, watching the fire grow in intensity. Just as another bolt of lightning flashes, the thunder from the strike crackling, her bedroom door opens, and she almost dives under her bed.

Ronnie, her father calls, worry filling the word. Honey, are you okay? She nods, runs to him, and hugs his leg tightly. He pats the top of her head. You saw the fire? he asks. Again, she nods but doesn’t say anything. I called 9-1-1, he says. I’m going over to see if they’re okay. Can you stay with Sophie?

No! Ronnie says, not intending to refuse but also not wanting him to go. Please, Daddy!

It’s okay. I just want to make sure they got out, he explains. Just stay with Sophie, okay? Mom’s still working at the hospital and won’t be home ’til morning.

She sits on her bed, Sophie huddled next to her. Sophie has her head on her pillow, her eyes closed, and Ronnie holds her hand. The rain has slowed from a heavy downpour to a steady soaking, but the lightning still dances outside. Her dad has been out for what seems like forever, and the fire has devoured most of their neighbors’ house. Worried, Ronnie shakes Sophie and guides her off her bed. Holding her hand, Ronnie leads her downstairs and out onto their front porch. In the distance, down the long road in front of their house, the faint lights of emergency vehicles flash, growing in brightness as the blaring whine of their sirens builds. She squints, looking through the steady rain to see her father, illuminated by the glow of the raging fire, standing helplessly at the edge of their neighbors’ driveway. Fire trucks and ambulances come to a screeching halt on the side of the road. As the first responders pour out, deftly deploying their equipment, her father walks over to talk to them. Sophie squeezes her hand.

Can we go in? the toddler whines. Ronnie squeezes her hand in return and considers it but wants to make sure their dad is okay. She climbs up onto the swing on the porch, pulls Sophie up with her, and they sit and wait.

The flames subside to a smolder as the firefighters finish drenching them with their hoses, the first slivers of the moon peeking through broken clouds. Two firefighters go through the husk of a door. Moments later, they reemerge, motioning to the ambulance. Her father walks back to the house and sees them sitting on the porch.

Ronnie, he says, weariness in his voice. He smells of smoke and ash. Why are you out here? She ignores him, entranced by the sight next door. Two EMTs with stretchers move towards the house and a fireman comes out, cradling a small figure. He places the figure on the stretcher, and they wheel it away. Her father tries to turn her away, but she refuses, eyes glued to the scene.

Ronnie, he says again. Let’s go inside, hun. He tries to pull her away, but she wriggles out of his grip and runs off the porch. Ronnie! he calls, but he doesn’t follow. Instead, he catches Sophie and picks her up, encircling her in his arms. Ronnie! he calls again, but she’s standing by their mailbox, her figure silhouetted by the dying embers of the fire and the pale moonlight emerging through the clearing sky.

She watches as two more firefighters come from the burnt shell of the house, each carrying a figure. They meet two more stretchers and lay them down. They’re in no hurry. As the stretchers roll to the waiting ambulances, the EMTs pull the sheets over the figures. She doesn’t know what to think, refusing to believe what she’s seeing. Her father, still holding Sophie tightly against his chest, meets her at the end of their driveway.

C’mon, he says softly, reaching a free hand down to grasp hers. Let’s go in.

Seven Years later… Memorial Day Weekend

Ronnie, a familiar voice calls, shaking her momentarily from shock and disbelief, the glow of red and blue lights dancing frenetically around her. The sirens no longer wail, but her ears still ring from them. Behind her, the soft glow of the stage lights seeps into the blackness. Ronnie, the voice says again, a distant echo even though she knows it is near her. Like a dream, a nightmare, she watches the stretcher, watches the EMTs pull the sheet up to cover the body. Ronnie. A whisper. A gentle touch brushing her hand as she recoils from it. Let’s go, Ronnie, he says, gently taking her hand and pulling her towards him. She grasps his arm, and the shock subsides, melting into uncontrollable sobs as she hugs her father as tight as she can.

Chapter 1

Broken Wings

Tuesday, April 4 th

When Ronnie gets home from the first day of sailing practice, Harley, her family’s 10-month-old Belgian Shepherd, meets her at the door. She drops her duffel bag with her sailing gear in it and envelops him in a hug. Her mother is close behind and grabs the bag.

These go in the laundry room, her mom says. Ronnie nods, still holding Harley. The dog licks her face, his paws resting on her shoulders as she kneels to his level. How’d it go?

Not well, Ronnie says, still getting kisses from Harley. Her mom nods in understanding and hauls the bag off to the laundry room. Ronnie pulls herself up and heads upstairs, Harley pushing past her to bound ahead.

Ronnie plops onto her bed, and Harley hops up beside her. She wallows over, crushing her face into her pillow. Harley nudges up close to her, scooting up to the pillow. He pokes her face with his nose, again and again, until she has no choice but to lift it. He slathers her face with sloppy dog kisses.

Harley, she says affectionately, sitting up and leaning back against the pillow, what would I do without you? She pulls him close to her and hugs him. He falls back, presenting his belly for a belly rub, emphasizing his wishes with his front paws.

I don’t know what to do about Bailey, Ronnie muses while scratching Harley’s belly. Just a few months earlier — but what seemed like ages ago to Ronnie — Harley had saved her life. He had charged at the person they thought had murdered Ruth Morgan, giving FBI Agent Mark Ferguson time to shoot back. But the real murderer turned out to be someone else… someone much closer to Ronnie and her friends. The killer had burst into the students’ dressing room after the fall play and shot at Bailey as he signaled for help, wounding him in the leg. Ever since then, their budding relationship had grown cold.

Harley grunts in response. I love him. I think I do, at least… I don’t know. But he doesn’t seem to feel the same. She scratches his neck, and Harley’s back leg begins to kick. He arches his neck and closes his eyes. That’s your spot, she says, scratching harder. If he isn’t into me… Harley hears a car outside, he stops kicking and perks up his ears. She lays her hand on the back of his head, and he relaxes again. I know he said I didn’t do anything, but why the change of heart? Harley just tilts his head, giving the impression of a questioning look. I wish you could talk, she says, but then thinks better of it: Never mind — you’d just ask for treats and belly rubs all the time. She returns to scratching his belly when the vibration of her phone interrupts her thoughts. Ronnie searches her nightstand and finds the phone: video call from Bridget, the first friend she made on Cape Cod when her family moved there last summer. She considers rejecting the call but thinks again. Bridget, an eighth-grader, can be pretty chatty and, at times, a bit annoying. At least Bridget might have some advice, she tells Harley before accepting the call.

I miss sailing with you, Bridget says when her face pops up on the tiny phone screen.

Well, hello, how are you doing? Ronnie answers back sarcastically. Bridget either doesn’t get the sarcasm or just ignores it.

I’m bummed, Ronnie, she answers. Ronnie shakes her head and smiles wryly. Do you miss sailing with me, too? Bridget asks. Ronnie thinks about her answer. She hadn’t even considered sailing with Bridget in the first place since eighth-graders can’t sail in varsity races.

Sure, she chirps. But it can’t be helped. We can sail together later, I’m sure, she adds.

Not the same, Bridget says. How is sailing with Jonah anyway? You two getting along? At the mention of his name, Ronnie’s heart flutters, surprising her. Jonah Wolfe, a freshman like her who was also in last fall’s musical, is her sailing partner. She hadn’t really got to know him then, but now that they were on the sailing team together, her view of the shy boy was evolving.

I couldn’t sail with him, Bridget adds before Ronnie can muster an answer. He’s too cute — I’d be too distracted.

Well… Ronnie says, feeling her cheeks grow hot as she thinks about him. She adjusts the phone until her face is out of the frame. Harley’s snout pokes in it instead, eliciting a giggle from Bridget.

Well, hello, Harley! Bridget chuckles.

Ronnie’s face reappears. Bridget, this stays between us, okay? Ronnie starts, already regretting that she’s saying anything because she knows how bad Bridget is at keeping secrets.

Of course, Ronnie. Her face is serious and composed, unlike her general appearance. Bridget’s brown hair is frizzy and chaotic when she doesn’t pull it back into a ponytail.

Well, you know how Bailey’s been so distant? Bridget nods. I don’t think we’re together anymore. I mean, he hasn’t said as much, but something’s up and he hasn’t even talked to me in days.

He’s back on the track team, Bridget says.

What? Ronnie responds, taken aback. But his leg…

Yeah, he’s not running yet, but the coach wants him there anyway. There’s a chance he’ll be able to run before the season is over. He didn’t tell you?

We haven’t talked for days, Bridget. So no, he didn’t tell me. He hinted that he might be able to run again, but nothing definite.

Oh, Bridget says, feeling awkward. He didn’t tell me, either, she adds. I only know because a kid in my class is on the team, and he was talking about it in class today.

"So, we aren’t really together, I guess, Ronnie says, turning back to what she needs to get off her chest. And Jonah…"

What did Jonah do? Bridget interrupts.

Nothing. He didn’t do anything, Bridget. What I’m trying to say is, Ronnie says, stumbling through her thoughts. I think I like him. There. She told someone. Kota, the second friend she made last fall, figured it out during practice that day, but Ronnie hadn’t said it aloud. Not until now. I like him, Bridget.

I can’t blame you, she says matter-of-factly. Why wouldn’t you?

Because I like Bailey! Because I’m with…

But you’re not, right? You just said…

That’s the problem, Bridget. Bridget furrows her brow and frowns.

I don’t get it. You’re not with Bailey, you like Jonah, and that’s the problem?

Yes? Ronnie tries to think of a way to explain it, to make sense of her problem, but that’s all she has.

You’re not doing anything wrong by liking someone else, you know. Bridget replies. Do you love him?

I barely know him, Ronnie says.

No, not Jonah — Bailey.

I thought I did, she answers, lying back on her pillow and holding the phone over her head. She remembers their first kiss — not one of spontaneity but one that was scripted for the play — and she remembers the tingle she felt run through her body, the tingle that still runs through her when she thinks of him. Harley barges in and licks her face, pushing the phone away for a moment before she can get him out of the way. If I like someone else, then I must not, right?

I don’t know, Ronnie, Bridget says. I’ve liked boys, but none have ever liked me back.

"I think that’s better than one liking you and then all of a sudden not liking you, Ronnie says. I just don’t know what to make of him. Is something going on with Bailey? Should I be doing something else? Should I be helping him get through something? He won’t tell me what’s wrong, and he’s so freaking distant."

You can’t control what someone else does, Ronnie, Bridget quips. If he needs something from you, he’ll ask. One moment, Bridget can seem like such a kid, Ronnie thinks, and then she drops a wisdom bomb like a seasoned adult.

"But what if he does need something, and he doesn’t ask? Maybe he doesn’t think he can, Ronnie says. and what does it make me if I just move on to someone else?"

Try to talk to Bailey tomorrow, maybe? Bridget offers. At lunch, go to him instead of waiting to see if he sits with you.

Maybe, she says. I just… she feels her angst building up and just lets out a growl, getting Harley’s attention. Harley stands on the bed, ready to play, her blanket in his mouth. Down, Harley! she commands. He drops it and jumps off the bed, then curls up on the floor with a sigh. I don’t know. Bailey probably won’t talk to me, and I just need to know…

Want me to talk to him? Bridget asks.

No, Ronnie answers quickly, but she thinks about it. I don’t know how to fix this. Maybe…

I don’t mind, Bridget says. What can it hurt if I try?

Okay, Ronnie replies. But I need to hear what you’re saying. If you say the wrong thing, it might…

I’ll keep an earbud in and my phone on. You should be able to hear our convo and you can tell me what to say or what to ask.

This could work, Ronnie says, a feeling of relief washing over her. Yeah, we might as well try it, right? Bridget nods. Okay, so tomorrow at lunch, you’ll go to his table and start up some small talk. Keep your earbud in and your phone on. Just don’t be obvious about it, okay?

Okay! Bridget says, a smile spreading across face. And maybe Coach will let us sail at practice tomorrow?

Maybe, Ronnie answers. Thanks, Bridget, she adds, her free hand going to the friendship bracelet Bridget made for her last summer. Thanks.

That’s what friends are for, she says.

Wednesday, April 5 th

The cafeteria is buzzing with talk of a snow day tomorrow. In April, Ronnie thinks. In North Carolina, her former home, it’s already a balmy 80 degrees and sunny. But in Massachusetts, on Cape Cod, the days still barely break 40 degrees. A Nor’easter is approaching, and everyone is hoping they’ll get a day or two off if it hits. Ronnie and Bridget stand in line, waiting for a slice of pizza.

Is Bailey here yet? Ronnie asks. Bridget shakes her head.

I don’t think so, she answers, looking around the throngs of students crowding into the cafeteria. But I can’t tell with all these people, she says. They get their lunch and head to the large seating area in the back of the cafeteria, making their way to their usual table.

There’s Chad and Tommy, Ronnie says, pointing out the two senior captains of the track team. But I don’t see Bailey with them.

Look over there, Bridget says, pointing to the cash register. Bailey is paying for his lunch and looking around. Ronnie sees him, they make eye contact, but he turns away from her.

What the hell? she grunts. She watches him search the room. He finds Chad and Tommy and goes to their table on the other side of the room. He saw me, Bridget, and he turned away.

I know, Bridget says. She pulls her phone from her pocket. Let’s just stick to the plan, okay? Kota and Kate, Jonah’s older sister and Kota’s girlfriend, come up and sit at their table as Bridget fumbles with her phone settings and gets her earbuds out.

What are you doing, Bridget? Kota asks. Bridget scowls at her in response.

Don’t worry about it, she says. Kota rolls her eyes.

Whatever, she responds. Ronnie, what’s this kid up to? Kota, a junior at Hoxie Academy, doesn’t understand why Ronnie is such good friends with a middle schooler, but she tolerates the situation as best she can.

Kota, I’m right here. I said don’t worry about it, Bridget snaps. Ronnie shrugs apologetically to Kota.

She said don’t worry about it, Ronnie affirms. Bridget smiles, pops one earbud in, and motions for Ronnie to call her. Ronnie presses Bridget’s name in her contacts and presses the call button. A second later, Bridget accepts the call and slips her phone into a zippered breast pocket on her sweater.

It should be able to pick up the audio in here, Bridget says. Kota and Kate give them both a quizzical look, but neither says anything. Ronnie pops an earbud into her ear so she can test it out. Go to the bathroom or something and see if you can hear us. Ronnie gets up and walks towards the bathroom. Can you hear me? Bridget asks.

I can, Ronnie says from the cafeteria’s exit. A bit muffled, though. Say something to Kota so I can see if I can hear her.

So, how’s it going, Kota? Bridget asks. Kota gives her a hard look before replying.

Fine, Kota says with a frustrated sigh. What the hell are you two up to?

I can hear her, Ronnie says into her phone, ignoring Kota’s tone. She walks back to the table. When she gets back, Kota grabs her arm before she can sit.

What are you doing, Ronnie? Kota hisses more than asks.

Nothing, Ronnie answers quickly. Just doing some recon, she watches as Bridget heads over to Bailey’s table. Bridget’s going to talk to Bailey for me, that’s all.

Oh, Ronnie, Kota sighs. Is this a good idea?

Probably not, but it’s all I got, she answers.

Bridget sits at Bailey’s table. It’s just him and the two senior captains, Chad and Tommy. Ronnie listens intently, trying not to stare at the table.

Mind if I sit with you guys? Bridget asks.

Um… no? Bailey answers with a smirk. Chad and Tommy give him a quizzical look, wondering why this kid thinks it’s okay to sit with upperclassmen, but neither of them says anything. Everything alright, Bridget?

Yeah, she says, trying to sound nonchalant. She puts her tray down, glances over her shoulder back at Ronnie’s table, and settles down.

So, how’s sailing going? You guys had your first practice yesterday? Bailey asks.

Fine, Bridget answers. The team is better than expected.

How’d you do? Are they going to let you sail in races? he asks. She shakes her head.

No, but they’ll let me sail in JV races afterward.

How did Ronnie do? he asks. Ronnie looks up from across the cafeteria, ears perked.

"Okay, I guess. She and Jonah… they were in the same boat… they had the lead in a practice race for a