Free Dying to Tell by Rita Herron

of her and Amelia playing in the yard flashed back, followed by a sequence of memories like a movie clip. Papaw teaching them both to groom the horses. Stacking hay in the back of the old wagon, then hitching it to his tractor and taking them for a hayride.
    Decorating the farm for the pumpkin patch sale every year, then helping him collect money from customers who drove from miles around to ride in that same wagon and pick their own pumpkins.
    The good memories were peppered with the bad, though. Each year she’d begged to carve a scary-faced jack-o’-lantern, but he always refused, saying Halloween was for Satan believers. Still, he’d sold the pumpkins to other families who did the same, which hadn’t made sense to her.
    He had loved the horses as much as she did. When she was six, he’d taught her how to ride. When her sister was in one of her more coherent states, she’d ridden, too.
    One day stuck out in her mind. She’d been fourteen, and Amelia had just returned home from another hospital visit.
    In a rare sisterly moment, they baked cookies together, then packed a picnic and rode on horseback to the creek.
    They picked wildflowers, and Amelia sang songs and danced in the wind. Then Amelia laughed as they chased fireflies and caught them in a mayonnaise jar. Sadie had thought she finally had her sister home. Sane.
    But then the wind picked up, and Amelia suddenly went still. She’d heard the chimes, she said. The chimes were calling to her, crying her name.
    In a split second, Amelia vanished, and Skid appeared. He shoved Sadie into the creek, spooked her horse so it ran off, then rode away, leaving her alone.
    Sadie sprained her ankle and had to walk half a mile to get back to the farm. By the time she made it, she’d been in pain, soaking wet, and chilled to the bone.
    Of course, Amelia had remembered none of it.
    It was one of her “nowhere” nights. Nights Amelia couldn’t remember where she’d been or what she’d done.
    Nights Sadie would never forget.
    But she wasn’t that frightened little girl anymore. She was a professional adult who would not let the insanity in her family break her.
    The farm slid into view, and she grimaced. Her grandfather had aged, and she’d assumed he’d hired help to keep the place up. But judging from the overgrown pasture, the rotting fences, and the rusty, broken-down tractor in the field, he must have let them go long ago.
    She pulled down the oak-lined drive, well aware that Jake was following her, relieved to see Chance trot toward the barn and a roan roaming the pasture as well. She wondered who had been taking care of the horses, but was glad to know that her grandfather hadn’t sold them.
    Parking the Honda beneath the detached overhang, she climbed out, retrieved her suitcase, and drew a deep breath as she faced the house. Jake swung the squad car to a stop and dragged his big body from the vehicle. Gravel crunched as he strode up beside her, and she had a sudden urge to reach for his hand and hold on tight.
    But she tucked her hands in her pockets instead.
    “Let me check the house first, then you can go inside.”
    Sadie was determined to remain strong. “That’s not necessary, Jake. I can take care of myself.”
    “I’m sure you can.” Jake slanted her a dark look. “But sometimes crime scenes draw curiosity seekers, vandals, teens who want to gawk.”
    “All right,” Sadie conceded, but only because she didn’t want to admit that being home spooked her. That ghosts were waiting for her...
    He followed her to the front door and waited as she unlocked it. Sadie stepped aside and let Jake enter first. As soon as he flipped on the light, she noticed the clutter Ms. Lettie had mentioned. The hallway was full, the den overflowing with newspapers and assorted junk.
    Jake strode through the downstairs, then climbed the steps two at a time while she waited in the foyer.
    A musty odor permeated the air, and dust coated the furniture and walls, but the