A Thousand Yesteryears (14 page)

“I’ll get the paperwork.” Eve felt a sense of relief. She didn’t plan on staying in Point Pleasant for any length of time, and thus couldn’t afford to become involved in the emotional complications of others, but she felt badly for Katie. The girl had obviously led a hard life and had a rocky relationship with her mother. Too bad Wendy had taken off all those years ago. Having her sister as an ally would have been a buffer for Katie and her mother.

As Eve stepped into her office to gather the folder on the Layton party, she couldn’t help wonder if Wendy might someday return.

* * * *

Eve finished the afternoon by meeting with James Dixon of River Real Estate. The appointment gave her a chance to introduce herself and get his opinion of the real estate market in Point Pleasant. Between the lingering recession and high interest rates, few people were buying.

James conceded she had valid worries about the market, but felt strongly the house had enough history in the community to draw serious prospects. He suggested she contact him again after Caden completed all the necessary repairs. In the meantime, he’d “comp” other properties in the area for recent sales, though he cautioned there would be few. They discussed the hotel, but she remained on the fence about selling. Adam Barnett hadn’t contacted her again, which made her wonder if his buyer had fallen through. Perhaps it was for the best.

By the time she reached the house, Caden had finished work for the day and left. She discovered Aunt Rosie’s former dark room completely drywalled and taped, ready for spackling, sanding, and paint.

Returning downstairs, she dropped her purse on the kitchen table, then searched in the refrigerator for a soda. The phone rang as she poured a one-calorie Tab into a tall glass filled with ice.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Eve. This is Adam Barnett.”

“Oh.” Stretching the phone cord to the table, she sat down with her soda. “I was just thinking about you. I met with James Dixon, and we discussed the hotel.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I spoke with my client and have a generous offer for you. I think you’ll be quite pleased.”

“Really?” Then why did her stomach clench? She twisted the phone cord, listening to him rattle on about the unlikelihood of finding a buyer able to raise the necessary capital for so large an investment. His client, however, was preapproved and would have no problems delivering on the loan. Wasn’t she lucky?

When he told her the price his client was willing to pay, her heart gave a skip of alarm. Granted, she didn’t know the going rate for an operation like the Parrish Hotel, but the offer seemed incredibly generous. Far more than she’d imagined.

“Eve? Miss Parrish?”

Awkwardly, she cleared her throat. “Yes. I, uh…”

“I realize you’ll probably want time to consider.”

“I do.”
And then some.

“That seems fair. I should warn you, however, that my client is looking at multiple business opportunities in various areas. The Parrish Hotel is only one of those. I can’t guarantee how long he’s willing to wait.”

“I understand. Truthfully, though, Mr. Barnett, I’m having second thoughts about selling.”

The pause that unraveled across the line felt weighted with displeasure. “I thought you were going back to Harrisburg?”

“I am. I may.” Wedging the phone between her shoulder and neck, Eve dug a pen from her purse and scribbled the offered price on a paper napkin. “That doesn’t mean I can’t maintain the hotel from a distance. I’ve hired Katie Lynch as my manager, and I’m learning the operations. There’s a chance I may elect to keep it.”

“This comes as quite a surprise.” Annoyance crept into his voice.

“I realize that, and I’m sorry for any trouble I’ve put you through, or any false hope I may have given your client. Give me a few days to think it over, and I’ll get back to you. I’m not decided either way.”

“Very well, Miss Parrish. Do consider carefully. I don’t believe you’ll get another offer in this price range.”

“I understand. Thank you again.”

After she hung up the phone, Eve sat for a moment pondering the proposal. Why
would
anyone make such a generous offer? There was no question the hotel was a landmark, but she hadn’t thought it near the price Adam Barnett’s client was willing to pay. Perhaps Mr. Barnett’s buyer was a business savvy entrepreneur who saw hidden opportunity in the property.

She sighed and took a sip of her Tab, knowing Aunt Rosie and her father would frown on the sale.

Carrying the soda with her, she stepped onto the screened porch overlooking the rear of the property. A pleasant June breeze perfumed the air with the candied scent of honeysuckle and sun-warmed grass. White wicker furniture with plump pink cushions made the screened-in area inviting. Despite the vandals using the porch as their point of entry, there’d been little damage to the furniture, the trespassers more intent on the house.

Farther away, the rear yard ended at a small creek bordered by a wooded copse. How she and Maggie used to love to play along that streambed, splashing through the water in the summer, ice-skating on the narrow ribbon in the winter.

As she stood contemplating the scene, a flicker of movement passed between the trees. Someone walked along the creek bed, then paused to face the house. The person was too far away for her to decipher their features, but she saw a shape—tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a dark gray or green shirt.

A prickle of cold danced up her spine as she recalled the person she’d caught watching the house her first night in Point Pleasant. The man—for surely it was a man—waited several heartbeats before continuing away from her. By that time, her hands were damp with sweat, her heart hammering a staccato beat.

It was probably just someone out for a stroll.

In Aunt Rosie’s backyard.

The shrill ring of the phone made her jerk in fright before she identified the cause of the interruption. Probably Mr. Barnett again. With a nervous laugh over her jumpy nerves, she returned to the kitchen and lifted the receiver. “Hello.”

For several seconds there was nothing but silence, then the ominous stillness was eaten up by a high-pitched shriek. When the innocuous looking instrument spewed a burst of static and clacking, she slammed it into the cradle.

“This is ridiculous.” She wasn’t certain who she spoke to, only that her heart had lurched into hyper-drive and she was shaking.

Kids.

Ryan had said the same about the note on her windshield. School was almost out and kids were playing pranks as if it were Halloween. Or maybe it was just a wrong number with electronic turmoil caught up on the line. Tomorrow, she’d insist the phone company check her service to be sure nothing was wrong.

Biting her lip, she considered the man she’d seen watching from the woods. He couldn’t possibly have reached a phone and made a call that quickly. The whole thing was just a coincidence. He’d been out for a stroll, maybe followed the creek into Aunt Rosie’s backyard from farther down the stream, and the phone call was a malfunction in the line.

That made sense…far better than the alternative, which meant she had not one stalker, but two.

* * * *

Eve put the incident from her mind when she met Caden later that night. He wore jeans and a plain white T-shirt, the red marks angled across his forearm plainly visible. When they arrived at the River Café, several people waved or called greetings. It seemed most everyone knew him, the casual familiarity making her feel as if she’d stepped under a spotlight. She tried not to count the stares as they slid into a booth near the bar. Small towns and gossip went hand in hand.

“You seem quite popular,” she said after Betty, their waitress, took their drink orders and left them to look over the menu. Eve already knew it by heart.

Caden apparently did, too. He barely glanced at it before setting it aside.

“You must do a lot of remodeling jobs,” she commented.

He shook his head with a thin smile. “I only started the business eighteen months ago. Before that I worked for the sheriff’s department.”

“Like Ryan?” Surprise slipped into her voice. It seemed odd he’d given up a steady career in law enforcement for a business that was subject to the ups and downs of the economy.

“We used to share a car,” Caden confirmed. “I went through the police academy first; he followed when he was old enough. It worked for a while.” He trailed off, leaving her with the impression he didn’t want to continue.

From the bar, she overheard snatches of conversation as three men discussed Amos Carter over draft beers. “TNT…heard someone made soup of his face…catch the bastard…weird shit out by those ponds…”

She tuned it out, still unnerved by the thought of murder in the quiet town.

“Why did you leave?” she asked.

He shrugged indifferently. “Bad call.” Tension crept into his shoulders, and the corner of his mouth tightened with the shadow of a grimace.

Waffling on whether or not she should pry further, she glanced at the three blood-red lines angled across the forearm Those marks, so odd in coloration and appearance, might have had something to do with his “bad call.”

He caught her staring and tilted his head to indicate his arm. “From an accident a long time ago.”

Her gaze flashed to his face. She could think of only one accident that defined life in Point Pleasant. “The Silver Bridge?”

He nodded. “My wrist was trapped, pinned under the seat.”

His wrist. Yet the marks were on his forearm. Before she could prod further, the front door banged open and two men spilled into the café, jabbering excitedly between them. In their mid-twenties, one with copper-colored hair, the other brown, they quickly claimed spots at the bar.

In no time, the three men who’d been discussing Amos Cater were glued to the newcomers’ every word. The one with copper-colored hair gestured animatedly with his hands, talking rapidly. Eve overheard “Mothman” and “TNT.”

“What do you think that’s about?” she asked Caden.

“I don’t know, but I intend to find out. Hey, Duncan—over here.” He motioned to the young man with red hair, waving him to their table. Without hesitation, the man bounded to Caden’s side, his face ruddy from excitement.

“What’s going on?” Caden asked.

“You ain’t heard?” Duncan ping-ponged a glance between Caden and Eve. “Me and Donnie were out at the TNT. Wanted to try some fishing. Thought maybe we’d hook into a giant mutant fish with all the talk about contaminants and a Superfund site. You know…screwed up genetic shit the government wants to keep off the radar.” He talked swiftly, gulping air.

Something definitely had him rattled. Eve bit her lip. The US Government was mired in the mysteries and legends of Point Pleasant every bit as much as the Mothman, Chief Cornstalk, and the countless UFOs once rumored to haunt the area. Some people even believed the Mothman was an alien brought to Earth by a government experiment gone haywire. Secretive “men in black” had frequently haunted the streets of Point Pleasant after the Mothman first appeared, but they’d vanished as mysteriously as the TNT’s infamous bird once the Silver Bridge fell.

“What did you find?” Caden titled his head, skepticism in his gaze. “A two-headed fish?”

“Hell, no!” Duncan’s voice lurched up an octave, cracking with enthusiasm. “We saw the Mothman.”

Caden blanched. “What?”

Duncan nodded empathically. “Donnie saw it, too. We were about to call it quits. Headed back to the car. Wanted to grab a beer in here, you know? Then we heard it…kinda like, I don’t know…a windstorm or something. There was a funny buzzing in my head. I looked back and saw it coming straight at us with those glowing red eyes. Thought I’d shit myself.”

“Maybe some kind of big bird, huh?” Caden ventured, his voice strained.

“No way.” Duncan gave another vigorous shake of his head. “It flew over us and disappeared into the trees. Once we got our act together, Donnie and I tried to track it, but we couldn’t find anything. I’m telling you, Caden, the Mothman is back.” With a triumphant grin, Duncan smacked his hand on the tabletop, then quickly bounded back to the bar where Donnie was still engrossed in sharing their story.

“Great.” Caden rubbed his eyes. “Just what we need. Sheriff Weston and Ryan already have their hands full looking for Amos Carter’s killer. Now they’re going to have every lunatic with a gun scouring the TNT like they did in ’66.”

“You really don’t think people will take them seriously?” Eve asked.

“With enough enthusiasm and stupidity, there’ll be plenty of takers.”

Betty returned with their drinks—beer for Caden, white wine for Eve—and asked if they were ready to order. After writing down their selections, she gathered up the menus with a shake of her head. “I guess you heard all that fuss Duncan and Donnie Bradley are making.”

“You don’t believe it?” Eve asked.

“Honey, I wouldn’t believe those two if they said President Reagan was handing out free cash to any bum with a wallet.” A fiftyish woman who’d worked at the café when Eve was a little girl, Betty tucked her order pad into the pocket of her apron with familiar ease. “I remember when they said Tom Park’s dog got mangled fighting off some kind of an ape-creature. Turns out the poor thing blundered into a barbed wire fence. Anyway…” She smiled. “Welcome back to Point Pleasant.”

Caden gave a weary exhale as she moved away. “I bet you didn’t have UFOs, Mothmen, and ape-creatures in Harrisburg.”

“I’m afraid the best we can manage is the Susquehanna River, but it doesn’t even have a water monster.” She took a sip of her wine. At the bar, Duncan and Donnie were still carrying on about their experience in the TNT. She’d actually missed that kind of hokeyness—the chatter and gossip spun from campfire legends and faded folklore. As fun and silly as it could be, she hoped any new rumors of the Mothman wouldn’t cause problems for Ryan. And there was nothing remotely hokey about Amos Carter’s murder.

After that they reminisced about events from childhood—watching boat launchings at Bruce Mechanical, visiting the soda bar at G. C. Murphy’s, how they’d liked or disliked a particular teacher from school. The topics were general, what Eve considered safe. There was no mention of the Silver Bridge, Maggie, or Caden’s mother. He avoided talking about why he’d left the police force, and she didn’t press, sensing he preferred to keep the conversation light.