A Thousand Yesteryears (4 page)

“You’ve got a lot on you,” Ryan conceded. “Half of the businesses on Main Street were forced to close.”

“But the hotel survived.”

“Along with the Crowne Theater. At least for now. Your aunt saw to the hotel’s prosperity. The Parrish name still has enough clout to draw visitors from neighboring states.”

She nodded and laced her hands on her lap. “I’ll look into it tomorrow.” Wrapping her head around the house was enough for the day. Suddenly, she didn’t want to think about the past or the pressing matters looming over her head. She simply wanted to bask in the warmth of seeing an old friend. “Thanks for bringing the vandalism report. I never would have pegged you as a cop. You always got into so much trouble as a kid.”

He laughed. “Odd how things turn out. What about you? Did you marry?”

“No.”

“I didn’t either. No luck yet, or just not ready to settle down. I can’t figure out which.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” He’d always been a free spirit, much like Rosie, playful and prone to trouble. “What about Caden?” She hoped the query appeared as nothing more than the innocent probing of an old friend trying to catch up on the present. Her heart gave a little flutter when she thought of him. Amazing her long-buried attraction was still there.

“Caden’s single, too.” Ryan shook his head. “He’ll probably end up an old man living alone unless he moves past his guilt.”

“What do you mean?”

Ryan waved a hand as if brushing away the thought. “He hasn’t forgiven himself for taking Maggie shopping that night. Most of us have moved on. Caden hasn’t.”

She thought of herself, her mother. Their world had come to a crashing halt that cold December night when her father’s car fell into the Ohio River. And yet somehow they’d rummaged up the strength to continue. It had taken uprooting, leaving the shadow of the disaster behind in Point Pleasant, but somehow her mother had managed to put the pieces together for herself and her twelve-year-old daughter. Eventually, her mother had remarried, and Eve found herself with a stepfather. As much as she loved the man, part of her understood Caden’s refusal to relinquish the past.

“What about your parents?” She couldn’t help venturing the question given the odd discussion she’d had with Mrs. Flynn. Should she tell Ryan what his mother had said about Maggie…talking about her as if she were still alive?

He shrugged, and she sensed his reluctance. “My father passed away a few years ago.”

“I’m so sorry.” She had fond memories of Mr. Flynn.

“It was his lungs. All those years spent working in a coal mine finally caught up with him.”

“What about your mother?”

“She’s accepted his death, but Maggie’s…” Again a shrug that said far more than words. “A part of her died when that bridge went down.”

Eve bit her lip. She could understand Mrs. Flynn’s pain.

“Most of the time she’s okay,” Ryan continued. “But other times, she retreats into the past and insists Maggie is still alive. She talks about her as if they share discussions. It’s the reason I still live at home…to take care of her. She can be a handful when she’s in the past.”

Eve wasn’t sure what to say. So much tragedy had happened when the Silver Bridge collapsed. The town had suffered, but more than that, the populace had crumpled under the blow of individual losses. Fifteen years later, splinters of that residual pain reached far and wide.

“I’m sorry.” There were no words for the loss or the choking reach of its tentacles.

“We do the best we can.” As if deciding he’d had enough gloom, Ryan stood. “It’s good to have you back, Eve, even if only for a short while. I’ll tell Caden to drop by tomorrow morning.”

She walked him to the door, thankful to have encountered a familiar face. It had been a stroke of luck to learn Caden was a contractor. It would save her the trouble of looking for someone to do the repairs and speed the sale of the house that much more quickly.

“What about Sarah?” she asked as he stepped onto the front porch. Eve stayed inside on the threshold, a breeze scuttling past her like an uninvited guest. “Does she still live in town?”

He nodded. “She works in the records division at the courthouse. We had a bad situation there several years back. I’m not sure if Rosie told you about the bomb blast.”

She had. A suicidal ex-convict had forced his way inside with a shotgun and a homemade explosive device. Despite attempts at negotiation, the bomber had leveled the entire first floor, killing three and injuring six others. After hearing about it, Eve had called her aunt to make sure she was safe.

“Another tragedy in a town plagued by them,”
Aunt Rosie had said.
“
Fools around here are saying it’s the curse of Cornstalk come to blight us again.”

“I saw it on the news when it happened,” Eve told Ryan. At the time, she’d wondered if it was in some way connected to the Mothman. She didn’t believe in the curse of Cornstalk, an Indian chief who’d been murdered in the days preceding the American Revolution. Local legend said he’d cursed the town with his dying breath. You couldn’t grow up in Point Pleasant without having the shadow of that legend leech into every event that took place.

“Sarah wasn’t hurt, was she?” Cold fear gripped her stomach as she thought of her childhood friend.

“No, she wasn’t working then, but we lost a lot of good people. Strange how things keep happening in this town.” He raised a hand in farewell. “Stay in touch, Eve. Don’t leave without saying goodbye.”

She stayed at the door, closing it only after he’d driven off in his police cruiser. The emptiness of the house settled over her with a marked hush, and she wondered how Aunt Rosie had managed living there on her own for so many years. Then again, like the hotel, the house was part of Parrish history.

* * * *

A loud bang woke her from a sound sleep.

Eve sat bolt upright in bed, panic spiking through her chest. The unfamiliar surroundings made her inhale sharply until she remembered where she was. Wind rattled the rafters, sending creaks and groans through the old house. After a trip to the grocery store and a phone call to her mother, she’d spent the remainder of the day sorting through the mess the vandals had left. She’d concentrated on Aunt Rosie’s bedroom, wanting to clean up the violation as if the destruction had been a personal affront to her aunt. Dinner had been a can of soup heated on the stove, after which she’d taken a shower and collapsed into bed. Whether it was the emotional toll of returning home after fifteen years or the long hours she’d spent cleaning and disinfecting to erase every last trace of the vandals, she’d fallen asleep easily.

A glance at the bedside clock told her it was after two in the morning. Another bang reverberated through the upstairs hallway.

Easing from bed, she slipped on her robe and padded to the bedroom door. Hesitating, she wrapped her fingers around the doorknob, straining to hear. Her heart pumped a frenzied beat as she debated switching on a light. Part of her wanted to call the police. She feared the vandals may have returned, but knew she’d looked foolish if the noise turned out to be something trivial. Maybe a stray animal had found its way inside through the broken kitchen door.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The noise came again, steady and in sync, like someone pounding on a wall.

Not an animal.

Whatever the cause, it originated in Aunt Rosie’s room. Deciding she had no choice but to investigate, Eve eased open the door and crept down the darkened hall to her aunt’s bedroom. As she neared, the sound stopped, then started again. The frantic flutter of her heart had her gulping down fear as she peered into the room. By then, her eyesight had grown accustomed to the dark, allowing her to pick out shapes easily. A full moon splashed pale light through the rear window, sketching elaborate shadows on the ceiling and floor. One separated from the rest, moved, then fell back into place.

Bang. Bang.

Relieved, Eve released a pent-up breath. Just a loose shutter caught in the wind. She crossed to the window and opened it wide, a light breeze beading goose bumps down her arm. Feeling for the shutter, she pushed it in place, uncertain if the effort would secure it temporarily. It would have to do for the night. Tomorrow, she’d add it to the list of items she intended to broach with Caden. At least whoever had vandalized the house hadn’t returned for a second round.

As she closed the window and stepped back from the curtains, her gaze was drawn by movement in the rear yard where her aunt’s property ceded to a tree line. If not for the bright wash of moonlight, she might have missed it entirely. A shadow broke from the others, then flowed into the trees. A shadow that had been standing, watching the house. One that had likely seen her in the window.

Eve swallowed hard.

A shadow shaped like a man.

It was hard sleeping after the disturbance. She tossed restlessly for the remainder of the night, dreaming of Aunt Rosie and Maggie when she was fortunate enough to drift off for brief periods. She had the strange sensation both wanted to tell her something, but each time they faded like mist.

When Caden arrived shortly after eight, she was on her third cup of coffee and jittery from a caffeine high. One cup was usually her limit before switching to decaf, a regime she should have stuck with that morning.

The man who stood on her doorstep looked nothing like the lanky eighteen-year-old she remembered. That Caden had been brash and daring to her twelve-year-old eyes. A free spirit who played guitar and took risks, like drag racing at the TNT or climbing the trestles of the K&M Railway Bridge. He and his friends had once seemed like demi-gods, hanging at the theater, smoking, doing all the things the cool kids did. In her schoolgirl mind, she’d envisioned him part knight, part gypsy pirate.

“Eve?” He smiled hesitantly, his gray eyes crinkling at the corners. His hair was the same coal black as Ryan’s, but thick and straighter with a loose scatter of bangs. Every bit as tall as she remembered, he towered over her by a good six inches, his body lean and toned like a track athlete. “You look different.” He offered his hand.

“So do you.” Different but good. Good enough to be distracting. She shook his hand and invited him inside, feeling a bit like a twelve-year old girl crushing on a boy out of her league. “I guess Ryan told you about the vandalism.”

“I knew about it—the whole town did—but I haven’t been inside.” He carried a metal case the size of a clipboard, the kind she’d often seen tradesmen use. He placed a piece of paper on top, then slid a pen from the back pocket of his jeans. “Do you want to point things out, or do you want me to do a walk through and give you an idea of what I think should be done?”

Straight to business, no small talk. That was interesting. “A walk-through sounds fine. Would you like some coffee?”

“No, thanks. I’ll start upstairs if that’s okay with you.”

She watched him disappear up the steps, surprised by his reserve. Such a change from the boy who’d frequently teased Maggie and indulged his little sister. In school he’d talked about moving to LA, trying to make a go of it with his music. She’d heard him sing solo several times, usually at church, but once at a festival the summer before the bridge collapsed. It was amazing how she still measured time in Point Pleasant as before the bridge fell and after. It was simply the way of things.

In the summer of ’67, Caden and a few friends had put together a makeshift band for a short performance at the fairgrounds. If she hadn’t already had a horrible crush on him, hearing him sing to an audience would have been enough to seal her fate. She was certain every teen and preteen girl within hearing distance had fallen instantly in love with him. She’d gone home that night dreaming of a future where he moved away and became famous, then returned to Point Pleasant after she’d graduated high school. Within days, he’d fallen in love with her, declaring she was more important than fame and music, and he couldn’t live without her.

Such schoolgirl silliness.

But her heart had done a little pitter-patter at seeing him again.

An hour later, she and Caden sat at the dining room table, just as she had done with Ryan, and he went over the list of suggested repairs.

“Some of the items are obvious.” He slid the paper across the table for her to take a look. “Plaster repair and painting, the damage to the screened porch and kitchen door, but there are some others you might not have noticed.”

“Such as?” Eve glanced down the list, a sinking sensation eating at her stomach. It wasn’t the financial setback that would hurt as much as the time involved. Aunt Rosie’s estate had been considerable, even if a good portion was currently tied up in equity. The biggest problem was she didn’t want the estate hanging over her head.

“Some of the wiring has been exposed in the dark room. If I’m ripping out walls, that should be reworked and brought up to code. And the chemical spills have eaten through the finish on the hardwood floor by the closet. If your intent is to sell, you can market ‘as is’ or fix the items I’m suggesting and hope for a boost in resale value. I’ll have to subcontract the electrical.”

“You sound like you know what you’re talking about.”

He shrugged and stretched in the chair. “I’ve got a Realtor who calls me frequently when he needs repair work done on a client listing.”

Another connection that would save time. “Can I get his name?”

“Sure thing. I thought you might be interested and brought a card just in case.” He slipped it from the front pocket of his jeans and passed it across the table.

Eve glanced at the embossed gold letters:
James Dixon, River Real Estate.
“I’ll call him.” She wanted the house sold as quickly as possible. “Can you give me an idea what the repairs are going to set me back?”

“I’ll work up an estimate and drop it off tomorrow. I’ll break it out by item. That way if you don’t want to do everything I suggest, you don’t have to.”

“That sounds fair. When do you think you can start?”

“Depending on what you decide, I’ll probably have to pick up supplies, possibly order some lumber, but there are a number of things I can get started on right away.” He shook his head. “Odd how most of the damage was to the dark room and your aunt’s bedroom.”