Shadows of the Past (Logan Point Book #1): A Novel (23 page)

His wallet, with his ID. He hadn’t seen it in his room. He tiptoed across to where Nick slept and searched, finding it in the drawer with his brother’s socks. Now to make it down the stairs without running into anyone, especially Kate.
“God loves you.
He will
forgive you.”
Her words rang in his ears. Scott wished he could believe that.

At the bottom of the steps, he paused. Snoring came from the room across from the stairs. Scott peeked inside. The old man who’d babysat him this morning laid stretched out in a recliner, his mouth half-opened, dead to the world. Scott zeroed in on a half pint of whiskey on the desk in the corner. Scott licked his lips. He hesitated. The old man—Charlie—had been kind to him. His glance slid to a shelf above the desk, and he caught his breath. A Ford key ring with two keys dangled from a peg.
Yes!

Charlie shifted in the recliner, and Scott froze, waiting for the snoring to resume. Finally, it did and he lifted the keys, then turned toward the door. He took two steps before the whiskey won, and he turned around, grabbing the bottle. The old man had never even opened it. Three twenties caught his eye in the open drawer below the bottle, and he stuffed them in his pocket.

A dart from his conscience pricked his heart. He’d liked the old man and his stories about being a merchant seaman. And Charlie hadn’t tried to make him eat. Scott fished one of the twenties from his pocket. He hated to take it all. But what if he needed it?
Wait.
It had to be after the first of the month, and he had money in the bank. The twenty went back in his pocket. He’d stop at an ATM in Memphis and withdraw some money—enough to pay the old man back. He eased the drawer a little wider. His hand froze as a .22 caliber pistol came into sight. A gun might come
in handy. He stuck it in the waistband of his jeans and slipped out of the room.

Heat blasted his face as he stepped out the kitchen door, stealing his breath. Scott scanned the drive then the parking area in front of what looked like some sort of shop. Where was the old man’s truck? No way could he get away from here without wheels. Then he spied a seventies model Ford pickup pulled beside the house. He was in business.

N
ick slowed in front of Oak Grove, and Taylor tensed. “Why are we stopping? I told you I didn’t want to stop here.”

Her anxiety grew as he turned into the lane beside the old home place.

“I know, but let’s talk about it.” He parked the truck under a tree. “This place causes you nightmares. It’s connected in some way with your dad. And it frightens you.”

“But—”

Nick held up his hand. “You know that’s true or you wouldn’t have a problem exploring the place. So what about it scares you?”

Taylor licked her lips. “I . . . don’t know.”

She turned and stared at the empty house. What
was
she afraid of? That she had seen something she shouldn’t have . . . perhaps the woman her father had danced with?

“You won’t be by yourself.” Nick’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Whatever is in there, we can face together.”

Taylor swallowed. “Okay.”

The musty scent of old wood greeted them as they stepped into the foyer.

“Hey, this is just like your mom’s house,” Nick said.

“Only bigger. The living room and dining room were here.” She pointed to the rooms to their left. “And over here”—Taylor’s shoes
made hollow echoing sounds as she walked across the hall—“was the library. Granna’s bedroom was down the hall.”

“How long has the house been empty?”

She tried to remember. Granna moved in with them a few months before her dad left. Jonathan moved out afterwards. “Almost twenty years.”

“It’s still in pretty good shape. And it’s cool in here,” Nick said. “Must be the high ceilings and trees.”

They wandered down the hallway that divided the house, and Taylor halted at the basement door. A shiver ran down her spine. The door in her dreams. With her stomach churning, she touched the glass doorknob.
Don’t go down there.
The voice from her dreams.

An invisible band squeezed her chest, cutting off her air. Nick said something, but the beat of her heart drowned out his words. Tremors shook her body. With the walls closing in, she slid to the floor and wrapped her arms around her stomach.

“Taylor, it’s all right.” Nick’s body warmed her as he knelt and drew her into his arms. “You’re safe. Everything will be okay. Look into my eyes. It’s Nick.”

His voice penetrated the fog in her head, soothing her jagged nerves. Slowly, she raised her eyes. “Nick?”

“Breathe. Slow and easy.”

“What happened? What am I doing on the floor?”

“I don’t know. You freaked out.”

The basement . . . the nightmares. She couldn’t live this way. “Help me up. I . . . I have to face this.”

“I don’t think so. We’ll come back another time.”

“No!” She pulled away from Nick and climbed to her feet. “Help me do this.”

“Are you sure?”

No, she wasn’t sure. Taylor swallowed, trying to wet her parched throat. With a deep breath, she twisted the doorknob.

Silently, it swung open, and Taylor peered down the pitch-black
steps, her heart still hammering against her ribs. A silver Maglite hung on the wall. Another breath, then she slipped the flashlight from its hook and flicked it on. Light arced into the darkness.

“Let me hold it, and you grab that rail there,” Nick said, pointing to the narrow banister along the wall.

Halfway down, the skin on the back of her neck prickled. Her fingers curled tighter around the rail as stale, dank air filled her nostrils, and she tried not to hyperventilate. Nick shined the light ahead of her, and briefly it reflected something shiny at the bottom of the steps. “What’s that?”

“Where?”

“There.” They stepped onto the basement floor, and she guided the light to where she’d seen the sparkle. Something was caught between the bracing and the step
.

Taylor bent and cautiously ran her finger along the dried-out crack between the step and brace. A metal ring? Yes. And it was attached to a smooth metal object. She tugged on the loop, but it wouldn’t budge. Taylor traced her index finger around a barely visible double curve. Her heart caught in her throat.

Could it be her necklace? Taylor broke her nail as she dug furiously in the wood around the metal. She pulled on the object again, and it shifted.

“Let me help you.” Nick put his weight against the bracing.

“Wait,” she said as the pendant slipped deeper in the crack, leaving only the loop visible. She grasped the loop. “Now.”

Nick pushed, and slowly she inched the pendant upward until it was free.

Transfixed, Taylor stared at the small object in her hand. “Taylor” was inscribed on one side
.
She turned it over. “Love always, Daddy.”

The relentless drumbeat of her pulse pounded in her temples. Taylor’s fingers closed over the gold heart, and she clasped it to her chest, remembering when her dad had fastened it around her neck, his fingers clumsy on the tiny clasp.

She recalled looking for him so they could go to the airport. Where did he go? She remembered. To the basement to find Jonathan. And she came down here to tell him she was ready . . .

The stairs were dark. She clutched the heart so tightly the chain broke in her fingers. Then she saw him. Her daddy stood in front of the pool table, his back to her. Daddy! His name froze in her throat. Someone was with him, and they were dancing. Impressions of red hair and flowing clothes flashed through her mind. Who was she?

Taylor slipped behind the stairs, crouching in the shadows. Where was her necklace? It’d been wrapped in her fingers, and now it was gone. Shouting distracted her.

“You can’t—”

“You’re not stopping me!” Her dad’s voice.

She cringed and slapped her hands over her ears.

“Taylor! Are you okay?”

Nick’s voice snapped her to the present. Slowly he came into focus, and her gaze dropped to the pendant in her hand.

“I . . . I was here that day. My dad argued with someone. Whoever it was tried to keep him from leaving.”

“Do you remember who it was?”

She shook her head. “I . . . think it was the woman I see in my dreams sometimes.” She stared at Nick. “I don’t want to think it, but he must have been having an affair. Maybe he saw me hiding behind the stairs and knew he’d been caught.”

“What else do you remember?” Nick asked.

Taylor tried to pull the memory out. “There was a pool table here, and Dad stood beside it with his back to me. There was a woman with him. They were dancing . . . no, arguing . . . no . . .” She shook her head. “I don’t know what they were doing or who she was.”

She turned toward the steps. “I hid here, behind the steps,” she said, pointing to the open stairway. “Even with a light on, this corner is dark.”

“Did anyone see you?” Nick asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“What did the other person look like?”

Taylor stared where the pool table had been that day. She could almost see the other person. Red hair, loose clothes, then the image disappeared, replaced by someone sitting at the desk that had been beyond the pool table. Was it the same person? Then the memory was gone, leaving only the empty basement. She flicked the light around the room. Nothing but concrete walls, the old fireplace that had been sealed for no telling how long, cobwebs, dust, and the door to the tunnels. Nothing that would unlock her memory.

Nick walked to the door near the back of the basement. “Where does this lead to?”

“The tunnels.”

“As in passageways?”

She nodded. “Oak Grove was a station on the Underground Railroad, and the tunnels were built to smuggle slaves to the caves near the bluffs, where they could rest for the next leg of their journey. Then they would make their way to the boathouse down at the lake under cover of darkness and be loaded into small boats that carried them to the river and on up North.”

“Same boathouse we were just at?” He slapped his forehead. “Sorry, stupid question.”

“Yeah. There are a lot of boathouses on the lake,” she said with a grin as her cell phone chirped, startling her. She dug it from her pocket and checked the ID. “It’s Livy,” she said and answered. “What’s up?”

“Remember the woman who was murdered the other day? The feds have called everyone in on the case, and I mentioned you to the agent in charge. He’d like you to sit in on the meeting. How about it?”

“What time?” Taylor was both honored and amazed at the invitation.

“In forty-five minutes.”

“Just a sec, Livy.” Could she make it to Memphis that quickly? She covered the phone and looked over at Nick.

“Do you need to get going?” he asked.

Taylor explained to him about the FBI meeting, and he said he would hurry her home.

She nodded and spoke to Livy again. “I’ll try to be there by the time the meeting starts.”

After she hung up, they climbed the stairs and hurried to the farm truck. “Will it be too late to talk with Scott when I get back?”

“Call me. I’ll see how he feels.”

They pulled onto the lane leading back to the house, and Nick turned to her. “So the FBI wants your input. Ever think about going to work for them?”

She shook her head. “I worked with them in Atlanta on the prostitute murders. I don’t think I can handle the violence an agent encounters day in and day out.”

“That would be hard.” As they neared the house he said, “Those tunnels. Do you think I could explore them? They’d make a great backdrop for a book.”

“Sure. Just don’t ask me to go with you.” She shivered. “I wouldn’t be able to breathe down there, but my mom might guide you. Jonathan said she explored every square inch.”

“I’ll talk to her about it one day next week. And tell Jonathan I’ll call him tomorrow about the land.”

They parked the farm truck beside Nick’s convertible and got out. Taylor smiled at him. “I hate to run, but . . .”

He brushed his knuckles across her cheek. “I understand. Just be careful.”

Her heart fluttered. “I’m sure I’ll be back before dark.”

Taylor turned and hurried toward the back door, pausing to watch as Nick drove away. She’d been right. He was a good man. One she could see herself trusting . . . maybe even loving. With a sigh, she stepped inside. Her mother and uncle sat at the kitchen table.

“I’m going to run into Memphis—” Her mom’s red, puffy eyes stopped her. “What’s wrong?”

Her mom pushed a Memphis newspaper toward Taylor. “This.”

Taylor’s heart sank as she read the headline.
“Cold Case Files—Man
Still Missing after 20 Years
.” A computer-generated image of her father showed how he would look today.

“Are you responsible for this?” Jonathan demanded.

“Of course not.” She scanned the article.

“We’ve gotten on with our lives.” The same thing Mom said yesterday.

She skipped down to a quote from Lieutenant Rob Wilson.

“At the time, Martin’s disappearance mystified me. Man just vanished. The case always nagged at me, and I think I know why now. One of these days I’m going to write a book, and this case will be in it.”

The reporter asked Wilson to share his solution, but the lieutenant declined. As she read on, she noted several references to her father’s charitable work, probably gleaned from the
Logan Point Tribune
archives at the library. That was one stop she could put at the bottom of her list. Had there been anything important in the archives, the reporter would have discovered it. She stared at the computer-generated photo. There was a strong resemblance to Jonathan.

“We weathered it before, we will again.” Steel rang in her mom’s voice.

“If someone else doesn’t keep it stirred up.” He crumpled the newspaper into a ball. “Enough of this. Did you and Nick look at the land?”

“That’s where I’ve been. He loved it, said he’d call you tomorrow. And on the way back, we stopped at the old house. Look what I found.” She fished the pendant from her pocket and held it out.

“The necklace your father gave you!” Her mom reached her hand out and grasped the gold heart.

Jonathan leaned forward. “Where did you find it?”

“Wedged into the bottom step in the basement. The flashlight beam caught it.” Taylor slipped the pendant in her pocket, and a memory surfaced. A birthday party, Jonathan dressed as a clown juggling balls, wild yellow hair. “You . . .” She swallowed. “You were a clown.”

He frowned. “For a while.”

Was her uncle the clown in her dreams? “I remember now. My ninth birthday party. You scared me.”

“You scared
me.
I was juggling and you started screaming and shaking. I didn’t know what was wrong, but after I changed out of the costume, you calmed down. And I never put it on around you again.”

“I remember that,” her mom said.

“I still don’t like clowns.” Taylor checked her watch. “I need to get going, but I hope to be home before dark.”

“Be sure you do that,” her mom said. “Storms are predicted for later this evening.”

Nick parked under the oak tree beside the bed and breakfast, his heart aching to help Taylor. Someone out there wanted to hurt her, and she took unnecessary risks, trusted in herself a little too much. Just like Angie. He pushed away the thought, but it would not stay away.