Shadows of the Past (Logan Point Book #1): A Novel (9 page)

Taylor brushed her regrets away and quickly unpacked, then descended the stairs in search of her mother. When she wasn’t in the kitchen or her office, Taylor backtracked to the library. Empty as well. As she turned to leave, the Baldwin piano in the corner
caught her eye. The torturous hours she’d spent on that bench, but she had learned to play. She flipped the lid up and ran her fingers over the keys. Someone kept it tuned.

Automatically, her fingers picked out the notes to “Chopsticks,” probably the first song she had learned. She pulled the bench out and sat behind the piano.

“Play ‘Summertime’ for me,” her mom said from the doorway.

“I don’t know. I’m rusty.” As her mom entered the room and sat on the arm of a chair by the piano, Taylor started the slow melody, wincing when pain shot down her left arm, and she hit the wrong note. “I’m better at this.” With a laugh she plunked out “Chopsticks” again using only her right hand.

Her mom laughed with her. “You should practice more. What’s wrong with your arm?”

Mom missed nothing. Taylor massaged her arm, rolling it around in the socket. “I ran into something, bruised my shoulder.”

It wasn’t a lie. She had run into a pipe, but she wasn’t about to tell her mom an intruder had been attached to the other end. The grandfather clock in the foyer chimed, and Taylor checked her watch. Seven o’clock, but only five in Newton.

“How about a sandwich?” her mom asked. “I thought we’d have a light supper tonight and wait until tomorrow night for your welcome home dinner when everyone will be here . . . except Abby, of course. She’ll be home Saturday.”

“Sounds good.” Taylor followed her mom toward the kitchen.

That night Taylor stood at her bedroom window. The sandwich had turned into more than a light meal with fruit and cheese, chips, and finally, white chocolate brownies. Mom had only brought up moving back home once, but Taylor knew it had been only the first volley in her campaign to get Taylor home for good. Like that was going to happen. She was happy in Newton.

In the distance, a giant moon rose over Oak Grove, casting an
eerie light on the old homestead and the ancient oaks. Not exactly the best image to imprint on her mind just before going to sleep.

Was her tree house still nestled in the big limbs of the sprawling oak beside the house? Maybe tomorrow she’d go see. That’d be a nice respite from what she expected to be a tumultuous day with Chase and her uncle. At least she’d been spared that today with Chase gone and her uncle tied up with mowing. In fact, she’d only seen Jonathan long enough to give him a quick hug.

A light appeared below the tree. It moved, bouncing against the dark, and Taylor followed it until it disappeared around the back of the house. Maybe it was Jonathan. She grabbed her cell phone and called her uncle. After seven rings, she hung up.

Taylor stared out the window again. No light. No movement.

Just an old house standing in the moonlight like a sleeping dragon.

A
new day, new possibilities. Or another brick wall. The revisions had been the only thing Nick had accomplished yesterday. Heat waves shimmered up from the concrete as he exited the parking garage near Trask’s downtown office and walked the block to the attorney’s building. Automatically, he avoided the cracks in the sidewalk, which was about as useless as his search yesterday.

He’d found the pay phones, but they weren’t located in an area where people readily answered questions. Especially if the questioner was looking for someone. His options were running out. If Trask couldn’t, or wouldn’t, help him, he didn’t know where he’d turn next.

Nick entered the building through the glass door and paused to orient himself, trying to remember the location of Trask’s office. He spied a directory on the lobby wall beside the elevator. Trask was on the second floor next to Martin Accounting. Suite 208.

Trask’s secretary informed him the attorney had stepped out for a minute and asked him to take a seat. Nick opted to stand. Trask probably had him cooling his heels for payback—their history hadn’t always been cordial, and this meeting could go south fast.

While Trask had helped locate Scott when Angie died, Nick and Trask had exchanged sharp words a year earlier over the amount of
Scott’s allowance, and Nick’s opinion hadn’t changed—a sixteen-year-old shouldn’t have a thousand dollars a month for an allowance. Not a teen involved in alcohol and drugs.

Nick walked around the room, pausing in front of a framed newspaper clipping about the Battle of Antietam. More clippings were grouped on the same wall—Shiloh, Corinth, Vicksburg. The other three walls sported black-and-white portraits of Southern generals.

Eventually, the secretary ushered Nick into another office, where the motif continued. Nick gravitated toward a table where Trask had set up a battlefield, complete with soldiers, roads, fortifications, even a river. Nick read the markers. Buckland, Hornets’ Nest, Peach Orchard, Bloody Pond.
Shiloh
.

Trask entered from a side door. “Nick, sorry to keep you waiting.”

He had the kind of voice that could easily sway a jury. Compelling.

Nick shook the offered hand, noting the cut of Trask’s designer suit. It fit him perfectly, down to the sleeves that left enough cuff to show off expensive links. The lawyer took a seat behind the massive desk and motioned Nick to a wingback chair.

“How can I help you?”

Nick sat in the chair and leaned forward.“I need two things. I’m still trying to locate Scott, and—”

Trask held up his hand. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you there. When your brother turned eighteen, he made it plain I am not to share any information concerning him with you.”

“Would it make any difference if I told you he called me yesterday and wanted me to come get him? He just didn’t leave an address or phone number.”

“Personally, I would love to tell you, but he’s my client, and until he tells me differently, my hands are tied.”

Nick leaned back in the chair. Yep. Another brick wall.

“I tell you what I can do,” Trask said. “I’ll get a message to
him and ask permission to give you his current address and phone number.”

It looked like that was the best he was going to get. “I’d appreciate it.” He hesitated. “Have you seen my brother lately?”

Trask rubbed his jaw. “Unfortunately, we had a disagreement over an advance on his allowance. And after he’d been doing so well.”

“Are you saying Scott hit you?” Nick gripped the chair arms. What had happened to his little brother?

Trask leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the desk. “Let’s just say I’m staying on as his trustee right now because I had so much respect for his grandfather, and the fact that the trust ends next year. Although, if I get the appointment to the Tennessee Court of Criminal Appeals, that may change. I won’t be able to do that job and handle the case load I have now.”

“That’s right, I remember reading that you’re on the governor’s short list for that nomination. Congratulations.”

“Thank you. And while you’re here, I’d like to clarify something. I know you opposed the amount of money I initially sought for Scott.”

“My wife and I didn’t think he was old enough to handle that much money.”

“Your wife. I’m sorry about what happened.”

Nick acknowledged the condolences, and the attorney continued.

“Scott insisted that I ask for that much, and I went along with him because I knew the judge scheduled to hear the case would approve the amount and perhaps more. I feared, too, that Scott might hire another attorney, one who could have been disposed to break the trust. If that had happened, he could’ve received the entire trust.”

“Something he clearly doesn’t need,” Nick replied.

“I just wanted you to know,” Trask said. “And if you find your brother, get him back in rehab.”

“Get him back in rehab? What are you talking about?”

“He completed a ninety-day program last year. I thought he’d turned a corner, and I helped him get into a little university out in Washington State.”

“You’re the one who helped him get into Conway?”

Trask’s eyes narrowed. “You know about that?”

“That he attended, yes.”

“I don’t know what happened, but I know he’s drinking again.” Trask shuffled papers on his desk. “You mentioned two things you wanted to discuss with me.”

“Yes. I received a call yesterday from a Detective Olivia Reynolds. She indicated Scott was a person of interest in a murder case. He might need an attorney.”

“I see.” Ethan tapped his pen on his desk. “George Anthony is probably your best bet.”

“Thanks.” Nick checked his watch. “I’ll probably know more shortly—I’m on my way to the Criminal Justice Center to meet with her.” He stood and held out his hand.

“Before you go, come over and look at my toys.” Ethan walked toward the battle table. “Ever been to Shiloh?”

The attorney must be kidding. Every school kid within a hundred miles of the battlefield had been bussed there at least once. “A couple of times.”

“Every month or so I create a different battle from the Civil War, and I just finished this layout. It’s the Battle of Shiloh.” Ethan positioned two soldiers opposite each other, one in gray and the other in blue.

Why?
Nick caught the question before it spilled out of his mouth. But it must have shown in his face.

“You don’t approve of war games per se, or is it just the Civil War?” Ethan’s gray eyes seemed to be measuring him.

“The Civil War was not our finest hour,” Nick said. “As for war games, they’re just not my cup of tea.”

“I find playing them to be very stimulating. I’ve actually used
battles like those at Shiloh, Gettysburg . . . Antietam to work out courtroom tactics.”

“You’re kidding.” He wasn’t. “How?”

Ethan moved a Confederate soldier from a Union direct line of fire. “Both Grant and Lee were brilliant strategists. And in war games, you get into the mind of the opposing generals. Right now, I’m playing ‘what if’ at the Battle of Shiloh. What if General Johnson hadn’t been killed? What if Beauregard had not ordered his Confederate soldiers to cease firing with an hour of daylight remaining?” He cocked his head. “Sort of like what you do on paper.”

“You’ve read my books?”

The attorney nodded. “You have a knack for sucking me in on the first page, and I enjoy trying to guess who did it. Not that I have much luck. Especially with your last one
.
”

“Thank you.” His readership was broader than he’d imagined.

The steel-gray eyes measured him again. “So, when you get stuck, what do you do to spark your imagination?”

Nick considered his question. “I play Solitaire . . . and sometimes I play an online game of chess.”

“I suppose chess could be comparable to the war games.” Ethan smiled suddenly and held out his hand. “Let me know if you find Scott. I really did try to help your brother.”

Nick shook his hand. “I will, and thank you again for your time.”

It had been a long morning of working through the tasks she’d brought with her to complete. Seated at her bedroom writing table with her laptop, Taylor entered another grade into the system, pausing only as her cell phone rang. Livy. She really needed to assign her friend a special ringtone. The theme from
Dragnet
maybe.

“I don’t think I’ll make it to Memphis this morning to help you look for Dad’s file,” she said instead of the customary hello.

Livy chuckled. “Since it’s ten o’clock, I don’t think you will either. What happened?”

“The university’s website crashed last night and wiped out all the grades I had posted. I’m reentering them.”

It didn’t surprise her that the site had crashed. Lately her internet connection at the university had been slower than dial-up. “My new plan is to be in your office by two. That’s if another disaster doesn’t hit.”

“Good. Autopsy report came in on Ross, and I’ve pulled a report together—crime scene photos, statements, known associates, his rap sheet. If you don’t make it, I’m coming to Logan Point this afternoon. Aunt Kate called and wants me to come for supper tonight. I’ll drop it by then.”

“I’d still like to get started on my search.” Taylor stood and stretched, then walked to the window, where a light breeze billowed the curtains into the room, bringing in the sweet scent of wisteria growing on the trellis beside the house. She caught sight of her uncle near the barn, doing something in the bed of his truck.

“Wear something cool. The air-conditioning is out on this floor, and they may not get it fixed right away,” Livy said. “How was the homecoming yesterday?”

Taylor slid the gauzy curtain material through her hand. “Quiet. Abby is away at camp until Saturday, I saw Jonathan briefly, but he’ll be around since he’s taking off a few days, and Chase hasn’t made it back from his meeting. And Mom is . . . Mom, still plotting ways to get me back to Logan Point. How about you? Have you talked to Nick?”

“I did, and your friend has agreed to come by my office and answer a few questions about Scott. He should be here any minute.”

“He’s not my friend. Just someone I met recently. And I doubt he’s very happy about me giving you his cell number.”

Livy laughed. “You’re probably right about that. He just walked in the door, and he doesn’t look pleased. Call me before you come—just in case I get called out.”

Taylor agreed and slid her cell into her pocket. She’d like to be a
fly on the wall about now at the Criminal Justice Center. Or maybe not. Nick just might splat her against that wall.

An hour later, Taylor closed her laptop and stretched her shoulders. Finished entering grades, at least. She hoped the website didn’t crash again. The rich aroma of cinnamon wafted through her open door, making her mouth water. She followed her nose to the kitchen and peeked in the oven. Apple pie, her mom’s specialty. She wandered outside and found her mother in her herb garden.

“There you are,” said Taylor.

“I figured you’d find me. I needed rosemary for the potatoes tonight.” Her mother tucked the herb in her apron, but not before Taylor caught a whiff of its pungent aroma.

“Roasted potatoes?” Her mouth watered.

“And braised tenderloin and sautéed green beans.”

All her favorites. A soft nicker drew her attention, and she looked toward the corral. A sorrel mare stood at the white fence, and behind her a colt pranced in the paddock. “Scarlet?”

“Yep, with her newest addition. Why don’t you go see them while I finish making lunch?”

“I’ll help.”

“Not today. After you visit Scarlet, get reacquainted with the farm. You might even find Jonathan at the tractor shed.”

The horse nickered again as she approached. Was it possible the mare remembered being bottle-fed by Taylor as a foal after her mother died? More likely she was expecting a treat.

“Hello, girl. I see you’ve done well for yourself.” She rubbed the mare’s forehead, and Scarlet nuzzled her arm. Taylor laughed. “Sorry, no sugar cubes.”

The colt trotted toward them, but when Taylor reached out her hand, he snorted and cavorted off. She stroked Scarlet’s head again. “Someone needs to teach your boy some manners.”

“Want the job? You were good at it once.”

Taylor turned, and Chase caught her up in a bear hug. “Welcome home.”

She held him tight. “You’re back early!”

“Just for you.”

She hugged him again. “Let me look at you.”

He’d lost weight since she saw him a year ago in Newton. Dark circles under his eyes emphasized the gauntness. Chase, the one who’d always held it together for Taylor, wore brittleness like a cloak.

An ache the size of Texas weighted her heart. She should have known, should have been able to tell in his voice when she talked to him. She managed a shaky smile. “You’re too thin. Everything okay?”

He eyed her and shrugged. “Finding a way to keep Jonathan from selling the land will help.”

“Yes, the land.” Her shoulders sagged.

“Taylor, don’t tell me you’re taking Jonathan’s side.”

“Goodness no! I just dread opposing him.”

Chase’s jaw shot forward. “That’s why I wanted you to come home. With all three of us standing firm, he’ll have to listen.”