The Hall of Shadows

by M. L. Bullock

  “Yeah, but you don’t miss me. Do you?”

  Now why did he have to go and ask me that? We were getting along so well.

  “I miss your coffee and your organization skills. You should see my desk, Mr. Wagner. You wouldn’t approve,” I joked, pretending that he hadn’t meant to get personal with me.

  “As long as you know where everything is, I guess that’s all that matters. Ciao, Megan. You will call me if you need anything, right?”

  “Yes. But I’m fine, Mr. Worrywart. Talk to you later.”

  “Bye, Megan.” And with that, he hung up. I put the phone back and breathed a sigh of relief. Now what was I doing? Oh yeah, reading this weird book. I picked up Vivian Kemal’s book and again felt the strange, tingly feeling that let me know something was wrong. Majorly wrong. I was just about to flip the book open when the phone rang again. I nearly jumped out of my chair. With a laugh I answered it, “What did you forget?” I assumed it had to be Alex. He was the only one who ever called me. The only one who cared, really. Except my ex-husband’s attorney. He’d called me this morning, and I quickly reminded him that if he had anything to say to me, he would have to say it to my attorney.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m trying to reach Megan Pressfield. Is this her?”

  “Um, may I ask who is calling?”

  “My name is Micah Todd. I’m a friend of Loretta Bradley. She gave me your telephone number.”

  I frowned at hearing that. Loretta knew how much my privacy meant to me. How dare she give my number out to anyone without asking me first? “How may I help you, Mr. Todd?”

  “Micah, please. I’ve got some information for you. Loretta said you were doing some research on Joanna Storm. I found some old photos that might interest you. I work for the Rockville Gazette. It’s a small paper, but it’s been around for a long time, so long that we have an entire floor dedicated to records. If you want to see the pictures, I’d be happy to show them to you. Or if it’s more convenient, I can scan them and send them.”

  “That’s so kind of you. Yes, please, I would like to see them. If you could scan them and email them to me, that would be great.” I gave him my email address but decided to dig a little deeper. Maybe he knew something I didn’t. I’d studied reams of folders, read books about Joanna, but for some reason I felt like I didn’t really know her. Although I guess I knew her better than most. I had been her at one time, at least for a little while.

  “Okay, I can do that. But at some point I’d love to talk to you about the book. You know, for the newspaper. Joanna Storm is kind of a big deal around here. People can’t get enough of her, even after all these years. It’s really strange how they never figured out where she went or what happened to her.”

  “Yeah, I think so too. So, you think she went somewhere?” I asked curiously.

  “She must have left. If someone as big as Joanna Storm had been killed or died in an accident, we would have found her body by now. Don’t you agree? There’s been no trace of her. She must have left Rockville and Morgan’s Rock. I can’t say that I blame her. She had a cult following, that’s for sure.”

  Very strange choice of words.

  My computer beeped to announce that I’d gotten an email. It was from Micah. I clicked on it and opened it up. There were five photographs and two articles. Some of the photos were pretty grainy but not so grainy that I couldn’t see who was in them. There was one with Danny Petit standing with Joanna outside the Palace Theater in Los Angeles. Must have been one of her opening nights. And here was a rare photo of Mother and Father. Rather, Joanna’s mother and father. More pictures of Joanna waving and smiling to photographers as she always loved doing, but the last photo… This was one I had never seen before.

  This photo was of Paden Kincaid and another woman. He was kissing her. Not chastely on the cheek either. He was kissing her, and she was kissing him. Clearly that was Paden with his shoulder-length blond hair, hair that was not the style then but suited him just fine. I’d felt it beneath my fingers during our countless lovemaking sessions. He was a few inches taller than her. She had her hair pulled back in an elegant bun, but I knew that profile. I knew it well.

  Paden Kincaid was kissing Vivian Kemal.

  “You know what, Micah? I think I have an opening for lunch. Do you have time today?”

  I heard papers shuffling around before the reporter answered me. “Of course. I’ll make time for you. Where would you like to meet?”

  “You name the place. I don’t know my way around too well yet.”

  “How about the Rainbow Grill? It’s on Petra Street, just two streets over from the library.”

  “Got it. I’ll see you there in an hour.”

  “Great. Bye!”

  He hung up and I cried my eyes out.

  Chapter Eight

  “Miss Pressfield?” A young man greeted me at the door. He had slightly unkempt hair, a hint of a cleft in his chin and soft brown eyes. Being a writer, I paid close attention to such details because, I lied to myself, it’s always better to create characters from people you know or meet. I didn’t know why, but I hadn’t expected him to be attractive. Weren’t newspaper reporters supposed to wear out-of-date suits and have a paunch? There you go again, Megan. Typecasting. Surely this wasn’t Micah Todd. He looked barely old enough to have a job much less be a reporter at a newspaper.

  “Yes, that’s me. Micah Todd?”

  “Guilty,” he replied with a smile.

  “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long,” I said politely.

  “No, I haven’t been here long. I’ve got a booth for us right by the window. Hope that’s okay. Or we could sit at the bar if you prefer.”

  “A booth will be fine.” I followed him to an out-of-the-way corner and took a seat facing away from the door. I’d never been to the Rainbow Grill before, but it looked much like any other hole-in-the-wall restaurant. Vintage road signs were nailed to the wall, as well as a few dozen license plates. I didn’t see one rainbow anywhere. Hmm…must be quite a story behind the name. I was sure like many small-town grills, this one had a unique backstory, but right now the only story I wanted to hear involved that picture of Paden and Vivian. I’d printed a copy and had it in my purse right now. I was tempted to bring it out and slap it on the table before demanding how in heaven’s name he got it.

  The waitress wasted no time hustling to our table. That didn’t surprise me; there were just two other customers, and they were sitting together on the other side of the narrow dining room. “Hey, Micah. Want a soda or something? I know you ain’t drinking. You’re on the clock, right?”

  “A soda would be perfect. What about you, Miss…I mean, Megan?”

  “I’ll take water, please.”

  “Sure thing. The menu is on the wall right there. Let me know if you have any questions.”

  As soon as she left us, I breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks for not outing me. I prefer to keep as low a profile as I can.”

  “I gathered as much from Loretta. She told me that you liked your privacy. I respect that, and I can certainly understand it. I read about what happened with that Jameson guy. Can’t believe anyone would do such a thing. People never cease to amaze me.”

  My hair prickled up at hearing that name. Why would he bring that up? An awkward silence passed between us, and I pretended to study the menu for a few seconds before I asked, “Reporters don’t drink on the job? I’ve known a few. I don’t think they all follow that rule, Mr. Todd.”

  Micah smiled and shook his head. “It’s Micah, and I’m also a sheriff’s deputy. But only part-time. There isn’t a big demand for law enforcement here in Rockville. Except during Spring Break. You wouldn’t believe how crazy it gets on the panhandle.”

  “I bet. You have beautiful beaches here, that’s for sure. I bet those summer newspaper reports are just terrible.” I smiled playfully. I could very well see handsome Micah Todd hanging out with all the pretty Spring Breakers.

  Micah’s smile faded a bi
t, but he shook his head. “The newspaper is a family business. My father was editor-in-chief for decades before he passed away. I’ll be full-time law enforcement come fall, once I find my replacement at the paper. I don’t want to run it, but I can’t just close shop.”

  “Oh,” I said. “You’re the editor?”

  “Try not to sound so impressed,” he said with a smile. “We only publish once a week, so there isn’t much to do. We have a handful of reporters, and most of them are volunteers. I’m sure you know this already, but the newspaper industry is slowly dying. I hate to see it go, but that’s just the way it is.”

  The waitress returned with some chips and salsa and quickly took our orders. I pressed him, “Why don’t you go digital? Print publishing is dying. Everything has gone digital. That’s the future.”

  He dipped his chip in the sauce and paused thoughtfully. “I know that, but print is so much more romantic, don’t you think?”

  I couldn’t help but smile as I sipped my water. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as the romantic type. But then again, I’ve never met an editor/deputy before.”

  “But Miss Pressfield, you hardly know me,” he said before he popped a chip in his mouth.

  I didn’t want to relax or let my guard down, but there was something about Micah Todd that encouraged me to be myself. Plain old Megan Pressfield. The girl who just spilled salsa on her shirt. Dang it.

  “This always happens when I wear this shirt. It’s as if it’s attracted to spills.”

  “It’s barely noticeable,” he lied politely as he offered me a few napkins.

  “Right. If you’re Mr. Magoo.” I laughed as I rubbed at it. “I’m dying to ask you…where did you find those pictures? I’ve seen hundreds of photographs of Joanna during my research but none of Paden. I’m extremely curious about it, and I hope you have more.”

  “There might be more. Possibly. I came across those in a dusty box in the newspaper’s storage area. It’s a good thing we put those old newspapers in plastic tubs before the pipes burst. There’s a good dozen more boxes that I haven’t been through yet. I had no idea who it was, but there was writing on the back. Hey, maybe you wouldn’t mind helping me sort through them? I’m as interested as you are about finding out what happened to Joanna Storm. Loretta tells me you’re writing a book about her life. Is that true?”

  Finally satisfied with my temporary stain fix, I turned my attention to my lunch companion. “That is true. I guess she also told you that I purchased Morgan’s Rock?”

  “I didn’t need her to tell me that. I saw the moving truck pull in. I am curious to know why you would want to move out here. Permanently, I mean. Rockville isn’t much of anything, just a tiny speck on a very large map. This part of the Florida panhandle isn’t exactly Palm Beach or New York.”

  “I’ve never lived in either of those places, Micah. I like it here.” I hit the ignore button as my phone began to play Beethoven’s Fifth. Come to think of it, that was a bad choice for a ring tone. Maybe I would change it later. Something more jovial. Maybe the Charleston? I tucked my phone back into my purse, then pulled out the copy of the picture and put it on the table in front of him. “This is most definitely Paden Kincaid.”

  “How can you be sure? It says P. Kincaid on the back, but that’s not a hundred percent proof.”

  I couldn’t tell him that I knew because I’d kissed him. That I’d been his wife, in another life. One that I wanted to return to more than anything else. “You’re right. We can’t be totally sure without further proof. I’d like to come check out your storage. See if I can find anymore pictures like this.” I couldn’t take my eyes off the image. Could that really be Vivian Kemal kissing Paden? I mean, cameras back then weren’t so great. Any kind of movement, even the slightest shake of the camera, could blur the image, just as in this photo.

  But that hat. Something about that hat. That was Vivian’s hat; I recognize it from…

  “You okay? You zoned out on me. Do all deep-thinking authors tune people out?”

  “No, no zoning out going on here. It’s just this picture.” Before I could say more, the friendly waitress came over and refilled our drinks.

  “I hope you don’t get your hopes up too high, Megan. It’s not likely that we’re going to find Joanna Storm after all these years.”

  To hear him make such a confession was kind of heartbreaking. “Really? You don’t think we should even try?”

  “I didn’t mean that you shouldn’t try. But there has been a lot of legwork put forth on Miss Storm’s behalf already.”

  I snapped, “Mrs. Kincaid. She and Paden were legally married.”

  He lifted an eyebrow at my angry response but continued, “I’m sorry if what I said sounded insensitive; that wasn’t my intention. And I wasn’t suggesting that the sheriff’s department didn’t care. In fact, quite a few good men and women—even someone claiming to be with a federal agency—have tried to locate Miss Storm over these many decades, but that hasn’t made any difference. Every lead has been a dead end. Whatever happened to Joanna Storm remains a mystery, and it will continue to be a mystery until some new information surfaces. I just don’t want you to get your hopes up about it. Joanna Storm may end up like Amelia Earhart. Lost for eternity.”

  That stung to hear such a comparison, but I had to ask the bigger question. “Federal agency? Which one? Why would they be interested in finding Joanna?”

  “According to the paperwork, she was considered a national treasure. People genuinely loved her. She had a nickname, ‘Glamour Girl,’ something like that. She was the ‘it’ girl of her time.”

  “Golden Gamma,” I corrected him before sipping my water and poking the ketchup with a french fry. “Not Glamour Girl. It was something Danny told her about gamma rays being the hottest things on the planet. She thought it was silly, but she didn’t fight him on it. She never fought him on much.”

  “Danny?” he asked as he tugged out another napkin from the dispenser. “You’re talking about Dan Petit? How do you know this?”

  I tried to change the subject. “Wow, this looks fantastic.”

  Unfortunately, Micah wasn’t having it. “It’s the best burger in Rockville. But Dan Petit coming up with this Golden Gamma nickname…I’ve never heard that before.”

  I bit the fry and nodded. “Yeah, I picked it up somewhere. You should come see the place, Micah. It’s amazing. I can imagine it being filled with potted palms and gilded mirrors, plush rugs and lots of crystal. It’s nothing like that now, but maybe one day.”

  “I would love to see it. I’ve never been inside; can you believe that? So, you do plan on making Rockville your home? That’s interesting.”

  “Are you interrogating me or interviewing me?”

  “What? Neither, just making conversation. I find you interesting. An interesting person. That’s all.”

  I couldn’t figure why, but I suddenly lost my appetite. I tossed the fry down and took a few more sips of water. Micah shifted in his seat, obviously uncomfortable with my change in attitude. How could I explain it to him? I barely understood myself lately.

  “Have I crossed some sort of line? If I have, I apologize. My sister tells me I’m too direct sometimes.”

  I leaned back against the fake leather booth and eyed him cautiously. What was I doing here having lunch with a stranger? Oh yeah, the picture. I had to know what Paden was doing with Vivian.

  If that’s even her. It can’t be her. Paden would never do that to me. Never.

  “Megan?”

  “No. You’re fine. I’m just…I am curious. The picture.” I picked it up and put it back in my purse. “I need to see what else you have. You think we can do that soon?”

  “Sure, I don’t think it would be a problem.”

  “Thanks, Micah.”

  We finished our meal and chitchatted between bites. I was surprised to learn that he had a degree in literature. I got the feeling that he was a true Renaissance man. “Don’t you find rambling around in
that big old place kind of lonely? I mean, I’m guessing you’re alone.”

  “I don’t feel lonely at all, but I do need a housekeeper. It’s hard to dive into a book when you have to keep stopping to make trips to the grocery store.”

  “You seem to have really fallen in love with this place. I wonder why that is…is it a writer’s paradise in there?”

  “You have to see it, Micah. It’s like stepping back in time. I know that sounds crazy, and maybe I am. My agent sure thinks so sometimes.”

  He shook his head and pushed his plate to the side. Over folded hands, he leaned forward. “Tell me about it.”

  “It’s seen a lot. Much of the original furniture is there. That I love. And strangely enough, I love the clock tower. So much happened in that clock tower. I should really be creeped out by it, but it’s an interesting room.”

  Before he could ask me anything else, his phone rang and he immediately raised his hand for the ticket. By the tone of his phone conversation, I could tell that our lunch was over. Oddly enough, I was kind of disappointed now. I liked Micah. He was interesting and thoughtful. And there was something about him. Familiarity. That’s the word I was looking for.

  “I’m on the way.” He hung up and stood. “Got to go, Megan. May I call you? We can talk more later if you like. About Joanna Storm. We’ll arrange a time to get you into the storage area.”

  “Great. I look forward to it.” I followed him out so we could keep the conversation going. We really didn’t have time to talk about much, but yes, I was intrigued. I liked him, and I hadn’t expected that. He handed me his business card and thanked me for meeting him.

  I hated to see him go.

  How weird was that? I waved briefly as he drove away in his shiny black car.

  I got in my car and headed to the grocery store. He was going to call me later. I knew he would. I just knew it. I wasn’t a great cook, but surely I could whip up something. Maybe some pasta. Glenn always liked my stuffed shells. I hadn’t made them in a long time, but I was pretty sure I could still pull it off.