Shaw's Landing (Haunted Hearts Series Book 4)

by Denise Moncrief

  Bennett bounced back as if Jordan had punched him. “You were there?”

  “I followed the two of you. You were both so loud I guess you probably didn’t hear me coming up the stairs right behind you. I was there when that bang shook the whole house. Kind of creepy. It scared the crap out of both of you from what I could tell. I thought red-haired guy was gonna lose it. You pulled your gun. Did you really think you could shoot whatever it was that made the noise?”

  There. That should shake Bennett up a bit. He wouldn’t like it that Jordan saw him in a less-than-in-control state. Then again, maybe it was a very bad idea to aggravate the man.

  Bennett scalded him with his eyes. “Looks like we both have some explaining to do.”

  “Do you really want to have this discussion in front of…” He’d almost called Dickerson Fussy Pants.

  Dickerson spluttered. “Aw, come on. Are you going to tell him about something paranormal? Some of that ghost stuff? I’ve had a few weird experiences lately. Nothing you could say would surprise me anymore. Nothing at all. So you might as well tell him whatever it is that you think I can’t handle.”

  He stared at Dickerson and then turned his gaze on Bennett. Couldn’t he see that Jordan didn’t want to talk about this in front of Dickerson? It wasn’t that Dickerson couldn’t handle it. Jordan didn’t want everyone in the world to know about his gift. If he had to tell, he wanted to keep the number of people who knew to a minimum.

  Bennett smiled. A definite light of anticipation, coupled with a strong dose of mischief, glowed in the man’s eyes. “You saw something at Laurel Heights, something you didn’t understand, and you went back to investigate it. Didn’t you?”

  He wasn’t going to get a private discussion. “Not exactly.” The memory of what had happened in the kitchen at Laurel Heights zoomed into his mind. Fresh, as if it had just happened. He squirmed at the memory.

  “Well, then what?” Dickerson’s strident voice rattled around the room. “I haven’t got all night. I want to go home to my family some time today.” He turned a mean glare on Bennett.

  Jordan braced himself and plunged in. “I have a sixth sense. I’ve had it since I was a kid. I don’t know how to describe it. Places give off a sort of a vibe that I can feel. Like the people who lived in the house left behind their energy. When I walked into that house… I’ve never felt such a strong feeling.” His words rushed from him, and he wished with everything in him he could slow the gush down a bit. He feared he was making no sense at all.

  Bennett leaned forward. “So you didn’t actually see anything.”

  “No. I just felt it.”

  Despite Bennett’s reputation as a paranormal fanatic, he was going to label Jordan a nut job. His career was over. He groaned inwardly and tried hard to hold back the sound of his anguish from tripping out of his mouth. Not just mental anguish, but physical as well. Every muscle and joint in his body ached from his ordeal. He needed food, and fast. He could almost feel his blood sugar levels dropping.

  “What did you feel?” Bennett was persistent if he was nothing else. He’d dig out the whole story before Jordan could rest.

  He sighed and answered the question. “Mostly anger and a sense of abandonment.”

  He shifted a little and settled a bit more into the cushions of the sofa, trying to relieve the pressure on his lower back where Jake Richards had kicked him. He was convinced Richards was the man who had hit him and possibly drugged him before locking him in the shed.

  “What happened?”

  “I tried to go into the basement, but the… I couldn’t do it.” He couldn’t talk about the pain, about how the presence had drilled deep into his sorrow. The place where he hurt the most.

  “How did you end up in Cooley’s shed then?” Bennett was relentless.

  Jordan was beginning to hate that part of Bennett’s character. That was admirable when the interrogation was pointed at someone else. Jordan wasn’t a criminal. “I’m getting there.”

  Dickerson sniffed. “Bennett, let him tell the story.”

  The corners of the room shifted. A sudden chill settled over Jordan. He shivered once.

  Bennett seemed to notice his discomfort. He turned to glance at Dickerson. “You feel the temperature drop?”

  Dickerson nodded, his eyes suddenly wide. “Isn’t that a sign?”

  Oppression weighted Jordan’s chest, pressing down on him. He struggled to inhale his next breath and caught Bennett’s eye.

  “What’s happening?” Bennett jumped to his feet.

  Dickerson stopped mid-pace.

  “Can’t breathe.” Jordan clutched at his tightening throat.

  “Let’s get him out of here.” Bennett grabbed his upper arm, and Dickerson grabbed the other.

  Once they were outside and several yards away, the pressure began to ease. He glanced back at the house as Bennett opened the passenger door of his SUV. Jordan slid into the seat and rested his head on the backrest.

  “What happened in there?” Bennett asked.

  He’d never heard Bennett short of breath. Could there possibly be something that got to the man, something that shook his usual stoic demeanor? Until that moment, Jordan had always thought of Bennett as an immovable rock.

  “He’s angry and he wants revenge.” One word had echoed through his heart, pounding on his psyche. He’d never experienced such a clear revelation of what a presence wanted, of whom the spirit wanted to harm.

  “Who wants revenge?” Dickerson asked with almost no voice, almost bug-eyed, a comical look on his face in the midst of a tension-filled moment.

  “I don’t know.”

  Bennett seemed to be holding his breath until he finally managed a question. “Who’s the target of his revenge then?”

  Jordan turned his direct gaze on Bennett. “Laurel.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Courtney finally got a truck to slow down long enough to ask for a lift into town. When the passenger door popped open and she stuck her head into the cab, she was dismayed to see her ride was Brett Duncan.

  “What are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere, Courtney?”

  She chewed on her bottom lip. Tired of telling lies, she opted for the truth. “I’m running away from Jake Richards…and a investigator with the state police.”

  Brett smiled. “Really?” His disdain for law enforcement was well known. He leaned his arm on the steering wheel. “I knew there was a reason I always liked you. Need a ride somewhere?”

  She did, but where should she tell him she wanted to go?

  Home. She wanted to go home. “I want to go to my mother’s house.”

  “Hop in. I’m going that direction.”

  She hesitated only a fraction of a second. Brett Duncan was angry and bitter, but he wasn’t necessarily violent, despite his many bar fights. Somehow he’d always managed to pick those fights with off-duty deputies with the Hill County Sheriff’s Department.

  He shoved the gear into drive as soon as she slammed the door and buckled her seatbelt. Neither of them spoke until they were on the north side of Fairview. During the ride, Courtney had debated whether or not to tell Brett she’d seen Cherish alive.

  “How’ve you been, Brett?” That seemed like a safe opener.

  He shook his head, and if she wasn’t mistaken, there was a tear in the big man’s eyes.

  “My sister… Someone found her on the Ashley Ridge Trail. She’d been… Man, I can’t even say it.”

  She swallowed hard. Brett had believed for years that Cherish was dead and now there was a Jane Doe misidentified as his sister. Shaw Bennett had told her about the woman that had been killed and left for dead on the trail. She’d informed him the woman wasn’t Cherish.

  Unsure whether she wanted to get mixed up in Brett’s grief and perhaps agitate him even further by telling him the county had screwed up the dead woman’s ID, Courtney held what she knew close. But she hurt for the man. She wanted to give him some hope so badly. There had to be a wa
y.

  “Brett?”

  He kept his eyes on the road. “Yeah?”

  “Have they let you see her?”

  He glanced at her quickly and then turned his attention back to the curving road ahead of them. “No, not yet. They’re stalling, and I don’t know why.”

  Courtney reached over and grabbed his free hand, the one that lay on the console between them. She squeezed, and he shot another quick quizzical glance her way.

  “Courtney, I ain’t—”

  “I’m not flirting. This is sympathy, and a bit of advice.”

  His hand tightened around hers. “You know something, don’t you?”

  “I’m not sure what I know, but I know something isn’t right. You should push them really, really hard to let you see her.”

  His jaw worked for a minute before he spoke again. “You have a reason for saying that.”

  “I don’t think she’s really dead. I’m pretty sure the woman they found isn’t Cherish. Don’t let them get by with burying a woman and giving her your sister’s name.”

  Brett pulled his hand from her grip. “Thanks, Courtney. I can see you’re being straight with me. I don’t think anyone else in this whole county has ever told the truth about what happened to her.”

  “Have you talked to Sheriff Halsey?”

  He laughed, a hard sound that clawed at her eardrums. “Halsey is part of the problem.”

  She dared to make a guess as to what Brett meant. “Is Halsey covering something up?” He’d done a lot of that apparently.

  “Zach was the last person to see her alive.”

  Zach Halsey, the Sheriff’s grandson. Well, that explained a lot.

  “If you talk to Josh McCord—”

  “He came out to the farm yesterday asking a lot of questions about Cherish. I told him what I know, which wasn’t much, but it was enough.”

  Courtney relaxed, and she hadn’t realized how hard she’d been holding her breath. “I know Josh. If he thinks something isn’t right, he won’t rest until he gets to the truth.”

  Brett turned the truck into Trudy Jepson’s driveway and pulled to a stop.

  She unbuckled her seatbelt and yanked on the door handle. Before exiting, she turned toward Brett. “Thanks for the lift.”

  “No problem.”

  She waited a moment, trying to decide exactly what to say and how to say it. “Be careful, Brett. If Sheriff Halsey is somehow mixed up in Cherish’s disappearance, then he might do anything to keep the truth from coming out. You should watch your back. You might not be safe.”

  He nodded, a grim expression creeping across his square features.

  She waved to him as he backed down the drive and headed onto the road in front of the Jepson house. When the dust had settled and the truck was out of sight, Courtney turned toward the front steps. Her mother stood on the porch, a surprised expression glowing from her tired eyes.

  “What are you doing here?” Not a mean question. Just a question filled with curiosity and a slight bit of hope. No, Trudy didn’t seem angry. Rather, she seemed to radiate restrained happiness.

  Courtney hadn’t known what to expect from her mother, but this greeting was better than she’d expected. She’d left her mother on bad terms. Their final fight had turned ugly. Part of the reason she hadn’t wanted to go home was because she wasn’t sure how she’d face her mother.

  “Can I come home for a while?”

  “Sure.” Trudy’s voice rasped as if she were pushing the word past a clogged up throat.

  Courtney took a step toward the house. “Are you okay with me staying here?”

  Trudy moved forward a couple of paces. “I am.”

  “No questions asked?” Her mother didn’t need to know the whole ugly truth.

  Trudy shook her head. “Not a one. I’m just so glad…you’re not dead.”

  Courtney smiled and Trudy smiled back, the first smile she’d shared with her mother in a very, very long time.

  “I’m glad I’m not dead too.” She studied her mother’s tired face. “Just for tonight though. I’m going to have to go into witness protection. I just wanted to see you one more time before I have to disappear.”

  Trudy’s smile dropped. “Well, then. You better come inside before someone sees you.”

  The two of them seemed to hang in suspended animation for what seemed like forever. Then, Courtney inched forward, and her mother closed the gap between them and wrapped her arms around Courtney.

  ****

  It had taken awhile, but Shaw had finally gotten the whole story out of Jordan Clark. After everything that had happened that day, he’d pieced a few things together. He suspected the woman who had identified herself as Chelsea to Clark was really the woman who had claimed to be Cherish Duncan to Courtney. Whatever the woman’s name really was, she was dangerous. Had she stumbled upon the scene where they were all struggling for control of the gun and forced Courtney to go with her while they were all preoccupied? Or had Courtney ran on her own, out of fear?

  Courtney. Thinking about how he’d had her and then had lost her made him want to punch something. The woman had given him her conditional trust. That trust was likely destroyed. Not because of anything he’d done to shatter it, but because he’d been stupid enough to take her out to Cooley’s house and put her in danger. Just because he hadn’t wanted to let her out of his sight. He had to question his motives for that. His attraction to her was something he could no longer ignore or deny. Admitting his fascination with her had been an error.

  He should have taken her to Shaw’s Landing instead of exposing her to danger. Grayson would have watched over her until Shaw could take the time to properly interview her. Perhaps Grayson could have gotten that process started.

  Shaw had no idea where to find her again.

  The day had moved into the night. Dickerson had gone back to Little Rock to be with his family. Something that Shaw had encouraged him to do. He couldn’t stand it when the man went into grump mode.

  Clark had sunk into the side chair in Shaw’s motel room. His ordeal had drained him. With no family in Little Rock, Shaw didn’t want the man going home alone. He needed to monitor the guy for a possible concussion. True, he should have taken Clark straight to the nearest hospital, but Clark had refused, and Shaw hadn’t had the time or the energy to argue. So he was babysitting the man.

  Clark hadn’t spoken a word since he’d finished his narrative in Cooley’s living room. Shaw was willing to give him some time to get back to a state of equilibrium, but not long. They had work to do.

  “So when did you have your first experience with a haunting?” Clark’s question seemed to zoom at him from out of the conversation void.

  He hesitated before he answered. The experience wasn’t something he generally cared to discuss. “I was sixteen.”

  Clark kept his eyes on the motel room customer satisfaction survey that he’d been shredding to pieces. “What happened?”

  “I had a twin sister.”

  Clark grunted and ripped off another strip of paper. “When did she die?” A valid assumption.

  Haunts had usually had a fatal experience that resulted in…well, them being haunts. “She was three. She drowned.” He could only force short, specific answers to Clark’s questions past the lump in his throat. Thinking about his twin, talking about her death, still unsettled his spirit.

  “So it was thirteen years before she appeared to you.”

  The memory flashed across Shaw’s mind. “I didn’t remember she even existed until my sixteenth birthday. Some old friends of my mother’s had come back to town after having moved away right after my sister died. We were at the restaurant. The one my family owned. Sometimes we went there for dinner, just so my father could keep an eye on how Bernard was running the place.

  “The woman started up a conversation with my mother. I could tell Momma was uncomfortable. As if she knew what the woman was going to say before she said it. My mother kept looking at my father and th
en looking back as if she was waiting for him to jump in and rescue her. When the woman casually mentioned Shayna, I thought Momma was going to pass out. She turned so pale... It was like a sharp pain stabbed me in the heart. I didn’t know who Shayna was, but I had a strong sense that I should know. That night she appeared to me for the first time.”

  The air conditioner kicked on and blew semi-cool air across him, which was a good thing because little beads of sweat had started forming on his forehead. He glanced around the tight space, crowded with cheap furnishings. The shabby motel room was barely inhabitable. A convention at the only motel large enough to accommodate a big group had sucked up all the available rooms in the one decent motel in town. The no vacancy sign in the window had been disheartening after a long, difficult day. He’d stay at the good motel the night before but had failed to leave his things in his room or make reservations for that night. Such was the life of a state police investigator. Accommodations were seldom luxurious.

  “I don’t have a lot of memories from when I was three. I can understand why you might forget you had a sister, but I don’t understand why your parents never mentioned her to you.” Another piece ripped from the card, as if Clark was taking out his anger on the defenseless paper. Why did Shaw’s story upset him so much?

  Shaw steeled himself for the rest of the conversation. Clark was digging into his past, trying to make sense of it, and in a way, maybe he was trying to make sense of his own. Admitting belief in a world beyond the natural realm required a great amount of faith. His grandmother had a lot of faith. His mother and father had lost theirs somewhere along the way. Probably when his sister had died.

  With a sudden hit of intuition, Shaw recognized Clark’s symptoms. Clark had his own story. Something in his background had shaken his core and changed his life, never left him. No doubt, Shaw’s story reminded Clark too much of his own.

  He studied Clark while he continued. “I didn’t understand that either, and the only thing I could think was that somehow I was responsible for Shayna’s death. They wouldn’t even discuss her with me, so what was I supposed to think? Both of them…they’ve always been sort of unemotional. But after I found out about Shayna, their detachment seemed to turn cold toward each other…toward me.”