Shaw's Landing (Haunted Hearts Series Book 4)

by Denise Moncrief

  His mother and father had practically disowned Shaw.

  Celeste was only fifty-three when she had died in a mental hospital under what he believed were questionable circumstances. He had been able to trace her family history back one generation to her father and mother, but beyond that he couldn’t find any records. Not even when he accessed the state database of Louisiana. A lot of the earlier records from New Orleans were missing, not that he expected to actually find a birth or death record for John Standridge.

  He’d found the branch of Celeste’s family that had married into the Richards. So she had relatives that worked for Omar Cooley and Fred Haskins. How much did Celeste know about her family’s connections? If she had threatened to expose them, was it enough to have her committed? More likely that the Richards clan wanted to take her property away from her. After James, it appeared they were her next of kin. Until Laurel Standridge showed up. No wonder they had set about to harass Laurel. No wonder James had been murdered.

  Shaw had borrowed a computer from the Fairview Police Department, not wanting to do his research in full view of the Sheriff of Hill County. He’d gone back out to Laurel Heights after he’d left Shaw’s Landing that morning and plowed through a mountain of junk in Laurel’s attic. After sneezing a lot and almost giving up on finding anything useful, he’d come across a bundle of old documents that he was currently sorting through hoping to find some clue as to where the Standridges had migrated from before moving to Arkansas.

  In all of the documents he’d read, he’d found one item of interest among them. Celeste’s father, George, had been raised by his father’s brother, Carl. There had been no mention of George’s birth father.

  More than ever, Shaw was convinced that Victoria Hamilton’s son was Laurel Standridge’s grandfather. That would make Laurel and Tori cousins. What if one of the Richards had discovered the family connection? If James and Laurel were out of the way, the Richards might claim heirship to both the Standridge and Hamilton estates, as Victoria’s child would be the heir to an estate that had been left to her if anything ever happened to Alfred Hamilton. There would of course be a lot of legal wrangling as to which of the Hamiltons had died first with no clear answer to the question.

  Shaw had to wonder how Pearl Hamilton had managed to inherit the house that Alfred had built for the woman who had stolen her mother’s husband. Not only had Alfred divorced Esther, but he’d had Pearl declared illegitimate, a big deal back in the twenties. Pearl couldn’t have inherited Victoria House from Alfred even if Victoria Hamilton had died first and seemingly left no heirs.

  His cell phone vibrated on his hip. One glance at the display revealed Josh McCord was the caller. Shaw answered with a sharp hello.

  “I’m just now leaving the morgue.”

  Anticipation crawled all over Shaw. This should be good.

  “The dead woman identified as Cherish Duncan isn’t Cherish Duncan. They wouldn’t let her brother identify the remains, which I thought was damned odd. So I brought him here myself. He said the woman sort of looks like Cherish, but Cherish has a distinctive mark on her that this woman doesn’t. Besides, he swears he’d know his own sister.”

  Shaw leaned back in his chair, released a low whistle, and glanced around the squad room where he had been loaned a computer and a desk. “That really doesn’t surprise me,” he answered slowly. He waited for the next revelation.

  “Listen, Bennett…I need you to do me a favor.”

  Yeah, this was getting really interesting. McCord was asking for favors.

  “Can you get your hands on the case file? Get your guy Dickerson to get a ten card on the dead woman and run prints. Don’t let anyone in Hill County touch it. Not even the city LEOs. I have a feeling the woman the hiker found isn’t the first victim.”

  A serial killer?

  “I had already planned to do that today. I was gonna ask for the original missing person’s report as well. What am I looking for?”

  “The woman was raped and posed, her hands tied across her chest as if she was being prepared for burial.” McCord paused, a very significant break in his thinking. “Halsey’s gonna want to know why you’re pulling the file. Throw your state authority around or something. Tell him you think there’s a serial killer. He’ll mess his pants.”

  “Oh, really? Why?”

  “His grandson was the last person to see Cherish Duncan alive.”

  Shaw’s breath hung in his lungs. Could that be what Haskins held over Halsey’s head? Could he be aware of young Halsey’s involvement in Cherish Duncan’s disappearance? Was the younger Halsey working with James Standridge? How deep did misconduct go in the ranks of the Hill County Sheriff’s Department?

  “Look, there’s more I could tell you, but my cell is about to die.”

  “When can we look at these papers of—”

  The call disconnected.

  He’d have to get someone to decipher Cooley’s notes. McCord was obviously caught up in something else.

  Shaw packed his stuff and thanked the city cops for their hospitality. As he pushed through the doors into the bright afternoon sunshine, his mind turned everything over and over again. Gray had called it right. It was all connected. Everything bad that had ever happened in Hill County came back to one person. But Gray hadn’t been totally right. Shaw was beginning to believe the wrong done in Hill County went all the way back to Alfred Hamilton. Fred Haskins was only a pretender to the Baron of Hill County’s throne.

  ****

  The evening sun was beginning to set. All afternoon, Courtney had contemplated the words she’d read. What they meant. When Shaw came back, she’d have a lot of speculation to share with him. Her relationship with Victoria’s diary was certainly back and forth. One minute it scared the crap out of her, the next she was filled with intense curiosity about why Victoria’s life affected her so strongly.

  Once again, she lifted the diary from the bar where she’d set it and then made her way down to the dock. She waited for Shaw there, the diary held close to her chest. She’d grieved all afternoon for the woman and her child. So much so that she’d barely been able to choke down the BLT she’d made. Around three o’clock, she’d found a pen and paper and began writing. The story seemed to flow from her fingers, and strangely, or maybe not, the plot was an adaptation of Victoria Hamilton’s story. For a long while, she’d daydreamed about New Orleans in the 1920s, wondering what it was like. Wondering what it would be like to visit the city and do some research there. With Shaw.

  She dropped to the edge of the dock, a spot that had become her favorite place to breathe at the Landing. The apartment had become too claustrophobic for her.

  “I’m so sorry, Victoria. I wish your story had ended differently.”

  The book began to grow warm against her, and she sensed it wasn’t happy with her sentiment. She glanced down at it. The leather seemed to glow, streaks of light beaming out from between the pages. Her first instinct was to hold it away from her, but she couldn’t budge her arms. The book pressed against her as if it wanted to burrow into her flesh.

  The edges of her vision blurred and then darkened. Images filled her mind. Somehow she knew the woman she saw was Esther’s daughter Pearl. Cold, unadulterated malice gleamed in her eyes. The woman’s lips never moved, yet Courtney heard her as if she were speaking loudly right in her ear. The truth settled into Courtney’s heart and soul, into her spirit. Pearl had hidden the diary in the basement, reluctant to destroy it, yet hoping no one would ever find it. Regret enveloped her as if she were taking on every one of Pearl’s emotions. Pearl now desired to destroy the book before anyone else read it. No more hiding it in plain sight. The book had to go. If Courtney got in her way, Pearl would destroy her.

  Courtney finally understood. The presence she had felt at her mother’s house had been Pearl rather than Victoria. It had been Pearl’s essence that had attached to the diary. The hatred Pearl held for Victoria raced through her as if it were her own feelings toward the
woman, directly opposite of the compassion she’d been feeling toward Victoria earlier. Pearl wanted Courtney to hate Victoria just as much as she did.

  Would sensing Pearl’s hatred have caused the spirit of Victoria Hamilton to be restless? Pearl must have carried her malice toward Victoria every day that she had lived in Victoria House. Galled at living in a house named after the woman who had destroyed her mother. Courtney had heard often enough that something tragic had caused Pearl to leave the house and never go back. Had the spirit of Victoria haunted her?

  She spoke to Pearl, her words tumbling from her lips. “You closed off the staircase so no one would find the diary in the basement.”

  A cold chill swept aside the heat. Her teeth chattered.

  “You want me to put it back? I will.”

  “Nooooooo,” roared in her head.

  The vision cleared. Her eyesight returned to normal, and the book flew from Courtney’s hands, landing on the dock, teetering on the edge of the wood. She reached for it just as it tumbled into the water, floated for a long moment, and then sank.

  She jumped to her feet, staring into the muddy waters of Ashley Creek. Should she dive in and try to save the diary? Clearly, Pearl Hamilton didn’t want anyone else to read it. But it wasn’t Pearl’s diary. Maybe Victoria Hamilton wanted her story told.

  Courtney’s toes hung over the edge of the deck. One thought zipped through her mind. Snakes. She hated snakes. How many times had she seen water moccasins in the creek?

  No matter. She had to do this for Victoria Hamilton. Why? She couldn’t have given a coherent answer to that question if she’d wanted. She dove into the nasty water and sank until her bare toes met the sludgy, gooey bottom. Thank God the creek wasn’t very deep at that point. She swam back to the surface, broke through the water, gasped for another breath, and then plunged back into the creek headfirst. Her hands reached in front of her, feeling along the bottom. Nothing. She wiggled her fingers through the mud along the bed of the creek until her lungs were about to burst, and then she paddled to the surface again.

  One more dive. She’d try one more time. She wouldn’t let Pearl Hamilton defeat her.

  Down she went, crawling along the bottom, blinded because she didn’t dare open her eyes. Her fingers finally wrapped around the book. She would have smiled but then her mouth would have filled with slimy, algae-infested water.

  She swam for the surface again, but this time when she broke through the water, she came face-to-face with a corpse riding the slow-moving current of the creek…with a skeleton’s bony fingers wrapped around the dead guy’s neck.

  Courtney screamed and her mouth filled with creek water. She spewed the vile liquid from her mouth and swam downstream toward the bank, dropping the diary in her haste to get away from the corpse and its creepy rider. To her horror, the corpse and the skeleton seemed to follow her.

  She surged out of the water, struggled onto the bank of the creek, and rushed toward the edge of the woods. When she turned back toward the creek, the skeleton stared straight at her, its teeth chattering as if it were still alive.

  Another scream erupted from her. This time louder and shriller. Like a banshee.

  She plunged into the woods, pushing limbs and brush aside, running headlong through the forest until she came to a path. Her screams escaped her in spurts. She stopped and placed her hands on her thighs to catch her breath. Finally, she looked back toward the creek. When it was apparent the strange corpse-skeleton combo wasn’t following her into the woods, she relaxed, but only a little.

  By the time she made it all the way back to the restaurant, night had fallen. It surprised her how far the current of Ashley Creek had carried her downstream. She’d made it almost to the spot where the creek dumped into Lake Jefferson before turning back toward Shaw’s Landing.

  “Unbelievable,” she yelled. “Is every place in this whole freaking county haunted?”

  The darkness of the night didn’t respond. A far off owl hooted as if in listless reply. The only answer to her question. Her soul quickened, giving her insight into all the strange things that had been happening to her. Maybe it wasn’t the places she’d been that were haunted. Maybe she had carried the spirits of restless souls with her. The book had been with her each time she’d experienced something paranormal. She was suddenly glad it was at the bottom of the creek.

  Chapter Nineteen

  It was nearly two in the morning before Shaw made it back to the Landing. Weariness ached in every one of his joints. Grit clotted the corners of his eyes. All he wanted to do was curl up next to Courtney. Despite his busy day, he’d envisioned being with her about every other thought.

  When he put his key into the lock on the apartment door, it swung open without any resistance. His hand immediately went for his weapon.

  “Courtney?”

  A muffled sob came from the bathroom. A trail of muddy water led him across the living area into the bedroom. He found her curled up in the fetal position next to the bathtub. She turned terror-filled eyes toward him.

  “Where have you been? You were supposed to be back hours ago?” Her words came out slow and choppy.

  He knelt beside her, afraid to touch her. “What happened?”

  “It was aw…aw…awful.”

  He turned the tap on the tub and let the water run. Whatever else she needed, she could use a warm shower. Mud streaked her clothes and face. No doubt, she’d gone for a swim in the creek.

  Fear raced through him. Had someone attacked her while he was gone? If so, she’d managed to fight off her attacker. Her pale face suggested whatever had happened had spooked her. Another paranormal event? The last one had nearly killed her. He’d arrived just in time to keep her from pulling the trigger. When he had left earlier that day, he’d taken the weapon with him. The pendant was gone. What could have possibly happened this time?

  “Let’s get you warmed up.”

  She nodded. Her eyes never strayed from his. His heart nearly broke. She had the most pitiful lost little girl look on her face. He checked the temperature of the water and then helped her to her feet, easing her over the edge and under the stream.

  When she was positioned, she turned her face to the showerhead and allowed the water to run over her. Streams of dirty water gurgled down the drain. What was he going to do? She didn’t bring a second set of clothing with her.

  “You promised me.”

  Her accusing words bit into him.

  He knew what she meant. He had promised he’d never leave her alone at the Landing at night. Maybe he shouldn’t leave her alone during the day either.

  “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it. Something bad went down tonight, and I had to help clean up the mess it left behind.” He pushed a stringy piece of wet hair out of her face where it clung to her still muddy skin. “I’m really sorry.”

  She shuddered, but didn’t make a move to cleanse the dirt off her. He motioned toward her shirt, and she nodded her head as if she understood his silent question. The chambray shirt came off with a bit of effort. Next he pulled the soiled t-shirt over her head. Last he unsnapped the jeans. She placed a hand over his.

  “I think I can do that.”

  He stepped back, and she slid the wet jeans off her hips and down her legs. Mud had seeped through the fabric and left spots of dirt on her long legs. Once the jeans lay at the bottom of the tub, she waited as if she wanted him to do the rest.

  Nope, he wasn’t going to take off her underwear. There was not a thing romantic about this situation. At the moment, he sensed the woman needed to keep some semblance of dignity. That would be hard under the circumstances.

  He grabbed some soap and a rag from the towel bar. She didn’t object when he began cleaning the creek sludge from her. Her eyes followed every move he made. No doubt, she was in some sort of shock. But from what? She didn’t appear injured. Her clothing wasn’t torn. She was still at the Landing.

  “Shaw?”

  Her voice startled him. He peered i
nto her eyes.

  “Hold me.”

  He didn’t hesitate. He stepped over the side of the tub, and his arms slid around her soapy body. The water streamed over both of them as if cocooning them in warmth.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Whatever happened…I wished I could have been here.”

  She sighed and leaned her head on his shoulder. “It’s okay. I forgive you. Besides, you can’t be everywhere.”

  “No, I can’t.”

  “Someone needed you?”

  “Josh McCord and Ashley Rivers were kidnapped today. I got there just as they managed to…” It was a long story and one he wasn’t sure he should tell.

  He hadn’t filed an official police report yet. He’d only a few hours ago recovered Terrance Phelps from his watery grave. Phelps, the man who had blackmailed, tortured, and then kidnapped Ashley. Nope. He couldn’t tell her that story. Not in the state she was in.

  She pushed him back a little, and her eyes snapped as if her thoughts suddenly came back into focus. “I’m going to be all right now. Ummm…I don’t suppose you have any clothes I can borrow. Mine are a little…damp.”

  He smiled and glanced down between them at his clothes, suddenly aware that he was just as wet as she was.

  She giggled.

  He wondered if her giggling was the release of pent-up nervous tension. He’d never thought of her as a giggler. Usually, when she laughed, she laughed hard. He liked that about her.

  He released her, but he didn’t want to. “I think I can scrounge up enough dry clothes for both of us.” He nodded toward the running water. “Maybe you’d better finish cleaning up. There’s a towel in the cabinet.

  She nodded, and then bit her lower lip.