The House on Foster Hill

by Jaime Jo Wright

  The attic was stale, and dust particles danced in the air as their feet disturbed the dirty wood floor. It took a moment for Ivy’s eyes to adjust to the darkness.

  “There’s a lot of old furniture up here.”

  Ivy waited for his reply, but Joel didn’t respond. He moved past her and inspected a chair. His hand moved over the upholstered seat and back, eaten away by mice and moths.

  “Worthless,” he muttered.

  The tension was thick. Ivy ignored it, instead pulling open the drawer on a small end table. Empty, with the exception of a dead cockroach. She slammed the drawer shut.

  “There’s nothing here.” Joel was leaping to a conclusion. Another sign he was upset. His logical approach was influenced by his emotions during times of stress.

  “We’ve hardly looked.” Ivy was the opposite. Emotion in herself irritated her as weakness.

  Joel yanked open a door on an old wardrobe. His eyes widened, and he quickly shut it in a plume of dust. Coughing, he waved his hand in the air to clear it. Ivy stared at him until he offered her a sheepish look.

  “There was a bat in there.”

  Ivy shivered. The expression on Joel’s face altered as he looked beyond her. Ivy followed his line of vision, and her breath hitched in surprise.

  “Is that . . . ?” Her hand flew to cover her mouth.

  “A baby cradle,” Joel said, his mouth tightening into a firm line. He stalked across the floor and ran his hand over it.

  “And it’s not dusty, is it? Not one cobweb?” Ivy questioned while already knowing the answer.

  “No. It’s clean.” The grave tone in Joel’s voice matched the horrible sensation in Ivy’s stomach.

  Straight lines, applied carving on the headboard, nine pierced slats, and out-swept legs formed a beautiful specimen of craftsmanship. But it was the baby blanket inside, piled at the end of the cradle, clean and fresh, that sent spears of horror through Ivy.

  “A baby was here.” She reached for the blanket, imagining an infant swaddled in cotton and lace kneading the air. Its innocence in a house that sheltered mysteries. “I told you.” Ivy couldn’t help it. She couldn’t resist the need to make sure Joel saw her urgency as validated. That she hadn’t been foolhardy or emotional when she came to Foster Hill House the other night.

  Joel cleared his throat. “So you did.”

  Their eyes met, and this time all animosity dissolved between them.

  “But where’s the baby?” Ivy’s whisper echoed through the attic like the quiet breath of a ghost.

  Chapter 12

  Kaine

  A sharp rap on her motel room door jolted Kaine awake. She scrambled across the bed, taking the blankets with her on her fall to the floor. Olive scampered to her feet, three deep woofs emanating from her throat.

  “Kaine? Love?”

  It was Joy.

  Kaine ran her fingers through her dark straight hair that was snarled from sleep. Olive’s tail thumped the floor as she sensed her mistress relax.

  “Hold on!” Kaine called, untwisting herself from the covers. She tugged her tank top over her red pajama bottoms and scratched the middle of Olive’s head as she passed by the dog. Not willing to leave Kaine alone, Olive followed close at her heels.

  Kaine peeked through the door’s peephole. Joy’s red-lipped smile greeted her with magnification. Sliding the dead bolt back and twisting the lock on the knob, Kaine opened the door. A blast of fresh spring air hit her in the face.

  “Oh my. I woke you, didn’t I?” Joy hoisted her flamingo-pink purse on her shoulder. Her T-shirt was emblazoned with a Green Bay Packers helmet, and her yellow cardigan begged to be worn by someone twenty years her junior. Kaine originally thought she was in her sixties, but her flamboyancy could have landed her easily in her fifties, if not forties.

  Kaine smiled. Maybe her first genuine smile in two days. After Danny’s picture showed up at Foster Hill House and Detective Carter called to let her know they weren’t able to pull any prints from the photo, Kaine holed up in her room with Olive. She had to think, to pray, to figure out what she was going to do next. Witness Protection Program? Not an option. Return to San Diego? That wouldn’t help anything. Sell Foster Hill House? There wouldn’t be another human alive who would be as gullible as she had been, and she wouldn’t be able to ethically hide the truth to some out-of-state buyer as the real estate agent had done with her.

  “C-can I help you?” Kaine wasn’t sure why her voice broke. Maybe she was lonely. A dog could only offer so much companionship, especially when you jumped at every noise.

  Joy reached out and squeezed Kaine’s upper arm, then pushed a lidded Styrofoam cup into her hand. “I’m not working for the next few days—goodness, I wish that were all the time. I’m sixty-two, but when Megan’s daddy passed a few years ago, his social security just wasn’t quite enough. Anyway, Megan is waiting in the car.”

  So she was in her sixties. Kaine glanced over Joy’s shoulder to see Megan focused with intent on a tablet. She turned her attention back to Joy in time to catch her words. “So I’m taking charge.” Joy smiled and pushed past Kaine. Marching across the small motel room, she pulled out a dresser drawer, then gave Kaine a quizzical look.

  “You haven’t unpacked?”

  Kaine smiled and took a sip of the awful gas-station coffee. “I’m not big on settling in.” A lame excuse, but if she needed to flee, having her clothes lined up in the drawers and closet wasn’t conducive to a quick getaway.

  Joy tapped the duffel bag on the luggage rack at the end of the bed. “God told me this morning that you aren’t to be alone at Foster Hill House. So, Megan and I are coming with you today.”

  God told her? A bit charismatic for Kaine’s taste, but she had been praying for an answer. Not like Joy would pose much threat in the face of violence, but typically offenders preferred to get their victims alone. Kaine blinked a few times to clear her mind. So far, her stalker hadn’t threatened her bodily harm. Yet.

  Olive’s cold nose touched the back of Kaine’s hand. She buried her fingers in the fur on the back of the old black lab’s neck. Going back to Foster Hill House? The image of Danny’s picture in the middle of that haunting, empty bedroom chilled Kaine.

  “I wasn’t sure if I was going there today.”

  Joy shrugged, her shoulders brushing the long earrings that hung from her lobes. “Honey, I can feel the ache inside you.” She reached out and wrapped Kaine in a motherly embrace. Kaine stood there, stiff and uncomfortable, enveloped in the older woman’s arms. “But I listen to the One who sent you here to me. We have things to do at that crazy old house. Floors to wash, dust to banish, and maybe some stories to uncover. Yes?”

  Stories to uncover? For Joy, the old house was an adventure. Kaine’s gaze drifted to the top of the dresser where a page from Great Expectations lay beside Ivy’s ancient quilt. She had enough stories of her own to find the ending to, why would she want to uncover more?

  Joy tossed a pair of blue jeans on the bed, pulled from her rather presumptuous but forgivable dive into Kaine’s duffel. As if she had no choice, Kaine went to retrieve the jeans. A quick change in the bathroom, zip of her jeans, and throwing on of a flannel shirt over a T-shirt made her feel more human. She ran a comb through her hair and tied it back in a low ponytail. Forget makeup. There was something to be said about this Midwestern organic honesty when it came to appearance. Finished, Kaine emerged, and Joy’s smile confirmed she was making the right decision. Following Joy, Kaine snapped her fingers at Olive. She paused on her way to the door to snatch up the page from Great Expectations and stuff it in the breast pocket of her shirt. For some reason, she needed it close to her heart.

  “Hey.”

  Kaine jumped in unison with her squeal. Spinning from the window in the third bedroom, her ponderings were shattered by the sight of Grant in the doorway. Kaine shot a look at Olive, who lounged in the corner of the room. Some guard dog. Olive’s tail thumped the wood floor, and her soulful eyes cas
t apologies in Kaine’s direction. Kaine made a pretense of acting casual and re-twisting the rubber band around her ponytail. Joy and Megan were downstairs wiping down the parlor walls. Light from the sun shown in every room with warmth and even welcome. Though Grant was no threat, still, she was edgy.

  “You don’t believe in ringing a doorbell?” Ouch. She tried to infuse her voice with humor, but it didn’t work.

  Grant was undeterred. “Foster Hill House has a front door?” He chuckled.

  Funny, and good point. The missing front door had given Joy reason to lecture Kaine to hire a contractor as soon as funds allowed.

  “How’s Olive?”

  Of course, that was why Grant had come. Kaine avoided his searching stare. Why did he have to be so perceptive? Like he was searching her soul instead of inquiring about a dog. She reached for Olive, who rose to her feet and padded over, pushing her nose into Kaine’s hand.

  “We’re building a solid relationship,” Kaine offered with a half smile.

  “That’s good. We like to encourage long-term commitment at the shelter.” Grant’s lopsided grin widened Kaine’s. He was either super intelligent behind those black glasses or endearingly artsy. She wasn’t sure which.

  The moment grew awkward. Silence. Yes, silence was awkward, but Kaine couldn’t think of anything to say. She looked away. The man hardly blinked. He was like some Jedi from Star Wars. No mind tricks on her today, no thank you.

  “So I was thinking—maybe I could help you out here? With whatever demo you’re going to do. You’ve already engaged Joy and Megan, but there’s only so much dusting they can do.” His nose wrinkled when he grinned, but the scruff on his squared jaw gave him a charming appearance rather than boyish.

  Grant’s offer was either creepy or downright heroic, Kaine wasn’t sure. If her life were a novel, Grant could end up being the villain who edged his way behind her defenses and then finished the job some day in one fell swoop. But she was letting her imagination run wild.

  “I don’t know. . . .” Kaine hesitated.

  “I’m not a creep, you know.” Grant called out her worst fear.

  Kaine mustered a laugh. “Said the creep.”

  Grant held his hands out, palms forward. “Really. I’ll give you the résumé of my life and you can check my references with Joy.”

  Kaine waited and curled her fingers into Olive’s fur.

  “I volunteer at the animal shelter about ten hours a week,” he offered.

  Of course he did—he had nothing else to do?

  “Contrary to common assumptions, I do not live with my mom.”

  Crud. He’d read her mind. He was a Jedi!

  “I’m a bachelor. I was engaged once about six years ago, but we called it off. It wasn’t dramatic. Mutual decision. She liked the sun and surf of Florida and I’m a native Wisconsinite. So, after I finished my master’s at UW-Madison, I moved back to Oakwood because it’s home. What can I say? I’m a homeboy.”

  Kaine couldn’t help but laugh. He was reciting his past as if it were a job interview.

  “I have a house just outside of town, about half a mile from here. That farmhouse down the road?”

  Kaine nodded. So he was her neighbor? That explained how Megan could walk here from his house.

  “For my day job, I’m a counselor. A grief counselor, actually. I do most of it out of my home office, and my assistant and I also hang with Megan on occasion.”

  Whoa. She hadn’t seen that one coming. Kaine’s image of the artsy mama’s boy began to fade into a different picture. No wonder he always seemed like he was reading her.

  Grant’s face softened as he saw the question on hers. “I sort of have a thing for tough cases.”

  Tough cases. So did she. Or she had. Before she’d become one herself.

  “I have a pit bull, Sophie. I play guitar for worship at a church just outside of town, and I like to read. Louis L’Amour westerns, preferably.”

  Yep. That solidified it. The man was good-looking, creative, smart, and nice. God help her. She hadn’t paid attention to another man since Danny’s death, and now probably wasn’t the best time to start considering the opposite sex again.

  Kaine crossed her arms over her chest, pulling her thumbs inside the fingerless gloves she’d donned for comforting warmth. The mustard-yellow yarn was a tiny bright spot in the gray of the house.

  “Do you go to church?”

  Now wait. Wasn’t this his life résumé? Not hers. She answered anyway. “I used to.” Kaine pushed her thumbs back through the thumb holes and picked at a loose thread. “It’s a long story.”

  “Gave up on God?”

  Wow. He didn’t pull any punches. She gave him a direct look. It wasn’t any of his business, and she wasn’t his client. Grief counseling had been on her agenda for the last two years, and she wasn’t a stranger to counseling in general, but life circumstances made reconciling with the past a living nightmare.

  Fine, she’d be honest. “No. Just . . .” Kaine searched her mind for the right answer but couldn’t find it. “Just trying to find my life again.”

  Silence invaded the room as Grant’s eyes deepened with concern. But he didn’t push any further, and Kaine was grateful.

  “Well.” Grant crossed his arms, his blue long-sleeved T-shirt stretching over his muscles. “How about we work on getting this place into shape so you can start your new life?”

  Kaine couldn’t refuse him. Starting a new life had been her original objective in coming here, and if Grant’s presence, along with Joy’s and Megan’s and Olive’s, wasn’t enough company to keep danger at bay, then she might as well give up altogether.

  Kaine handed Grant her list of to-dos as they perched on the front porch and ate sandwiches made from ingredients she stored in a cooler. Joy and Megan could be heard singing songs in the parlor from the Top 40 music charts from the 1970s. Kaine took a bite of her sandwich and watched expressions filter across Grant’s face.

  “You think I’m out of my league, don’t you?” She spoke around a mouthful. Might as well be candid.

  Grant pursed his lips and shrugged. “Well . . . these are all only surface repairs. Have you met with a contractor, a plumber, anyone?”

  Kaine nodded and sipped her Pepsi. “Both. The day after I arrived here.”

  “Huh.” Grant ran his finger down the list. “So they recommended mold remediation, window replacements, and porch repairs. What about the foundation? The roof? That’s a whole lot of expense if you throw it all together on an invoice.”

  Kaine eyed him over her sandwich. He hadn’t earned the right to question her judgment or even her available finances.

  “The foundation was sound. The roof . . . I’ll get to that.”

  Grant simply nodded. He was wise enough not to question her further. He was going to have to move slowly if he wanted to gain her trust. Kaine brushed crumbs off her gray T-shirt. It was oversized and emblazoned with Yosemite National Park. It had been Danny’s. She needed to remind herself of him and focus less on Grant.

  “Do you have any family?”

  Kaine blinked. “Is this a question stemmed from friendship or are you analyzing me?”

  Grant chuckled as he picked up his sandwich. “My dad says I’m always trying to understand everyone.” His eyes took on a studious glint and he tipped his chin out. “You’re most definitely not an open book, but I can tell you want to be.”

  Bam. Nailed it. Kaine looked away and brushed more imaginary crumbs from her shirt. Of course she wanted to be. Leah called her Tsunami Kaine. She normally word-vomited all her thoughts on any unsuspecting soul as a means to process them. But this time? This was different. She’d never been accused of being unstable, or making false claims, or putting herself on the brink of trouble.

  “No? Don’t want me to go there either?” Grant nodded again. “That’s fine.”

  He popped open a can of Mountain Dew. “Syrup in a can,” Danny used to call it. Kaine was prone to agree.

>   She supposed honesty wouldn’t hurt her in this scenario. “Um, I have a sister.”

  “She’s in California?”

  Joy must have told Grant where Kaine heralded from. “Mm-hmm. She’s married. I have a little niece.”

  “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  Wow. For a counselor, he didn’t tiptoe around.

  “Husband.” Kaine’s sandwich bite went down much harder this time.

  “Ahh.” Grant’s expression was unreadable. She wasn’t sure if what she said bothered him or if he’d expected it.

  “He’s dead,” Kaine added, unable to stop herself.

  A robin chortled from the soggy yard in front of them. Spring’s crisp freshness was in the breeze, which lifted Kaine’s hair in her ponytail.

  “I’m sorry.” Grant’s tone was even. That made sense. He was accustomed to working with people in the throes of grief.

  Kaine’s lips worked back and forth trying to determine whether she wanted to cry, share her story, or just stay quiet. “He was killed in a car accident two years ago. We were married not long after I graduated from college.”

  Grant gave a nod and took a bite of his sandwich, chewing slowly. He didn’t say anything. His lack of response encouraged her, like an open invitation to continue.

  “Danny always wanted to do a home restoration and he was raised in the Midwest. So I wanted to do this for him.”

  She looked to Grant as if he were a temporary stand-in for Danny. But that was silly. He wasn’t.

  “Cool.”

  The word brought some assurance to Kaine and she smiled. “I found Foster Hill House online, and my brother-in-law lawyer is checking into the realtor. The pictures of the house were a misrepresentation. Even though the realtor came with references, he wasn’t as honest as we thought. Or else there’s some other weird explanation.”

  Grant smiled but let her continue.

  “Oakwood was where my grandpa was born. He left for California when he was eighteen. So when I saw Foster Hill House was for sale in the town where my family tree seemed to start, it made sense.”