“So is your surname of Prescott your husband’s?”
Kaine shook her head. “No. It’s my grandpa’s. Danny supported me in honoring Grandpa by keeping it. I wanted Grandpa alive in a small way. Is that strange?” Her question was honest.
“Not at all. It’s interesting.” Grant took another swig of his soda, his brows drawn together in thought. “My mother can trace our history back to the Vikings. But I know a lot of families, especially broken ones, who find those genealogies get lost.”
“I never paid much attention to my genealogy, and my grandpa lived during the sixties when everyone wanted free love and separation from tradition. So he wasn’t exactly one to foster the preservation of our lineage.”
“And your parents?”
“My father ran off when I was three,” Kaine said matter-of-factly. “That’s why my mom kept Grandpa’s name. She didn’t want us known by my deadbeat dad.” Kaine was indifferent to him really. Grandpa had always been her strong male influence. “My mom died when I was eight, so Grandpa raised my sister and me. She had breast cancer and, well, you know how that journey goes for some.” She paused, reflecting. Her memories of Mom were dim now. “You’d think I’d be used to losing people.”
“You never get used to that,” said Grant.
“I guess.” Kaine let out a sigh. “Anyway, it was me, Leah, and my grandpa until Danny came around. I had a ton of friends, co-workers, but Danny was—he was my foundation.” She chuckled at a memory. Grant had a way of drawing a person out. “Danny and I took a trip to Montana once. We were camping and there was this huge thunderstorm. I was sure we were going to have trees come down on us. Danny sat on top of me, put his hands up in the air, and said, ‘I’ll just sit here and catch them for you.’ He was mocking me, in a loving way, but that was Danny. Always trying to take care of me in his zany way.”
A companionable silence followed. Kaine drew in a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment. It was comforting to remember Danny as he was, not how he died. Nor how she’d distanced herself from him as her job resurrected old memories, and the weight of the abuse she daily saved women from overwhelmed her.
“Sounds like he was a stand-up guy.”
Kaine gave Grant a thankful smile. “He was.”
Grant returned her smile, understanding and compassion on his face. “So . . .” Kaine saw something flicker in Grant’s eyes. Curiosity, intrigue? She wasn’t sure until he voiced his question. “Do you know how your grandfather got Ivy’s quilt?”
Kaine cast Grant a perplexed look. “I have no idea, but I know Grandpa wouldn’t have stolen it. I mean, Grandpa was a good man.”
Grant was immediately apologetic at her fervent defense of her grandfather. “I didn’t mean to imply that he wasn’t. It’s just odd. Like one of those unsolved mysteries on the History Channel.”
“I agree.” Kaine twisted on the stairs to better face Grant. The more she thought about it, the more curious she became. Ivy’s quilt, the note from Foster Hill House, and Grant’s previous claim that Ivy had been attacked right here, on this property. “Do you know what happened to Ivy? After her attack?”
Grant set his sandwich down on the ziplock plastic bag on his lap. There were only a few bites from it. He must not like alfalfa sprouts and turkey. “This is why this stuff intrigues me. My dad and I used to study Oakwood history for fun. Weird, I know. Anyway, Oakwood Museum has a few things about Ivy Thorpe and Foster Hill. A display about the dead woman found in the old oak tree, Gabriella, and Ivy’s subsequent attack. The lack of detail keeps the legend alive because it’s like that forever story that has no end or resolution. The story says that Ivy was engaged in trying to uncover Gabriella’s murder and got too involved. As for the quilt, it was one of the main pieces of Ivy’s memorabilia, and when it was stolen, well, outside of history junkies like me, and superstitious folk like Joy, it’s all but forgotten. I don’t know that most people really cared in the long run.”
Kaine reached for the flannel shirt she’d discarded next to her on the porch so she could sit in her T-shirt and soak in the warmth of the sun. She grasped the old page from Great Expectations and pulled it out of the shirt pocket. Maybe Grant could shed some light on it. She handed it to him.
“I found this. In the house.”
Grant took the page from her and eyed the handwriting in the margins. “Where was it?”
“Behind a baseboard in the library. Read it. It’s creepy.”
Grant skimmed the words. “That is creepy.” He eyed the text of the novel. “This looks like late nineteenth century, maybe turn-of-the-century type print.”
“How do you know that?”
“My brother. Antique-store owner, remember? He collects and sells old books. I told you my family is full of history buffs. Except for Mom. She just likes to garden. Do you think this belonged to one of the occupants of Foster Hill House?”
“I’ve no clue.” Kaine watched him turn the page over to the printed text on the other side, then return to examine the handwriting.
“You know . . . it’d be freaky if the dead girl wrote it.”
“You mean the one my great-great-grandmother found? Gabriella?”
“Yeah.”
Kaine had considered that, but thought it a stretch. Now that Grant voiced it aloud, she wondered if maybe it wasn’t so farfetched after all. Kaine remembered the words, the aching plea behind them. If this Gabriella had written it, then more than one horror had occurred in this house. Now, it seemed, the horrors were following the next female over a hundred years later. Her. Kaine reached for Grant’s knee before she could stop herself.
“I want to find out. I’ve bought the house my great-great-grandmother almost lost her life in. A house that a young woman was either murdered in or nearby. And with what happened to me the other day, I—”
She caught herself and snapped her mouth shut.
Grant frowned. “What happened the other day?”
“Nothing.” Kaine jumped to her feet and wiped her hands down her jeans. Subject change needed—stat! “So, how about heading into town for some garbage pails? I’m going to need them if I’m going to start ripping out stuff. And some masks so we don’t breathe in the mold.” The forced cheer in her voice erased her initial excitement. “I want to do as much as I can myself. It’ll be cheaper that way.”
“Of course.” Grant tossed the sandwich of sprouts and turkey into the bushes. A sideways grin tipped his mouth. “And get some real food.”
She managed a smile. A hamburger did sound good, and chocolate, and carbs, and lots of sugar. Anything to mask her grief, the fear, and the door that made her slam it all into a secret place inside of her. A place that held Kaine captive.
Chapter 13
Kaine’s hips ached as she adjusted her position on the motel bed. Her laptop was heavy on her lap, and she moved the blankets away so it didn’t overheat. The TV played an old episode of Friends, and while Kaine usually related to Chandler, tonight she understood the melancholy nature of Ross. Olive moaned from her spot on the floor, stretching her hind legs out and then pulling them in closer to her body.
Kaine’s phone vibrated against her hip, and she yanked it from underneath her. It was midnight here in Wisconsin, but Leah was wide awake back home.
“Kaine, we need to talk.” The absence of warmth in Leah’s greeting heightened Kaine’s senses. She closed the lid on her laptop.
“What’s wrong?”
“Did the police call you?” Leah’s voice trembled.
Coffee. She was going to need coffee. Kaine reached for her thermal mug on the nightstand and popped open the lid. She took a long sip and shook her head even though Leah couldn’t see her. “No. They didn’t.”
“There’s been a change in Danny’s case.”
“A change?”
“Apparently they reopened it. Something about the detective who was on the case losing his job for covering up stuff and being sloppy. He’s not on the force anymore, and the
y’re looking into some of his past cases for accuracy.”
Leah’s words didn’t inspire celebration or relief. Kaine wasn’t sure what she felt. She bit at a chip in her fingernail.
“That’s wonderful.” Kaine couldn’t hide the sarcasm. “Because obviously Danny’s wife was insane, so it took some cop to get fired to get them to look into it more seriously?”
“Don’t be bitter, Kaine. Be thankful.” Leah’s plea reached through Kaine’s jaded thoughts. Thankful? It was hard to find reasons to thank the Lord for the past few years of her life.
“I’m sorry.” Kaine fought back a sudden rise of frustrated tears. “It’s just, after being told I was wrong so many times over . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“But look at it from a different perspective. It’s not in your timing, but the Lord has someone in your court, Kaine. This cop, Detective Tamara Hanson, called me the other day when she couldn’t reach you. She questioned me, since you named me as a witness, about the police reports filed after those first times things were moved in your house.”
“You mean when they said I had PTSD?”
“Kaine,” Leah scolded.
Kaine swallowed her anger. She should be thrilled. Finally someone was willing to risk believing her. Finally someone in law enforcement would listen when daffodils were left on counters or in the middle of an entryway floor. When her husband’s picture was left in an upstairs abandoned bedroom. Except she was in Wisconsin now.
She squeezed her eyes shut as she battled her cynicism. Detective Hanson may not be able to protect her here, but if she could uncover who had killed Danny, then they’d also know who was after Kaine. Local authorities could be alerted.
“Detective Hanson said she’d be calling you. She wants to dig into Danny’s history, and yours too. Even your career here helping abused women. She said that wasn’t exactly a low-risk career. How many women did you help escape their husbands or pimps, Kaine?”
Leah spoke with a thread of excitement in her voice. She had no idea what her announcement was doing to Kaine’s stomach. Even the possibility that something in her career, which had consumed so much of her life and alienated Danny, had anything to do with his death raked her insides into a sickening pile of guilt.
“Is she saying Danny was killed because of me?”
The silence on the other end of the line communicated Leah’s comprehension. “Kaine. Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—I mean, I didn’t want to imply that—you’re not responsible for Danny’s death.”
Kaine couldn’t answer. A lump lodged in her throat.
“Besides,” Leah continued, “the detective is just fishing. Speculating and digging for possibilities.”
Her head down, again Kaine squeezed her eyes shut. Danny had been an engineer. He didn’t make enemies. He’d get excited over building model airplanes in his spare time. He preferred solitude to social activities. He’d been devoted to Kaine, but she was devoted to life. To people. To saving them and fulfilling a mission and pursuing a passion. Danny’s worst enemy had been dried-up model glue.
“Well, hopefully Detective Hanson will find something.” Kaine’s response was lame, but her hands were shaking now. “Prove that Danny wasn’t on drugs and didn’t kill himself.”
“I told her you’d moved to get away. That nothing else had happened since you left.”
Kaine ran her palm over her eyes.
“Please tell me nothing’s happened.” Leah’s plea reawakened Kaine’s fear. Danny’s car wreck had been intentional. Danny had been murdered, and someone was really out there, following her.
“He’s here, Leah.”
The instant her finger pressed the doorbell Kaine regretted her impulsiveness. A dog barking wildly from inside the house was like a slap of reason against her irrational fear. The phone call from Leah encouraged a panic attack like none she’d had since the day she found out Danny was killed. Her hands were shaking, her heart palpitating. It was like an out-of-body experience. She could see herself reacting with no logic whatsoever but didn’t have control over it.
She swiped at the tears that slipped down her cheeks. Stupid. What inspired her to leave the security of her flimsy motel room and leap into her Jetta with Olive to drive four miles out of town and pull into Grant Jesse’s driveway? Why hadn’t she gone to Joy’s house—other than the fact she didn’t know where Joy lived? Safety. That’s what. Kaine could still sense the strength that emanated from Grant in the limited time they’d spent together. She was alone in Oakwood, with no source of comfort, save God who was pretty silent at the moment. While she was a strong woman, even the strongest sometimes needed someone to calm them. Joy was too spasmodic and excitable. Kaine needed calm right now.
Moonlight shone down onto the welcoming front porch of a white farmhouse while Kaine’s senses argued with her emotions. Go back to the motel. You’re exposing yourself as emotionally unstable. No one needs to see this side of you. Suck it up, Kaine Prescott.
So she did. Just as Grant opened the door, the light from the entryway silhouetting his body. Grant held his tan-colored pit bull back by its collar as it roared to life with a series of deep-throated barks and growls.
“Shush, Sophie!” Grant opened the door wider. “Kaine? What’s wrong? What happened?” He stepped aside, pulling his energetic dog with him.
Olive moved before Kaine did, sticking out her nose to sniff at Sophie. The two dogs danced around each other, then quickly made friends, their hindquarters wagging along with their tails. Kaine remained frozen in place.
“Kaine, are you okay?”
“Umm . . .” She paused and glanced at her car. She took a step back. “I’m s-sorry. I was stupid. Come, Olive.” Turning, she hurried down the porch steps, Olive on her heels. Seeing Grant face-to-face was a cold, hard slap of reality.
“Stay,” Grant commanded Sophie, and shut the door in his dog’s face. He leaped down the two porch steps and chased after Kaine, who couldn’t run fast enough back to her car.
The song of crickets surrounded them as the crisp air chilled Kaine’s coatless body.
Grant’s hand closed around hers and tugged. “Hey.”
Kaine stopped, and apologies poured from her without pause. “I’m really sorry. Waking you up. I shouldn’t have come. I-I’m going to head back. Please. Just—go back to bed. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.” Grant placed his hands on her shoulders and urged her to turn and face him. “Did something happen?”
Kaine lifted her chin, her gaze directed at the sky. She bit her bottom lip. “I feel like an idiot.”
“Don’t.” Grant squeezed her shoulders. “What’s wrong, Kaine? Talk to me.”
Kaine pressed her lips together, opened her mouth, and then snapped it shut again. Her eyes glistened with tears and she blinked several times. A gust of wind brushed over them, and Kaine shivered.
Finally she whispered, wincing as she did so, “My husband . . . he was murdered.”
Chapter 14
Jvy
It was nice of you to invite me for a walk.”
Ivy gave the girl strolling beside her an encouraging smile. She’d met Maggie just this morning on a stop for Ivy’s father to drop off medicine for Widow Bairns. She knew her father was trying to keep her occupied and busy. Since she and Joel uncovered the cradle at Foster Hill House yesterday, Joel had made no secret that she was not to become further involved or put herself in danger on her own crusade to find the missing child. So her father saw fit to create a list of to-dos that was busy work at best. But, perhaps meeting Widow Bairns’s new live-in caregiver was a blessing of sorts. She reminded Ivy a little of what Gabriella may have been like. Of course, she’d never tell the mousy, timid girl that. No one wished to be compared to a dead woman. Nor would she tell the girl that she’d requested her accompaniment not so much to be charitable and get to know her, since she was the widow’s great-niece from out of town, but because she knew it probably wasn’t wise to go on her secret jaunt
alone.
She glanced at Maggie from the corner of her eye. The girl picked at her fingernails as they walked, her gesture nervous, and her shoulders stiff as though she was horribly shy. Ivy felt a moment of conscience prick her. She’d hate to be the cause of trouble for Maggie. But Ivy also didn’t particularly trust Joel with the responsibility of finding Gabriella’s baby. Sheriff Dunst was organizing a search party, and Joel was drumming up men to assist. In the meantime, no one was canvassing the town to investigate. No one except Ivy.
“Are you finding Oakwood pleasant?” Ivy owed some extension of genuine friendship to the girl.
Maggie nodded short, shy nods. She gave Ivy a quick wide-eyed look. “It’s very nice.”
“You must be delighted to foster a relationship with your great-aunt.” Ivy sidestepped a rock in the road, her eyes scanning the tree line on either side. Dark shadows played against bare trees and patches of snow. A squirrel hopped over a dead tree and chattered at them as they passed.
“Have you been here long?” Ivy adjusted her grip on her purse, her mind traveling a thousand steps ahead to the orphanage and to the moment she would inquire about a baby. What if there was an infant there? Could it be that simple?
“Only a week.” Maggie’s answer brought Ivy back to the conversation. She tightened her coat around herself, fiddling with the buttons, and smiled a timid, fast smile. “I like Aunt Edith.”
“Everyone adores your aunt,” Ivy reaffirmed.
Maggie stared down the road with squinted eyes. “How far are we going to walk?”
Yes. Walk. Ivy realized she’d invited Maggie for a friendly stroll, which Widow Bairns had encouraged, but Ivy hadn’t explained they had a destination.
“I need to make a stop at the orphanage, if you don’t mind.”
Maggie tugged at the warm gloves on her hands. “Oh. Yes. Yes, that’s fine.”
Ivy nodded. Good. They walked a bit more in silence, and then Maggie stopped, her eyebrows drawing together. “Oh dear,” she sighed with a quiver to her chin. “I completely forgot. I didn’t set out anything for my aunt for lunchtime. She isn’t able to prepare her own food.”
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