Cedar Hollow

by Tracey Smith

  She sat at the kitchen table questioning everything. Was it possible that no one was actually trying to hurt her, or was she just grasping to the hope that she was safe? Her mind drifted back to the tragedies of the past. Those were undeniable, but maybe, just maybe it had all ended with the death of her great uncle. Maybe it was finally over. Could he have really been behind it all? She thought of the trunk in the secret attic room. She wanted to see the other letters, the ones she hadn’t grabbed the last time.

  Her mind made up, Cassidy headed for the stairs. She didn’t hesitate at the landing but continued on to the staircase that led up to the attic. She felt exhilarated, empowered. Everything was finally making sense. She was safe, nothing dark or mysterious was haunting her. No family curse. Her uncle had been a deranged man who had planned and executed the murder of nearly his entirely family. But he hadn’t succeeded. Cassidy was still alive and he was dead, and no one was after her.

  For some reason Cassidy was sure that whatever she would find in that attic would confirm her new belief. She reached the door and grasped the handle, ready to put this mystery to rest. Ready to prove that her uncle had been the culprit and that the Miller family curse had died with him. She turned the handle. The door was locked.

  She tried it again. It wouldn’t turn. This door had not been locked last time, why was it locked now? Suddenly she thought of Mr. Owens. Was that poor old man locked inside the attic? Was Mrs. Owens locking the door now to keep him from wandering the house? She needed to talk to Ben about this right away. She thought the world of Mrs. Owens but she couldn’t just overlook the fact that the woman might possibly be keeping her husband locked in an attic feeding him poisoned oatmeal.

  Cassidy hurried back downstairs, her mind consumed with a whole new set of worries. She headed straight for the back door, crossing through the empty kitchen. As she walked around the house toward the gardens she glanced up at the third story window. The curtains shifted. Someone was up there. Someone was watching. She picked up her pace and was practically jogging as she rounded a corner and nearly ran into Ben.

  “Cassidy, what’s wrong?” Ben asked grasping her shoulders to stop her momentum. He was wearing his standard t-shirt, jeans and work boots with a healthy coating of dirt covering him from head to toe. He wore a baseball cap to keep the sun off his face and his light brown hair was curling out from under the cap around his ears. It made him look years younger. Cassidy lost her train of thought.

  “I… um…” She couldn’t seem to put into words exactly what had brought her outside. It actually seemed kind of silly now that she was standing here with Ben in the light of day. At the very least it was a conversation that could wait until he’d had a shower and changed.

  “Is everything okay?” He asked removing his hat to run his hand through his unruly hair.

  “Yeah, I was just coming to see when you’d be done.” Cassidy offered the weak excuse, realizing the fact that she’d practically ran him over belied her casual demeanor. He eyed her closely and she tried to smile.

  “I can be done now.” He said, still watching her with concern.

  “There’s no rush.” Cassidy tried to assure him, regretting her impulsive run outside.

  “No, really, I’m pretty much finished up for the day. I was just headed back to the house.” He told her taking a step in that direction. She walked alongside him toward the house feeling foolish and knowing full well that he was only coming inside because he was concerned about the way she was acting.

  “I’m just going to clean up.” He told her as they entered the kitchen.

  “Okay.” She nodded. She looked around the empty kitchen and noticed the coffee pot was still half full. Luckily it was still hot. She poured herself a cup and then searched for the sugar bowl. She opened several cabinets before she found it alongside Mrs. Owens mysterious herbs and powders. She decided to drink her coffee black.

  Ben was back in record time. He’d showered and changed into a clean pair of dark jeans and a pale grey V-neck long-sleeved shirt that showed off his broad chest and large biceps. Cassidy stared. Ben shifted nervously under her scrutiny. She blushed and cleared her throat realizing how obviously she’d been ogling him.

  “Ready to head to town?” He asked, sparing her any further embarrassment.

  “Let me just run up and grab my purse.” Cassidy said turning quickly from the kitchen and trotting up the stairs. As she reached the landing for the second floor she saw Mrs. Owens coming down the stairs from the third floor. Both women stopped and looked at each other.

  “I was just getting my purse.” Cassidy gestured toward her room. Mrs. Owens nodded wordlessly and Cassidy continued on down the hall, feeling as if she was being watched. However, when she emerged from her room with her purse in hand, Mrs. Owens was nowhere to be seen.

  “Mrs. Owens has started locking the attic.” Cassidy had been trying to figure out a way to broach the subject as they drove into town. That was the best she’d come up with.

  “Really?” Ben sounded genuinely surprised. “That’s odd.”

  “Do you think she’s keeping Mr. Owens up there?” Cassidy asked hesitantly. She realized how close Ben and Mrs. Owens must be and didn’t want to offend him.

  “You said that once before.” Ben pondered, thankfully he didn’t seem upset. “What makes you think that?”

  “Well I told you I went up into the attic and found that room.” Cassidy explained. “It looked as if someone might still be living up there, it was spotless. Plus I’ve seen the curtains move in that window several times, and well…” Cassidy hesitated, she’d promised Mrs. Owens that she wouldn’t mention the encounter with Mr. Owens, but she didn’t feel right keeping something from Ben. “The day I went up into the attic, a little while later Mr. Owens came downstairs.” Cassidy revealed.

  “Harold came downstairs?” Ben sounded shocked. “He hasn’t left his room in years.”

  “Don’t you find that a little odd?” Cassidy probed lightly.

  “The doctor says he has some sort of phobia, related to his dementia. He doesn’t feel safe outside of his own bedroom. I haven’t seen him in almost five years, not that he’d remember me anyhow. When I came to Miller’s, Harold was already beginning to lose his memory, he and Lucy would take walks around the property every afternoon and each time they would see me she would have to introduce me to him again.

  “Then a few years ago, about the same time that your uncle became bedridden and moved up to the attic, Lucy and Harold moved into the master suite. We used that year’s harvest profits to buy some medical equipment to set the room up with everything he would need. Some hospice nurses came out to help us and show Lucy how to care for him. Honestly at that point I assumed he probably wouldn’t live much longer. The doctor comes out every year to check on him, and he’s hung in there longer than anybody expected. But it’s been years since he’s left that bedroom.”

  Cassidy imagined the picture he was painting of what life was like at Miller’s before she came. Her dying uncle secluded in the attic, and a convalescing Mr. Owens withering away in his room, Mrs. Owens caring for both of them alone. It sounded very depressing.

  “Why have you stayed all these years?” Cassidy wondered aloud.

  “The year that my father and I came to Miller’s was supposed to be its last. Mr. Miller had turned into a crazy old man who just rambled around the house mumbling about redemption and Harold was going downhill fast. He couldn’t help Lucy run the place anymore, and she was going to have to shut it down. She told my father when he was hired on that it would only be for one season. There were several couples who came back to the bed and breakfast every year for their anniversaries and some for the holidays. She wanted to give them one last season before closing.

  “We barely made it through that season. My father spent most of his time at The Tavern in Hangman’s Ridge; we were still living above Sarah’s restaurant back then. I pulled him out of bed every morning, hung over and belligerent, a
nd drove him up to Miller’s Inn before going to school. After school I was back up there, picking up his slack and doing the work he hadn’t done that day.

  “I took a special interest in the garden. It was just a small plot back then, most of the fields were overrun with weeds. I was taking an agriculture class in school and for the first time I really felt like I was learning something I could use. It was the only ‘A’ I ever got.” Ben laughed.

  Cassidy tried to imagine what it must have been like back then; Ben trying to carry the weight of his alcoholic father to help Mrs. Owens run a bed and breakfast while taking care of the aging owner, who was apparently half mad and her ailing husband who was slowly losing his own mind. That was a lot of weight to put on anyone’s shoulders, let alone a teenage boy.

  “My father finally drank himself to death that winter. One night he just never made it home from the bar. They found him in an alley.” Ben stared straight out the windshield as he spoke, his words were devoid of emotion, but Cassidy could see his jaw muscles twitching, she could feel the pain that he was hiding.

  “Lucy offered me a room at the Inn in exchange for taking over the position of grounds keeper to help her finish out the season. She and Sarah actually fought over me.” Ben smiled through his pain, and Cassidy felt an overwhelming gratitude for these two women who had been there for him when he’d needed it the most.

  “The choice basically boiled down to whether I wanted more time to work in the gardens that I’d started or as a busboy in Sarah’s restaurant. I chose to stay at Miller’s because farming was the first thing I’d ever really done that I was good at. I enjoyed it and even though it was only supposed to last a few more months I wanted to see what I could accomplish in that time.

  “After the first spring thaw I began pouring all of my energy into the garden and actually made a decent profit at the farmer’s market with my first harvest. I convinced Lucy that we could keep the place running. Honestly, at that point in my life I was too terrified to leave. I had nowhere else to go. I needed her to keep it open, as much as she needed my help to run it. So we opened for one more season.”

  “How long ago was that?” Cassidy asked softly.

  “Twelve years.” Ben answered.

  “Then the crazy old man dies and leaves the place to his estranged great-niece. I can see why you hated me.” Cassidy laughed.

  “I never hated you.” Ben assured her. “Even when I tried.” He winked and smiled over at her, she blushed and smiled back.

  “I’m glad I stayed. I can’t imagine what it must have felt like, after all you’d been through, to have your entire fate resting on whether or not a stranger would agree to live with you for a month because of some weird inheritance clause.” Cassidy laughed and shook her head. Then suddenly it struck her.

  “He left me the house so he could kill me.” Cassidy realized aloud. “My uncle wanted to ensure that he left no living relatives. He brought me here under the pretense of the inheritance so that someone could kill me if he died before he could see to it himself. That’s why I had to stay for thirty days, to give them enough time to get the job done.” It was strange how calmly she could talk about the possibility of her own murder.

  “Let’s go find out if you’re right.” Ben said pulling to a stop in front of Mr. Woodard’s office.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Cassidy felt anxious as they walked up the steps to the door of Mr. Woodard’s law office. Would he be here? Would he have the answers she was looking for? Could he be the one who was after her now? She was glad that Ben had come with her. She wasn’t sure if she could’ve done this alone.

  They stepped through the front doors and then stopped dead in their tracks. The office was in a state of upheaval. Filing cabinet drawers were left open and papers were scattered across the desk top and floor. Ben and Cassidy stood in the doorway surveying the chaotic room.

  Moments later Mr. Woodard’s secretary came rushing into the room from the hallway. Her faded red hair was haphazardly twisted into a lopsided bun, most of which had fallen loose. She looked disheveled and frantic as she scurried to her desk scooping up the papers on the floor along the way. She almost didn’t notice Ben and Cassidy standing in the entryway.

  “Oh my!” She jumped when she saw them, dropping the stack of papers that she’d just gathered.

  “Virginia, what happened?” Ben questioned calmly.

  “I don’t know. When I came in this morning Mr. Woodard was here and he was tearing the place apart. He was looking for something, but he wouldn’t tell me what. I’m not even sure if he found it or not. Then he handed me a letter to give to Miss St. Claire. He said it was very important that I gave it to her and then he left.” She began wringing her hands nervously.

  “Where’s the letter?” Ben asked softly. Virginia shuffled through the papers on her desk producing a manila envelope which she handed to Ben.

  “Do you think Mr. Woodard will be back?” She asked desperately.

  “No.” Ben said softly. “Why don’t you go home? Don’t worry about this mess for now. Just take the day off.” He advised kindly. The poor woman looked lost. She nodded absently and then gazed around the room again at the mess.

  “Was there anything else that he left for Cassidy?” Ben asked.

  “No, just that envelope.” She answered still examining the state of the room.

  “Virginia, go home.” Ben said gently. “The police may want things left as they are.”

  “The police?” She squeaked looking up at him with alarm. “Why would the police need to see any of this?” She continued wringing her hands.

  “Right now it’s just best if you went home.” Ben encouraged, guiding her towards the door.

  “Ok.” She said weakly as she grabbed her purse from the hook on the wall. “Ok, maybe that is best.” She agreed.

  “Why don’t you give me your key so I can lock up for you?” Ben suggested. Virginia nodded and rummaged through her purse looking for her keychain. She absent-mindedly removed the key from the ring and handed it over to him looking relieved as she did so. Only in a small town, Cassidy thought wryly. Ben guided Virginia to the door and sent her on her way then turned to Cassidy.

  “Let’s see what Mr. Woodard has to say.” He said grimly as he opened the envelope and took a seat. Cassidy sat beside him.

  Dear Miss St. Claire,

  I must start by apologizing. Not only for my involvement in your family’s demise but for taking so long to acknowledge it. I have been in denial for many years and now it is time to face the truth. It is time for you to know the truth.

  I came to work for your great-uncle, Robert Miller, in 1979 just after graduating law school. My first task was to locate his estranged brother, your grandfather Curtis Miller. I was able to locate Curtis and his wife Liz living with their twin daughters in Connecticut, and I was able to convince them to come home. At that time I did truly believe that your uncle was genuinely trying to reconnect with his family.

  After Curtis and Liz died your uncle fought very hard to obtain custody of the girls. I was at the forefront of that fight, still believing that his intentions were sincere and that he only wanted to keep his family close. The courts, however, granted custody to the girl’s grandmother back in Connecticut.

  When Kim returned the following year to marry Billy Patterson, your uncle requested that I approach Billy with a job offer that he would be unable to refuse, with a salary much higher than the job demanded. He was also very adamant about me finding Kim’s sister, Lainey.

  That winter he brought me a letter that Kim had received from her sister. I did not ask him how he’d come to possess it. Perhaps I should have. I was able to use the letter to locate Lainey and provided your uncle with the address, but he instructed me not to contact her.

  Within a few weeks we learned of her death. I might have become more suspicious then if not for your uncle’s extreme grief over the news. He even requested that I send funds for the funeral arrangements t
o the girl’s grandmother in Connecticut.

  When Kim went missing a few months later your uncle was inconsolable. He had lost his entire family. Billy moved away from the Inn to grieve alone in the cottage he had bought for Kim, and your uncle became a hermit, never leaving the house again.

  I believed Mr. Miller to be a man who had everything ripped away from him. A man to pity. Had this been where the story ended I might have never known any different.

  Years passed, my work for your family became nothing more than routine paperwork. Until the night of the fire. Your uncle contacted me in the middle of the night. Somehow he knew about the fire despite the late hour. He knew that Billy had died, and he knew that Kim had died with him. He didn’t tell me how he knew. I didn’t ask. His only request of me was that I keep Kim’s name out of the newspaper. He did not want the family’s tragedies to make headline news again. I understood his sentiment and I did not question his motives. I pulled a few strings and the majority of Cedar Hollow remained ignorant. No one else knew that Kim had died that night along with Billy.

  Time has a way of allowing us to bury the memories we want to forget, and ten years later when your great-uncle contacted me once again I had all but forgotten my suspicions of the past.

  This time he asked me to put him in touch with a private investigator. He told me that someone had been accessing the Miller family medical records and he wanted that person located. I complied, but I also dismissed his intentions as those of a paranoid old man.

  However it was this same private investigator who, fifteen years later, provided us with your whereabouts. Your uncle was adamant that I contact you and bring you to Cedar Hollow. He also had me draft his will.

  The PI provided me with a file on you. I never looked at it aside from obtaining your contact information. I filed it away in a drawer and tried not to think of it.

  I only first opened that file this week after everything that has happened to you since you’ve arrived. There were newspaper clippings dating all the way back to your adopted parent’s death in a car accident.