Taryn smiled to herself and squatted down. She aimed the camera at the vine-covered front door and carefully focused Mis Dixie on the scene before her. At about the time she pressed her finger down, however, a movement caught her eye from another window. Caught off guard, Taryn lost her balance and tumbled to the ground, landing on the damp grass.
“Well, damn,” she muttered as she wiped the seat of her pants and straightened the camera strap.
The flash of white had been quick, but she hadn’t imagined it. Another reflection maybe?
Taryn stepped closer to the building and peered at the window where she’d seen the movement. “Nope, not a reflection,” Taryn said aloud. “There’s no glass in that window.”
A bird then. Had to have been a bird.
Only it had seemed much larger. And more fluid.
She’d have to shrug it off, though. She couldn’t let herself get spooked so early in the game.
“Ghosts can’t hurt people,” Taryn reminded herself. “And nobody said this school was haunted.”
Pulling herself together, Taryn turned Miss Dixie back on and aimed her at the entrance once again. “Okay, let’s give this another shot,” she declared with authority. “I’ve got this.”
This time, the burst of movement was much more than a simple flash–it was a deliberate action. After the initial burst caught the corner of her eye again, Taryn watched in fascination as the silvery shadow dashed before the broken glass and paused briefly before vanishing into the ragged obscurity of the room behind it.
“Oh,” Taryn yelped in surprise, involuntarily flinching from the sight.
When nothing more happened, Taryn let out a long sigh of breath she’d unconsciously been holding. More curious now than frightened, she took a single step towards the building, Miss Dixie held before her like a shield, her finger still hovering over the shutter button. The dead leaves crinkled under her feet. Otherwise, the late morning was quiet. Not a single gnat or bird lingered above her or sang its song through the trees. It was almost eerily still, in fact.
Cautiously, she made her way to the open window. Careful of the shards of glass that still clung to the rotten wood, she brushed aside the climbing plants and peered inside. There wasn’t much to see. A mountain of desks, the kind shaped like little individual tables with openings under the top, took up the center of the floor. A graffiti-filled blackboard watched from the front of the room; someone had taken spray paint to it. A sad looking bulletin board still held the faded remnants of construction paper and cut-out balloon letters announcing spelling contest winners.
Those winners are now adults with children of their own, Taryn thought with irony.
The classroom door was open, but she couldn’t see beyond; the hallway was pitch black. With the sun hidden behind the leaden clouds that once again formed out of nowhere, the room was murky and dim.
Outside, a granddaddy longlegs quietly worked its way up her arm. Taryn stepped back from the window, not wanting to press her luck, when something moved inside again. On instinct, she pressed the shutter button and the room was instantly illuminated, the artificial brightness momentarily blinding.
A little brown field mouse ran out from under a broken chair and scurried from the room, peeved at the disruption.
“Ha,” Taryn grinned, shaking her head.
Maybe it had just been a mouse, she thought. Maybe she was overreacting. About all of it.
She was putting Miss Dixie’s lens cap back on when the rumbling of tires on loose gravel had her recoiling in surprise. It was the first vehicle she’d seen since visiting the school. Taryn looked up just in time to see an old, red Jeep flying past the school, sending stones soaring through the air like tiny bullets. The driver moved like a bat out of hell, the Jeep sliding and skidding from one side of the narrow road to the other. Linda Ronstadt blasted through the scratchy speakers. Before the vehicle climbed the embankment to the main road and disappeared around the corner Taryn caught sight of long, grayish brown hair whipping through the open window.
“Lucy Dawson,” Taryn murmured, bemused at the sighting. She’d just seen what dozens of reporters had been trying to see for weeks. It made her wonder why more weren’t camped out at the school.
The cry that came from behind her was chilling. For a brief moment, in her confusion, Taryn thought she was the one calling out–the earsplitting sound was that close. She knew it couldn’t be, however. Aside from the fact that her mouth was closed, such a high-pitched wail could have only belonged to a child. Only a child could cry so passionately, without regard to embarrassment or pride.
Eyes wide and the hairs on the back of her neck raised at attention, Taryn turned back to the building.
It was, of course, still empty.
Eight
“I’d like to thank you for having me over,” Taryn said politely.
The tall, willowy blond accepted the store-bought pie with a gracious smile. Taryn tried not to stare at Heather Winters with complete disgust. Jamey’s wife was quite possibly the most beautiful creature she’d ever seen. “Jealousy” did not even begin to describe the emotion running through Taryn’s veins.
“Well, I told Jamey we needed to have you over as soon as he told me about you,” the woman replied warmly. She threaded her arm through Taryn’s and gently led her into the living room.
Taryn looked down and noticed beautifully manicured fingernails at the end of a smooth, tan hand. Next to her, Taryn was pale, freckled, and sported jagged nails that had permanent paint and charcoal ground under them. She was mortified to be up against such a creature.
She wasn’t sure how much money a school principal could earn, but whatever it was it must have gone far in Haven Hollow. The Winters had a striking home–a large, brand new, Tudor style house on several acres. The snowy white carpet she now walked over in her bare feet (Taryn’s mother had been big on people taking their shoes off at the door and it was now habit), was so soft and clean it felt like walking on clouds. The décor was a mix of shabby chic and antiques. From the chipped-paint buffet with its display of farm kitchen cookware to the mahogany hall tree with the vintage hats artfully balanced on its “limbs,” everything looked as though it had come straight out of Country Living magazine.
Taryn dug it.
“You’ve got a lovely home,” she said, feeling both shy and awkward. Taryn had never been good with small talk. She didn’t normally even use the word “lovely.”
“Oh, thank you,” Heather blushed prettily.
Damn, Taryn thought. Perfect teeth and she’s modest too. I hate this woman.
She didn’t really, of course. Taryn might not have been psychic but she was usually pretty good at reading people. (Of course, when she was wrong she was really wrong.) Her gut instinct told her that Heather Winters was a good egg.
Later, as she sat across from a tired-but-friendly Jamey and his sparkling wife she felt right at home with the two. Jamey filled the women in on the school antics of the day and when the conversation lulled Heather made sure she asked the appropriate questions of Taryn to ensure she continued to feel wanted and included.
“So how long have you been painting?” Heather asked.
“Off and on most of my life,” Taryn answered, “but it wasn’t until high school and college that I really started taking it seriously. I wanted to major in Art in college but I knew it wasn’t the kind of degree that would lead to a lot of jobs. I’m not much of a teacher, no offense Jamey.”
Jamey sent her a laugh. “At least you were smart enough to know that! I wish some of these other teachers would figure it out sooner. So what did you end up going into?”
“Historical Preservation and Art. I wanted to combine the two,” Taryn explained. “I’m lucky to be able to have a job that I love. Although it has its drawbacks, of course, it’s mostly a lot of fun.”
What she didn’t add was that some days the drawbacks were almost too tough. Her health was failing and that was not something she could cont
inue to ignore. Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, a connective tissue disorder, left her in an extreme amount of pain. Without a cure, she could only manage the pain with strong medications that left her tired and sick to her stomach. Of more immediate concern, though, was that she’d recently been diagnosed with an aortic aneurism. There were no real treatment options available for that, either. They were taking a watch-and-wait approach to it. The fatigue, pain, and gastrointestinal issues it caused seemed to get a little worse every day, though. She couldn’t ignore it forever.
“We love to travel,” Heather said. “Over the summer we took a cruise through the Bahamas with some friends.”
“That sounds like fun. I’ve never been on a cruise,” Taryn said.
“Heather here has to get out every once in awhile or she starts to get stir crazy,” Jamey grinned.
“It’s true,” Heather said. “I love it here and it’s my home but sometimes enough is enough.”
“Have you all ever lived anywhere else?”
“We went to college at Marshall and lived there for five years,” Jamey said.
“Is that where you all met?”
The couple looked at each other and shared a laugh. When Jamey reached over and took his wife’s hand in his and squeezed her elegant fingers, for a moment Taryn felt a little pang of real jealousy. Their closeness was not a show; this was a couple that truly loved and enjoyed one another. Taryn shared a similar closeness with Matt, but the distance prohibited them from having that daily sharing-of-lives interaction that most couples enjoyed.
“We’re both from right here,” Heather replied with a soft smile. “We’ve actually been together since Middle School. Since I was twelve years old.”
“Really?” Taryn was pleasantly surprised. You didn’t see that happen very often. “That’s really cool.”
“Of course, there were a few break ups here and there,” Jamey said playfully. “This one here dumped me twice so that she could sow her wild oats.”
“Oh please.” Heather rolled her eyes and swatted at her husband. “Don’t let him fool you. Every girl in the school wanted him. I had to fight so many girls that I still have the bruises to show for it.”
Taryn didn’t doubt it. Jamey was still an attractive man and she could only imagine what he would’ve looked like in high school. She wanted to ask about children but it was obvious they didn’t have any, their house was far too clean and organized, and it wasn’t any of her business.
When dinner was over, and after Taryn helped clear the table (in spite of Heather’s protests that she was a guest), they all gathered in a family room. Jamey busied himself with building a fire in the fireplace and Heather stretched out on a small loveseat, a soft blanket toss her over her feet. “It feels so good to just come home and relax at the end of the day. The store was packed today. I didn’t get a break until after noon.”
“Heather works at the pharmacy here in town,” Jamey called over his shoulder. “As you can imagine, our town has more than its usual share of visitors these days.”
“I’ve sold more candy bars and Cokes in the past three weeks than I’ve sold in two years. Those reporters are trying to stay awake I guess. And you wouldn’t believe the number of prescriptions for Xanax and Valium we’ve filled.”
“It’s hard to drive through them sometimes to get to the school,” Taryn said. Although she, too, was a visitor to the area and technically not any different, she wanted to commiserate with her hosts.
“They’ve mostly been okay,” Heather said, “and I guess it’s good for our business, but I’ll be glad when things go back to normal. I can’t take all this excitement.”
Taryn was a little surprised by Heather’s reaction. As she sat in their nice house, eating their nice meal, and looking at their nice things she couldn’t help but wonder why they’d continue to stick around the town. They’d been out–had attended college, traveled around a little, etc. They didn’t seem to have children so it didn’t look like they were necessarily tied to the community in ways a lot of others were. If anything Taryn would’ve thought that the influx of visitors from around the country would’ve been exciting to them, allowed them to be the bridge between the community members they might feel disconnected to and the rest of the world they wanted to be a part of.
But perhaps she had misread the situation. After all, in front of their nice, new house they had matching four wheelers and coordinating trucks. Jamey’s hunting trophies were hanging on the wall above the fireplace, along with a collection of antique firearms. Perhaps they were, what her friend Melissa sometimes called people, rednecks with money. Down home at heart, just with a little more extra cash that allowed them to buy nicer toys than most.
“I was wondering if you all could tell me about the school,” Taryn said. “Since you’re both from here.”
“I can,” Jamey replied, “because I went to Muddy Creek. Heather went to the city school, though. She was upper class.”
“Ha,” Heather snorted. “We just have the one middle school and one high school but there are four elementary schools. Or there were, anyway. Now there are two.”
“I loved Muddy Creek,” Jamey said. He settled onto the loveseat by his wife’s feet. By habit, it seemed, he placed her legs in his lab and began rubbing her claves. Taryn thought it looked fabulous. “It was a great school.”
“It’s really cute,” Taryn prompted. “I bet when it was still open it was a nice place.”
“It was,” he agreed. “It was small, you know? Not that many students. Everyone knew everyone, though, and we were all friends. I still remember being out there running around the playground, playing kick ball with my buddies, eating breakfast in the cafeteria every morning–and that was back when the cooks were really allowed to cook. Now everything is state mandated and frozen.”
“School food used to be worth eating,” Heather added. “It’s horrible now.”
Taryn could agree with that. Only, her cafeteria’s food had always been bad. She must have missed the quality period. “Did you have any favorite teachers?”
Jamey paused and looked up at the ceiling, as though searching for the right answer. “Well…”
“Honey, you know it was Mrs. Evans,” Heather said teasingly.
A dark cloud passed briefly over Jamey’s face before he grimaced. “She was a mean, hateful woman,” he explained. “I’m embarrassed to admit it now, considering my chosen career field, but the kids just hated her. Including me. I had her for fourth grade. First day of school they had to bring in extra trash cans and sit them around the room. Kids were throwing up because they were afraid to be in there. Her reputation preceded her.”
Taryn laughed. “You’re kidding!”
“I kid you not,” Jamey said. “That woman could scare a bear. She’d scream and yell and…well, it wasn’t pretty. I couldn’t do a damn thing right in her class.” He shook his head and grinned, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.
Heather chuckled. “Not sorry I missed that.”
“In hindsight, she was probably just doing her best. Some of us were a bunch of hellions. And the experience certainly helped me get to where I am today. Of course, some of her, er, unorthodox teaching methods would not be tolerated in today’s classrooms. The parents wouldn’t allow it.”
“The parents are a little overprotective of their precious snowflakes,” Heather explained.
“Snowflakes?” Taryn asked, confused.
“Snowflakes,” Heather lamented, rolling her eyes in exaggeration. “The parents believe little Jenny and little Michael are extra-special. There has never been another child like them and never will be. They are the most beautiful, the most charming, the most talented…well, you get the picture.”
Taryn did.
“The other teachers were good, though,” Jamey continued, sending his wife a look. “Miss Adair was my first grade teacher. She used to bring her dog to school with her. Nobody cared about those things back then, about allergies or pet anxieties or a
nything. Dog’s name was Holly and used to roam up and down the hallways and visit the other classrooms. The kids loved it.”
Taryn tried to picture a dog roaming around her old school and couldn’t. A bird had gotten inside once, though, and there had been some excitement.
“And then there was Mr. Scott. Everyone loved him. He was my fifth grade teacher. He came from the other side of the state. I don’t know what brought him here. He was young, probably early twenties. Of course, back then he felt like an old man to us, although not nearly as old as our fathers. Maybe our big brother. At a time when all the other teachers were mostly middle-aged women in long skirts and orthopedic shoes, in our minds anyway, he wore silk shirts, a gold chain, and visited the tanning bed. Our fathers were mostly miners, railroad workers, or farmers. We’d never seen a man who got manicures, not outside of television anyway.”
Taryn smiled, immediately envisioning a young, good-looking man mesmerizing a group of youngsters as he stood before their desks, his thick gold chain catching the overhead light.
“He’d play rock music in class, talk about movies and plays he’d seen, and showed us vacation pictures of his trips to the Virgin Islands. It was the first time a lot of us ever thought about life outside the county. It’s hard to believe now but there were kids back then who had literally never been outside of the county. He kind of made us think it was possible to do big things, go places.”
Taryn could almost see the young, idealistic teacher in the small mountain school, playing the radio for his fresh-faced kids and passing around images of unnaturally blue water and white sand. “That’s nice,” she said, meaning it.
“Yeah,” Jamey shrugged. “I remember once, after social studies, he passed around paper towels and plastic forks and stuff and taught us all how to set a table and use the right utensils. Like any of us were going to be five-star dining anytime soon. But that’s just the way he was. He wanted to show us a bigger world. Oh, and then there was Mrs. Jennings. She had narcolepsy. She taught second grade and would doze off in the middle of teaching. We used to play pranks on her. Didn’t learn much that year but man we had us some fun.”
Muddy Creek: A Paranormal Mystery (Taryn's Camera Book 7) Page 5