“So he did kill her, just in a different way,” Melissa said unhappily. “So many lives ruined. I heard that Jonathan married that woman Maizie he used to see and they were never that happy. She was a weird, cold woman.”
“And poor little Clara’s life was snuffed out before it even got started,” Taryn added.
Melissa nodded sadly.
“So Phyllis’s uncle is going to be tied into an eighty-year old murder case and Donald will finally get the burial he deserves. But what about Clara? Who cares about her and what happened?”
“I do,” Melissa said, a touch of stubbornness showing through. “I care about her. And my family will, too. She’s our family now. We’ll take care of her. I’ve already visited her grave and I’ll keep doing it. We’ll make sure she’s not forgotten.”
Despite the awkwardness, the members of the Stokes County Historical Society loved the painting. A few even openly cried when they saw it. As they walked around the room and hugged and patted on her, she felt both pride and embarrassment at their displays of affection.
Shirley seemed particularly upset. “I am just so sorry that…so sorry. I’m sorry that—”
“One of your members tried to kill me?” Taryn finished helpfully. “Twice?
That seemed to break the spell and put everyone at ease, although Taryn couldn’t wait to get out of the building and Vidalia itself. She still wasn’t sure why the well hadn’t shown up in her last pictures, but she knew that the part that centered on her wasn’t finished. She might have known what happened to Clara, but her story was really just beginning. Rob was right. She had changed. She felt it. Something was starting to unfold inside of her and awaken. It was a prickling at the edges of her mind, but she couldn’t ignore it. In the hospital, after the attack, it grew stronger. She itched to take more pictures and see what developed, no pun intended.
There wasn’t much left to say goodbye to. Taryn stood awkwardly in the middle of her hotel room, taking one last look around. The mirror over the standard, hotel dresser showed a reflection of a woman who, to Taryn’s mind anyway, looked older and more tired than she was when she’d first arrived. Taryn felt like she’d aged by at least ten years over the past six weeks. “Probably the Pine Sol,” she joked aloud and her voice felt dim and hollow in the empty room.
Nobody knew what happened to the mirror in Clara’s room. Not every question was answered in the end. Perhaps a vandal really had taken it sometime over the years. Or maybe one of the other owners removed it. Taryn liked to think that Robert, left alone with his anger and whatever madness he had inside of him, removed the mirror himself because he felt Clara’s spirit wandering through the house.
Reagan gave the keys to Melissa. Nobody spoke of them aloud, but they all knew what those keys were for. The smaller ones would have been for the padlocks that held the chains on Clara’s bed. And the larger key fit the door that covered the old well once it was uncovered. Had Robert left the keys there for Clara to see, so close and yet unable to reach them? What would drive a person to be so insane? No amount of criminal shows on television could help Taryn reach that level of understanding. Her own parents were aloof and distant, but they loved her. Maybe, in his own way, Robert also loved his daughter. Had his debts pushed him into believing that keeping her tied down and forcing her to marry someone she didn’t love was the only way out for him? Obviously, Taryn didn’t really know them, but if he had talked to Clara she had a feeling that Clara’s sense of duty to her family would have pushed her into the marriage if nothing else. His actions had been senseless, pointless. She wondered what he was like when his wife was still alive. So many questions left unanswered but at least the living knew the answers to the most important questions and that would have to be enough.
Taryn made one last stop at the diner for pancakes before leaving town. Tammy was waiting for her when she walked in and immediately pounced on her with a hug. “I don’t care if you’re not the touchy type, you’re getting one,” she said into Taryn’s shoulder.
“I’m the hugging type and I probably need one about now,” she sighed and then realized she would really miss the meals and companionship she found there.
“I’m sorry we tried to kill you. Twice.” Tammy looked so forlorn that Taryn couldn’t help but laugh as she slid into the booth.
“Well, I can’t say this is one job that I am going to miss. But I will miss you. And the food.”
“I’m taking a break,” Tammy called into the kitchen. A grumble of noises came back out and Tammy waved them away as she slid in across from Taryn. “Nobody else here, anyway. Breakfast rush is over.”
Taryn was still sore and figured that she’d have nightmares for years over what had happened, like she needed any more reasons not to be able to sleep. She hadn’t been back out to the house since the night she went looking for the well. Part of her wanted to go, just to see if the air changed. The other part was too afraid of what she might see, or not see.
“Do you think it’s over?” Tammy asked, as if reading her mind.
It took Taryn a second to realize she was talking about Windwood Farm and not what she had been experiencing through her camera. “I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe Clara’s soul can rest now, and Donald’s. I don’t know about the other. With new people and new houses and a new lease on life, the property might just bounce back from this.”
“And it might not,” Tammy added.
“And it might not,” Taryn echoed.
“Who knows,” Tammy laughed, the sound filling the diner; a symbol of hope. “The old place might not even let them tear it down!”
The interstate was surprisingly empty as she headed out of Stokes County and pointed her car southbound. It was a clear blue day and even though her shoulder hurt like hell and she’d had to spend a week in the hospital recovering, most of her felt good. The house was going to be demolished sooner rather than later and this time it felt right.
“It’s not a good place, Matt,” she spoke into her phone. “It might have been at one time, but it’s not anymore. It just needs to go. There are just too many bad memories for that house and land. It’s time for some happy ones. I hate subdivisions, but maybe once it’s filled with families and laughter, the bad energy it’s clinging onto will disappear.”
“Are you okay?” he must have said a thousand prayers for her, and he wasn’t even the praying kind. It was the thought of angering her that kept him away this time, but he wouldn’t let that hold him back if it happened again.
“I feel good,” she said truthfully. “I’m doing something that feels right. I have no idea what this means for me, but I think I’m ready for it.”
Coming in August 2014
Griffith Tavern
Book Two in Taryn’s Camera Series
Visit www.tarynscamera.com
Acknowledgements
It took a few different people over the course of several years to make this book happen. Thank you to Wanda, Angie, Jennifer, Ginger, and Amy for giving it a read before anyone else. Special thanks to my mom for proofing it for me and catching the weird mistakes, like when I called characters by the wrong name (hey, when it takes you 5 years to write a book, it’s bound to happen). Special thanks to Joette Morris Gates who had no idea what she was getting into when I asked her to give it a read and then promptly got hit with approximately 10,000 questions and diligently answered them all. This story was inspired in equal parts by a dream, song lyrics, and a deserted house my husband and I stumbled across one winter’s day. I thought my imagination was twisted and then my husband came up with some of the other crazy ideas for the book so as it turns out, we’re well-matched after all. Truth can be as strange as fiction: Clara’s bedroom actually does exist. Let’s hope the real story isn’t as crazy as the one in my head. This book is dedicated to one of the most unique and interesting women I have ever known. She encouraged me to write my first ghost story almost 26 years ago. Hopefully, my grammar has improved somewhat. (Some may or may not agree.)
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