by Mae Clair
Caden gave a weary exhale as she moved away. “I bet you didn’t have UFOs, Mothmen, and ape-creatures in Harrisburg.”
“I’m afraid the best we can manage is the Susquehanna River, but it doesn’t even have a water monster.” She took a sip of her wine. At the bar, Duncan and Donnie were still carrying on about their experience in the TNT. She’d actually missed that kind of hokeyness—the chatter and gossip spun from campfire legends and faded folklore. As fun and silly as it could be, she hoped any new rumors of the Mothman wouldn’t cause problems for Ryan. And there was nothing remotely hokey about Amos Carter’s murder.
After that they reminisced about events from childhood—watching boat launchings at Bruce Mechanical, visiting the soda bar at G. C. Murphy’s, how they’d liked or disliked a particular teacher from school. The topics were general, what Eve considered safe. There was no mention of the Silver Bridge, Maggie, or Caden’s mother. He avoided talking about why he’d left the police force, and she didn’t press, sensing he preferred to keep the conversation light.
When dinner ended, they strolled the short distance to the riverfront, passing through a large opening between the flood walls. It unfolded on a long dirt path that stretched several hundred yards to Tu-Endie-Wei State Park at the southern end of town. As a kid, she remembered riding her bike with Maggie and Sarah, following that track along the river. Tonight, a couple dozen people meandered along the path and grassy riverbanks, several with dogs, a few women pushing strollers. A jogger passed them, and several boys on bicycles whizzed past. Farther up and off to the side, a group of kids tossed a ball back and forth. She noticed Sam Lynch and Jeremy Layton among them. The entire scene was casual and leisurely.
Glancing to the spot where the Silver Bridge had once stood, she experienced a flash of melancholy. It was strange not to see the towers erected against the sky. Muddy from rains upriver, the water carried a deep orange tint, reflected from the evening sun. A riverboat chugged down the waterway pushing two enormous barges laden with coal, destined for the Ohio side.
Eventually, she and Caden wandered to a flat area that housed a portable platform shaded with a blue backdrop. The stage was already set with guitars, sound equipment, and microphones. Nearby, a number of people had set up lawn chairs or spread blankets on the ground in anticipation of the coming concert.
Caden introduced her to Glen Moore and Wyatt Fisher, friends of his since high school. She remembered Glen, but Wyatt was a few years older. He’d already been in the workforce, hauling coal, when she was still in junior high.
“Got a couple of chairs set aside for you,” Wyatt told Caden, earning a thumbs-up from his friend.
A half hour later, Eve settled into one of the chairs as the two guitarists launched into a set of acoustic music. She liked the mix—everything from Dan Fogelberg and Kenny Rogers to Bob Seger and Alabama.
“They’re good,” she told Caden after listening for a while.
Seated beside her, he nodded vacantly. Although he tapped the fingers of one hand lightly against his knee, he didn’t seem to be paying attention. Several songs later when the duo launched into a rendition of “Never My Love,” he stood and took her hand. “Let’s go for a walk.”
She was tempted to question if anything was wrong, but the look on his face made her hold her tongue. He led her back down the dirt path and through the opening in the flood walls toward the Parrish Hotel. “Caden is something wrong?”
He shook his head. “Do you mind if we just walk for a while?”
“Okay.” It was certainly a beautiful night, the sun starting to set, shading Main Street in dusky strokes of antique gold. They turned the corner at the hotel where a few guests reclined in rockers on the broad front porch, then continued down the sidewalk toward the Crowne Theater. It was the same path she’d taken with Sarah Sherman the night the Silver Bridge collapsed.
“That song,” Caden said. “‘Never My Love’ was playing on the radio when Maggie died. We were on the bridge, stuck in traffic. It was the last thing I heard before the bridge fell. To this day, every time I hear it, I flash back to that night.”
“Oh, Caden, I’m sorry.” What a dreadful reminder of a tragic event. Ryan had said he was plagued by guilt. If only he’d talk about that night, about Maggie.
“Little things set off my memory of that night, too.” She hoped her honesty would help. “Even this walk toward the theater. Sarah and I were headed this way when we heard the bridge go down.” Admitting it brought a knot to her gut. “I knew my father was coming back from Gallipolis and prayed he wasn’t on it, but something inside told me he was. They found him in the debris pile on the Ohio side, his car crushed.”
She looked straight ahead, watching the dancing flicker of lights from the Crowne’s marquee. A few people stood in line at the ticket booth waiting to see the Star Trek movie, The Wrath of Khan. “Sometimes that night and everything that happened—the bridge and the screams. It seems like a dream.” She turned to gaze up at him. “My life changed when that bridge went down. I understand what you’re feeling.”
He nodded somberly. “I forget that you lost someone, too.”
“Maggie looked up to you, Caden.”
“Not that night.”
Somewhere on Viand, a horn blared. Caden released her hand and raked his fingers through his hair. The action was brisk and agitated. “I couldn’t protect her. I told her I would. I promised nothing would hurt her.”
“You couldn’t stop a bridge from falling.”
“I shouldn’t have coerced her into going out.”
“You couldn’t foresee what was going to happen.”
“You don’t understand.” He shook his head, stopping on the sidewalk to face her. “I got her out because I thought it was the right thing to do. She was terrified of the Mothman. She believed me when I said I’d protect her.”
No wonder Ryan said his brother tortured himself with memories. She met his gaze squarely. “Caden, nearly everyone who fell into the water that night died. There were only a handful of survivors.”
“And I was one of them.” He snapped the words in anger. Exhaling, he lowered his voice. “I’m sorry, Eve. I shouldn’t vent to you like this. I don’t know why I am.”
“I want to help you.” She placed a hand on his chest, staring up into his eyes, gray like the twilight around them. “Maggie was my best friend. She wouldn’t want you to feel guilty about what happened.”
“You don’t know all of it.” He slumped against the building behind him.
“Then tell me.”
He considered for a moment, his mouth a tight line. “All right,” he agreed at last. She listened as he relayed what happened that night, then shook her head. “I don’t understand what you want me to see.”
“Isn’t it obvious? If I hadn’t stopped for cigarettes and spent those fifteen minutes bullshitting with Wyatt, Maggie and I would have been across the bridge before it collapsed. I haven’t smoked a cigarette since that night and never will.”
“Caden, stop it. You can’t lay that kind of guilt on yourself.”
“Why not?” He was suddenly bitter. “My mother does.”
She flinched. “You don’t mean…”
“That she blames me?” He laughed, a harsh sound. “She might not come straight out and say it, but the message is clear.”
“But you can’t go by that. Ryan said she hasn’t been the same since Maggie died. That she imagines things. You don’t even know if it’s really her talking…in her right mind.”
“So it seems you know all of my family’s dirty secrets.” He sighed. “Tonight hasn’t exactly turned out like I’d planned. I promised you a nice dinner and a concert at the riverfront. Instead, we get gossip about the Mothman, and I dump my problems on you.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” She tilted her head slightly, smiling slyly. “The stuffed chicken was good. Then again, I own the café.”
He grinned and hooked
an arm around her shoulders, steering her back the way they had come. “Let’s go back to the concert. We can still catch the last hour.”
She leaned against him, slipping an arm around his waist. It felt comfortable and natural. “I like the sound of that.”
* * * *
Caden liked the way she fit into his side and the floral scent of her hair. She didn’t over tease the style like many women today, loading it with hairspray until it was an over-processed mass. The more time he spent with her, the more he grew attracted to her. She was down to earth, sensible, and caring. Which was why he shouldn’t have unloaded all that garbage about the bridge and Maggie.
His guilt had nothing to do with Eve. She’d been his sister’s friend, nothing more. Maybe it was her tie to Maggie that had prompted him to spill his guts. That and bad timing. Glen and Wyatt hadn’t known about the song—he’d never told anyone—but it had set him off, releasing an avalanche of old memories.
The best thing he could do now was to try to salvage the remainder of the night. It wasn’t like Eve would be around much longer. Eventually, she would pack up and return to Harrisburg. There was no question he’d miss her. At the very least, he wanted to get to know her better in the time remaining.
As they rounded the corner of the hotel, heading down the side street to the river, Eve gave a small gasp.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“My car.” She pointed to a red Corolla parked a few feet away. “Not again.”
He understood what she meant immediately. A slip of paper fluttered under the edge of a wiper blade where it was wedged against the window. “Stay here.”
He raced toward the riverfront where a few people strolled through the gap in the flood walls. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. A young mother pushed a stroller, her husband at her side, holding the hand of their toddling daughter. The group of kids they’d seen earlier tossing a ball were camped around the corner, shooting marbles. A man walked his dog, heading up the other side of the street, and a group of women talked companionably several feet away.
Caden stopped, looking back toward Eve. She was already peeling the note from the windshield. “Hey kids,” he called to the group of boys. “You see anyone strange around here? Anyone who might have been messing with the cars parked along the side?”
The boys exchanged a glance among themselves. “No, sir.” The Layton kid, polite as hell and a little too mollycoddled by his mother. Probably why she and the other women chatted nearby where it was easy to keep an eye on their kids.
One of the other boys giggled. Sam Lynch, Katie’s kid. He was younger than the rest, but they let him tag along. “We saw Fred Markle and some girl kissing over there.” He pointed across the street behind the Post Office and made smooching sounds. “Looked like they were glued together. Does that help?”
“’Fraid not.” No doubt the boys had enjoyed a good laugh about the make-out session. He flipped a wave in parting and sprinted back to Eve’s side.
“I almost wish it were a parking ticket,” he said. He also wished she hadn’t touched it, likely smudging any traceable fingerprints.
Silently, she extended the slip of paper to him. He took it carefully by the corner, his gaze dropping to the typewritten words in the center: If you don’t leave, you’ll end up like Amos Carter.
“That’s it.” The game had turned deadly. “We’re going to see Ryan, and this time, he’s damn well going to listen.”
* * * *
Eve was scared. She wouldn’t admit it, but Caden could sense the change in her. Before, she’d been ready to believe the original note a prank. Even though she’d had him install a deadbolt on the back door, she’d clearly hoped it was an unnecessary precaution. Now, any remaining doubts had been tossed out the window. Even Ryan had to take the threat seriously.
Caden watched as she wandered away to pour a cup of coffee.
The sheriff’s office was busier than usual. Duncan and Donnie’s story had spread through town, prompting numerous phone calls from concerned citizens worried the Mothman had returned. Coupled with Amos Carter’s murder, the rumors had the usually sedate office operating on double-time. Only a handful of desks compromised the work area, but each was presently occupied by a deputy or harried clerical employee, answering phones and relaying calls to dispatch. The air smelled of stale coffee, cigarette smoke, and typewriter ink.
Still seated by his brother’s desk, Caden leaned forward. “Let me know if the lab is able to determine anything from the note. It’s a long shot, but they might be able to lift a print or two.”
Ryan nodded, setting the plastic evidence bag containing the note aside. “I’ll keep you updated. I know you’re worried about Eve.” A glimmer of self-chastisement flickered through his eyes. “I should have been more attentive the first time. I really thought the whole thing was a prank.” Expelling a breath, he slumped in his chair.
Caden knew he’d been working around the clock since Amos’s body had been found. Murder in a small town like Point Pleasant put everyone on edge. Even worse, there was no information forthcoming to pacify the public. Toss in the Mothman, and the last thing the department needed were notes threatening more violence.
“I didn’t want to say anything in front of Eve…” Caden looked across the room to make sure she was still occupied by the coffee pot. “But I’m starting to wonder if whoever wrote the notes could be the same person who killed Amos.”
“Shit.” Ryan scrubbed a hand over his face. “My gut would have me believe differently—it’s just somebody using Amos’s murder as an example of what could happen if Eve doesn’t leave— but there’s one thing that bothers me.”
“Only one?”
Ryan grinned tightly, then leaned forward, growing serious. He lowered his voice. “Everything started when Eve came to town. I could just be reaching, trying to connect the dots. Maybe Amos getting offed has nothing to do with it, but the timing is awfully coincidental. And then there’s the vandalism to Rosie’s house.”
“That happened before Eve came back.”
Ryan seemed to consider. “If that’s the case, it would mean the chain of events started with Rosie’s death.”
Caden thought about it. What could Rosie’s death possibly have to do with Amos Carter?
“If the house wasn’t vandalized, it means someone took it apart looking for something.” Caden shot another glance across the room. Eve was still at the coffee pot, holding a Styrofoam cup as she talked with one of the female clerks. She looked tired, worn down. No wonder, considering they’d been at the station a good two hours. Outside, darkness had claimed the sky, night blanketing Point Pleasant in a thick charcoal cloak.
“Why would someone want to scare Eve away?” He was quiet for a moment before continuing. “Katie Lynch told Eve she was with Rosie at the end. She said Rosie kept mumbling she was sorry for something she’d done earlier in life.”
Ryan frowned. “Such as?”
“That’s the million dollar question. She was delirious. Katie said she mentioned ‘gray vines’ several times.”
Ryan gave a disgusted grunt. “Sounds like gibberish to me.”
“What if it means something?”
“Like what?”
“Hell, I don’t know.” He was getting irritated now. “You’re the sheriff’s sergeant. Figure it out.”
“Caden.”
“All right.” He held up a hand, knowing he was dangerously close to crossing the line. Ryan was already stretched thin with Amos’s murder. He didn’t need attitude on top of it. “Sorry. We’re both on a short fuse. All I know is I couldn’t protect Maggie. I’m not about to let something happen to Eve.”
Ryan glanced across the room as she approached, carrying her coffee. “Maybe the best thing you can do is convince her to leave.”
And that was the hell of it. He didn’t want her to go.
* * * *
Eve stood on the front porch of
the Flynn home, Caden at her side, an overnight bag in her hand. A light breeze carried the scent of clover and sweet June honeysuckle, somehow muskier with the fall of twilight. Several streets removed, the drone of traffic kept up a steady hum in the night.
“I feel silly about this. Aunt Rosie’s house is right next door,” she protested. “I’ll be fine.”
“Probably, but why take chances?” He gave her a gentle smile, weakening her resolve.
Initially, Ryan had been the one to suggest she stay overnight at the Flynn home. He was going to be stuck at the station and needed Caden to stay with their mother. Eve had insisted she didn’t need a babysitter, but eventually caved when Caden added his persuasion to Ryan’s.
“What about your mom?”
“My mother will be fine with having a houseguest. She’ll enjoy the company.”
“You don’t have to go to all this trouble for me.” She felt her cheeks heat with warmth, thankful for the darkness.
“It’s no trouble.”
Taking her by surprise, he kissed her softly. The sensation sent a wave of pleasure through her, the kiss so unexpected, she froze.
Drawing back, he stared down at her. “I probably shouldn’t have done that.”
“No.” A heady breath rattled her lungs. “I…I’m glad you did.” A thousand butterflies took flight in her stomach, leaving her light-headed. “The truth is…I was hoping you would.”
“That makes all the difference.” His eyes were bright as polished metal in the moonlight. Raising his hand, he stroked the back of his fingers down her cheek. When he touched his lips to hers a second time, she sighed and folded against him.
For the moment, all her fears instilled by the note melted away.
* * * *
“I’m not crazy or even senile,” Elizabeth Flynn told her ten minutes later with a matter-of-fact stare. Eve sat in the living room with the older woman while Caden left to carry her overnight bag upstairs and make a few phone calls related to his construction business. On the TV, Suzanne Somers and Joyce DeWitt traded innuendo with John Ritter on Three’s Company, a buzz of chatter in the background overlaid with a muffled laugh track.