by Mae Clair
Eve had hoped to make small talk about the weather, but Caden’s mother clearly had other ideas. The moment her son stepped from the room, she zeroed in on the subject of her deceased daughter.
“Caden and Ryan don’t believe me.” A book of crossword puzzles lay open in Mrs. Flynn’s lap, her hands folded neatly on the dog-eared pages. Prim and proper, she appeared dressed for a summer tea party, wearing smartly pleated beige slacks and a cranberry blouse with pink speckles. “Maggie visits me in my dreams. Sometimes she shares things. Like when she told me you were coming back.”
Eve wet her lips, uncertain what to say. Caden would have her believe his mother was senile, but she seemed in perfect command of her wits. And even Eve had dreamed of Maggie her second night in Aunt Rosie’s house. A tremor of anxiety prickled her nerves. It would be so much easier to prattle about the mild summer they were having or join in the frivolity of the laugh track on Three’s Company.
She stole a glance at the TV, hoping John Ritter would do something outrageous to distract Mrs. Flynn. Instead, Caden’s mother continued as though she had Eve’s complete attention.
“She wants you to sort it out. Something is preventing her from passing to the next life. She’s been trapped here so very long.” Shaking her head, she dropped her gaze to her hands and fiddled with her pencil. Her fingers were bony and bird-like. Maybe she wasn’t crazy, but she looked frail to Eve, as if a strong wind would blow her away.
“It took them six months to find her body,” Mrs. Flynn said, a catch in her voice. “And then…and then she just wasn’t Maggie. My Maggie.”
Eve was drawn into the discussion despite her reluctance. “I remember the searches.” The Army Corp of Engineers had set up a basecamp, overseeing operations as search and rescue boats dragged the river. Even when the center eventually closed, local townspeople continued combing the icy waters with their boats.
“I kept hoping they’d find her.” Mrs. Flynn spoke in a hushed tone as if her words reopened painful wounds. “After that first night, I knew she was never coming home, but I wanted my baby for burial.” Tears bright in her eyes, she swiped a trembling finger beneath her lashes and looked at Eve. “Caden was determined to find her. As soon as he was able, he was there day and night, participating in the official search. When the Army left, he kept looking. I didn’t think he’d ever stop. Finally, my husband made him quit. It was hard enough losing Maggie but seeing Caden tear himself up night after night…it was like we lost two children. He blames himself.”
“He thinks you blame him, too.” She was no doubt sticking her nose where it didn’t belong, but couldn’t let the opportunity pass. Not when Mrs. Flynn was talking so openly.
The older woman fiddled with her pencil, the thin yellow barrel riddled with teeth marks as though it had been chewed repeatedly. Sucking her bottom lip between her teeth, she refocused on the crossword puzzle book pillowed in her lap.
“A five-letter word for temperate,” she said without looking at Eve.
“Mrs. Flynn?”
“Mild is too short, isn’t it? Perhaps balmy?”
“Elizabeth?” Eve persisted.
Caden’s mother met her gaze. “I did blame him for a time. I needed someone to be responsible, and he was an easy target.”
Eve was tempted to ask how a mother could do such a thing, but restrained herself. Her expression must have betrayed her feelings.
“I know what you’re thinking.” Mrs. Flynn smoothed a hand over her slacks. On the TV, Three’s Company had been replaced by a breezy sailboat inspired commercial for Hawaiian Punch. “How could a mother treat her son that way? I ask myself the same thing.”
“You need to change it. He thinks you still blame him. You can ease his guilt.”
The older woman shook her head. “No. Maggie said it has to be you. I’ve done too much damage for Caden to accept anything from me. It’s up to you to find the answers.”
Eve drew back, exasperated. It was far from easy conversing with a woman who believed she was in communication with her daughter’s ghost. “What answers?”
“About what happened that night.”
Eve thought back to what Caden had told her. “Caden took Maggie Christmas shopping. On the way back, he stopped at a gas station to buy a pack of cigarettes and ended up chatting with a friend while Maggie waited in the car.”
“Fifteen minutes.”
“You know the story?”
“Yes. He hasn’t smoked a day since.”
“Then you know they got stuck in traffic on the bridge. It collapsed and he blacked out.” It felt unjustly apathetic to reduce such a horrific night to a few blunt images, but she plowed ahead. “He said he didn’t see Maggie when he came to. He was in the water, clinging to debris when someone pulled him out.”
“There’s more to the story.”
“What more could there possibly be?”
Mrs. Flynn twined her hands together. “I wish I knew. I only know what Maggie tells me in my dreams. You’ve dreamt of her, too.”
Eve recoiled, knowing she hadn’t shared that particular nugget of information with anyone.
“Maggie said it’s all related,” Mrs. Flynn persisted.
Perhaps the woman was crazy. “What is?”
“Caden, the Silver Bridge, the Mothman…even your Aunt Rosie. It all goes back to that night.”
Eve felt like someone had punched her in the gut. There it was again—that strange connection. How was her Aunt Rosie involved?
Did you really see the Mothman?
Your Aunt Rosie knows.
“Mrs. Flynn, please. If you know something, you need to tell me. Someone has vandalized Aunt Rosie’s house and left me threatening notes. I don’t understand why.”
“It has to do with the Lynch girl.”
Eve gaped, blindsided. “Katie?”
“No. The other one. The one who ran away.”
“Wendy?”
“Yes. I don’t understand it myself. I just hear what Maggie tells me.”
“Mrs. Flynn…”
The older woman yawned. Inhaling deeply, she smiled as if waking from a trance. “It’s late, isn’t it?” She closed her crossword puzzle book. “I should probably head upstairs and call it a night.”
They’d just spent ten minutes talking gibberish. Wendy Lynch had disappeared when Eve was twelve years old. Coincidentally, around the same time everything else happened—Maggie seeing the Mothman in the Witch Wood and the horrible tragedy of the Silver Bridge. How did Wendy running off tie in with the other events, and especially with Aunt Rosie?
Before she could ponder the matter further, Mrs. Flynn stood and patted her hand. “Talk to Katie. Maggie said that chat is overdue.”
Chapter 7
Three days passed before Eve worked up the nerve to talk to Katie about her sister. During that time, she had dinner with Caden, enjoyed a girls’ night out with Sarah, and made a firm decision to extend her stay in Point Pleasant another week. Her work supervisor in Harrisburg granted the leave without grumbling, but her mother was less amicable.
“I hope you’re not entertaining the notion of staying in that dreadful town permanently,” she’d lamented when Eve called to relay the news.
The two notes she’d received were proof someone plainly wanted her to leave—why, she had no idea—but she was starting to grow comfortable with her routine at the hotel. In reviewing the books, she realized she could pay herself a weekly salary almost equivalent to what she made as a Commonwealth employee in Pennsylvania. Toss in the fact the mortgage on Aunt Rosie’s house was paid and she didn’t have the worry of monthly rent. That more than compensated for her reduction in income. If she’d ever wanted to radically change her career path and future, Aunt Rosie had supplied the wherewithal to open a fresh door.
And then there was Caden. Their relationship was new and tenuous, but she wanted the luxury of time to explore their growing closeness.
&n
bsp; He’d stayed at her home each night, camped out on the couch when she retired upstairs. Finally, she told him his over-protectiveness was silly. Ryan had found nothing new from the note, the only fingerprints lifted by the lab belonging to her and Caden. The strange phone calls she’d been receiving had stopped, and the phone company had reported they could find nothing wrong with her line. She’d intentionally avoided telling Caden about the calls, fearing he’d think them related to the notes. In her opinion, both were looking more like random pranks. Either way, she couldn’t continue to worry about threats that might never materialize. Tonight, she planned to stay by herself. In the meantime, she wanted to talk to Katie about her sister.
Eve found her new friend and hotel manager in the ballroom.
The space looked lovely, a throwback to the days when Eve’s parents had rented it out for wedding receptions and galas. A shower of sunlight spilled across the freshly waxed dance floor, trapped and reflected by the fiery crystals of the chandeliers overhead. Cream-colored linens adorned the tables, complemented by a swirl of butter-honey in the thick paisley carpet. She could almost envision her parents twirling across the floor, her mother laughing delightedly over her father’s campy dance moves. How sad that her mom had once loved living in Point Pleasant, only to loathe the town and all it represented now.
“Roger Layton’s party is still a week away, you know,” she said as she entered.
Katie turned her attention from the notebook in her hand and offered a smile of greeting. “I know, but I wanted to make sure there was room on the stage for a podium. Lillian called earlier and added it to her new requests.”
“There’s more?” Eve slid into a seat at the nearest table.
Katie nodded. She wore her blond hair loose this morning, the straight locks tinted a becoming gold in the wash of sunlight streaming through the windows. “Podium, microphone, a champagne bucket for the head table, and two champagne flutes for her and Roger.”
“Sounds like someone is going to be offering the birthday boy a toast,” Eve commented.
Katie made a face. “With only the king and his queen getting a taste of the high-end stuff.”
“You sound like you don’t care for him.”
“Don’t get me started.” Katie waved the observation aside. “What are you doing up here anyway? I thought you’d be in the office. Did you see I came up with a rotation schedule to keep the front desk covered even over lunch?”
Eve nodded. Katie had wasted no time in streamlining operations, ensuring business ran smoothly and professionally. No wonder Aunt Rosie had placed such faith in her. It was a shame Doreen Sue didn’t realize her daughter’s potential.
“You did a great job with that. Sharon’s covering right now.” Eve fingered the silky edge of a tablecloth, tempted to explore Katie’s reaction to Roger—her father’s note still bothered her—but decided to save that conversation for later.
“Why don’t you sit down?” She motioned to a seat beside her.
“Uh-oh.” Katie flashed a smile. “Don’t tell me you’re second guessing your decision about making me manager?”
Eve shook her head, appreciating the humor. Given their rocky start, it was surprising they could joke so easily. Even more surprising how wrong she’d been about Katie as a child. “I wanted to ask you about Wendy.”
Katie blinked. “My sister?”
“Yes.” She feared risking their newfound friendship, but decided to tell Katie everything that had happened to her.
“I know this is going to sound crazy.” Taking a deep breath, she stepped off an imaginary cliff and relayed her experiences since returning to Point Pleasant—the odd phone calls, notes, even the shadowy figure of a man she’d glimpsed in the backyard on two occasions. She finished by relaying her conversation with Mrs. Flynn. “So, between the notes and the vandalism, I feel like someone is trying to scare me away. I wouldn’t ask about Wendy—I know the memories have to be painful—but I’m running out of places to turn.”
Katie swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the notebook in her hands until her knuckles were white. At least she hadn’t suggested Eve be committed to an asylum.
“Why would Mrs. Flynn say my sister is connected?” she asked. “Do you really believe she talks to Maggie?”
Eve hadn’t wanted to go there. “I don’t know, but I’m getting desperate in my attempts to understand what’s happening…how Aunt Rosie was involved. I’m willing to try anything.”
“What about the igloo at the TNT?”
“The what?”
“I’m surprised you don’t remember.” Katie wet her lips as if uncertain how her suggestion would be received. “The bunker where the Mothman was seen.”
“I thought he was seen at the north power plant? Out by the fairgrounds?”
“The first time, but after that he haunted the igloos, too. Don’t you remember how people used to flock to the area?”
Eve hadn’t been to the TNT since she’d returned, but knew the old WWII igloos were recessed in the ground, their domes covered with grass and briars, many crowned by trees. They’d been constructed so the webs of foliage camouflaged them when viewed from the sky should an enemy plane breach US airspace. From what she understood, most were now accessible to the public; a few of the bunkers still housed archaic shells. Caden had told her that occasionally one exploded, prompting the army to close that area of the TNT temporarily.
“What about the igloo?”
“Maybe you can find an answer there.” Katie set her notebook aside, leaning forward to converse more urgently. “Eve, I’m worried about you. Especially after what happened to Amos. What if his murder is connected?”
She bit her lip, a sensation of dread unraveling in her stomach. “I’ve thought of that.” More than she wanted to admit. God forbid if her mother ever learned the details. She’d insist Eve pack up and head home at once.
“Then you need to do whatever is necessary to stay safe,” Katie persisted. “I know Caden and Ryan are looking out for you, but don’t discount the igloo because it sounds silly. A lot of people believe there’s some type of supernatural force or being inside.”
“The Mothman?”
“No, something else.” Katie looked thoughtful. “Connected to the Mothman, perhaps. A few local photographers, including Rosie, have taken shots that clearly show floating orbs.”
“Are we talking ghosts?” The idea that her aunt had participated in what was, for all intents and purposes, a ghost hunt seemed absurd. Aunt Rosie was a free spirit—at least she had been before the Silver Bridge fell—but she’d never been one to embrace superstition or the supernatural.
“Maybe.” Katie twisted the emerald ring on her finger. “I never wanted to examine the idea too closely. All I know is what I’ve heard. If you go inside and ask a question, ‘something’” —she made air quotes with her fingers—”might answer.”
“Did you ever go?”
Katie hesitated. Finally, she nodded. “I asked about Wendy. I never believed she ran away.”
“Did you get an answer?”
“No, but I’m not sorry I made the effort.”
Eve thought back to what she knew of Wendy. The girl had been sixteen when she vanished. She’d taken off once before, only to be brought back by the sheriff. Eve hated to ask, but had to state the obvious.
“What makes you think she didn’t run away?”
Katie frowned. “My sister got in her share of trouble, but she would have told me if that’s what she had planned. The first time she ran away, she confided in me. She said she was going to miss me, but was tired of all the men Mom trotted through the house. Of the way we lived. She said she had to get away. When she disappeared the last time, it was different. She was different.”
“How so?”
“She was happy, upbeat. She hinted around about a new boyfriend, but said it was too soon to share the news. The next day she vanished.”
&n
bsp; “Did you tell the sheriff that?”
“Of course I did.” Katie waved the notion aside in disgust. “But he’d already made up his mind about Wendy, just like everyone else in town. Sure, he and his deputies made a show of sniffing around and asking questions, but after a few days, they wrote her off as a runaway.”
“Maybe it’s possible she really did take off.” That was a better alternative than thinking something might have happened to her.
Katie sucked on her bottom lip. “She would have tried to contact me by now. A letter or a phone call. Something. I can’t even talk to my mom about her because she’s convinced Wendy ran away, too. So last year I drove to the TNT and stood in that bunker night after night for a period of two weeks, asking the same question—‘Where is my sister?’ If there is something supernatural in the place, it didn’t answer.”
“And you still think I should go?”
Katie shrugged. “What will it hurt? If you buy into the idea Maggie is talking to her mother through dreams, and that your aunt and my sister are connected, why not give it a try? It’s no more bizarre than anything else you’ve said.”
That was the hard, crazy truth. She really had nothing to lose.
As she thought it over, the whir of a vacuum cleaner sprang to life in the hallway. Someone from housekeeping sweeping the carpet. No doubt they’d be poking their head into the ballroom, too.
“I’ll go with you,” Katie offered.
“Seriously?” The thought of having someone tag along made the prospect far more appealing. The TNT had always creeped her out as a kid. She hadn’t been looking forward to venturing there alone, and she certainly couldn’t tell Caden or Ryan. A tentative smile crossed her lips. “You’d really do that?”
Katie nodded. “I know what it feels like to be up against a wall, and I do believe your aunt was hiding something. As much as I loved her, Rosie had secrets.”