A Thousand Yesteryears

by Mae Clair

  Eve’s lips parted as if in shock. “Did you kill the crow in my yard, too?”

  “Crow? What—no.” Lillian shook her head. “I don’t know anything about a crow. You have to understand what a scandal like this would do to my family. Roger is vice president at my father’s bank. The town would never trust us again, and Jeremy’s inheritance would be forfeit in disgrace. I’ve known all along Roger was only after money and position when he married me, but I will not allow him to rob my son of a future because of some sordid atrocity in his past.”

  “At least you acknowledge the atrocity,” Ryan said bitterly. “Unfortunately for you, Caden and I are going to take this as far as we can and see that your husband spends the rest of his life in jail. If you don’t want to end up as an accomplice, I suggest you tell us where he went before I think about booking you as well.”

  “But I told you!” Lillian looked truly frightened now. Desperate, she glanced between Ryan and Caden. “I don’t know. He was talking to Stan Brogan at the bar and then just took off. That was a few hours ago.”

  “Who’s Stan Brogan?” Caden asked.

  “Someone from the bank.”

  “What were they talking about?”

  “The usual stuff, I guess.” Lillian looked flustered. “Work, the bank…rumors around town. Stan said the last thing he mentioned was scuttlebutt about bones being found in some woods at the end of town. After that, Roger excused himself and left.”

  Caden cast Ryan a glance. “Eve’s idea about Maggie seeing Roger in the woods is starting to sound more plausible.”

  Lillian’s brows knitted into a crease. “What are you talking about?”

  “Nothing that concerns you,” Caden replied.

  “Well, if it doesn’t concern me, I’d like to return to my party and my guests.”

  “Fine.” Ryan made the decision for all of them. Stepping forward, he adopted his sternest “lawman look,” eyes narrowed and direct, mouth flattened into a stiff line. “But I caution you to keep this discussion to yourself. Do not share any of it with Roger or anyone else. And should your husband return, call the sheriff’s department immediately. I’m going to have a warrant issued for his arrest.”

  “Arrest?” Lillian blanched. “Because of a photo?”

  “Yes. And because of Rosie’s letter.”

  Lillian stiffened like a rope. “That’s hearsay without my confirmation. A wife can’t be made to testify against her husband.”

  “But I can get a search warrant for your house. Don’t make this difficult, Lillian.” Ryan’s gaze remained resolute. “If you care about Jeremy the way you say you do and want to save what’s left of his legacy, do the right thing. The town could well see you as a victimized wife who had no idea what her husband was really like. You can still walk out of this with your head held high and garner sympathy for yourself and Jeremy if you play your cards right. “

  The corner of her mouth curled slightly, the hint of a sneer. “Why should I?”

  “Because.” Caden spoke firmly with a controlled effort to keep anger from his voice. If there was any way to reach Lillian, it was through what mattered most to her—her son. “Someday it could be Jeremy who dies at the hands of a murderer. Wouldn’t you want his killer brought to justice?”

  Her demeanor changed instantly, her body seeming to cave in on itself as the reality of the situation struck her. Her husband had killed a child. If that didn’t strike a nerve with her, Caden didn’t know what would.

  Nodding, Lillian sank back into her chair. “You’ve made your point. I’ll give you Rosalind’s letter, and I won’t say anything to Roger.”

  * * * *

  His wife had betrayed him!

  Roger drove, heading away from town. He needed time to think. After talking to Stan Brogan he’d made a hasty trip to the woods where he’d buried the body fifteen years ago. As Brogan had hinted, the earth was disturbed and roped off with police tape. He’d been close to panicking then, but knew it would take weeks, possibly months, before officials had a positive ID. They had no idea who was buried in the grave, so he was safe temporarily.

  He’d decided to return to the party and put on a game face until he formulated a plan. The sight of a police cruiser parked outside the Parrish Hotel acted like a double punch to his gut. But there was no way anyone could have put two-and-two together. He’d convinced himself the cruiser had nothing to do with him and boldly walked into the lobby.

  That’s when he heard his wife’s voice coming from the office behind the reception desk, followed by the deeper voice of Ryan Flynn. Luck favored him for a brief while—someone had left the door ajar, and no one was in the lobby—but the streak died quickly as he registered the gist of the conversation. Lillian admitted to having a copy of the photograph and a letter from Rosie. Worse, she planned to give both to the cops.

  Backpedaling, Roger hurried from the lobby and into his car. He’d slammed the thing in gear but was careful not to squeal the tires when he left, hoping to make a low-key exit without drawing attention to himself.

  He drove aimlessly for a time, drumming his thumbs against the steering wheel as the flash of streetlights came and went. Fortunately for him, most everyone he knew was still at the party—his party. The irony didn’t escape him that he fled like a scared rabbit while everyone was toasting another year to his health.

  With effort, he tried to fit the pieces together: Lillian had a letter from Rosie detailing what had happened that night and a copy of the photo. But what had prompted her to confess in the first place? Had she decided she’d finally had enough of him, or had Rosie’s witch-of-a-niece said something that prompted her to spill her guts?

  He’d always been discreet with his affairs. Even though he guessed Lillian knew about most, he’d considered himself safe. Their marriage had never really been about love so much as appearance, and what each was able to do for the other. She’d wanted a kid and someone who could fill her father’s shoes. He’d wanted money, a career that took him off the docks, and gave him position.

  It didn’t make sense she’d turn on him now.

  He’d heard no mention of the negative, but hadn’t heard the whole conversation. Maybe Ryan didn’t have it? Maybe it was still hidden somewhere in Rosie’s house. Without the negative, there was no case against him. He’d already destroyed the letter and the copy of the photo Rosie sent him and was confident if he could get Lillian alone, he’d be able to convince her to do the same. If nothing else, he’d play the Jeremy card—Think what this would do to our son.

  The kid was far from what he’d hoped for in his bloodline, but Jeremy had value when it came to Lillian, and value was how Roger saw everything. Rosie Parrish had equaled the potential of owning the Parrish Hotel. When that scheme had gone belly up, he’d zeroed in on Lillian and her father’s bank. If he had to use Jeremy to save his hide, he would.

  As he turned a corner, he remembered Eve was at the hotel along with Lillian, Ryan, and Caden. What better chance to toss Rosie’s house for the negative? Amos had botched the job, an imbecilic fool who couldn’t find his butt in a chair. It was Roger’s own stupid fault for hiring the jerk, but he was desperate now. He probably had a few hours before the party wrapped and Eve returned home.

  Yeah. That was it. He’d toss the house, find the negative, destroy the damn thing, and then convince Lillian to trash her evidence. Ryan and Caden Flynn would be left with their mouths hanging open, and he’d walk away without a blemish of misconduct.

  Grinning, Roger turned another corner and steered the car toward Rosie’s house. A lot could be accomplished under the cover of darkness.

  Chapter 13

  “I’ll be fine here.” Placing her hands on Caden’s chest, Eve leaned into his embrace and raised her head to brush a kiss against his lips. The office had cleared, Lillian putting on an impassive face to return to the party, Ryan loitering in the lobby while he waited for Caden.

  “The party is sti
ll going on upstairs,” she said. “Under the circumstances, I don’t feel right leaving Katie to manage alone. Besides, if Roger does return, I can alert you he’s back.”

  He frowned, much as she’d expected. “I don’t like it.”

  “I didn’t think you would, but you won’t have to worry about me being alone if I stay here. When you’re through at the sheriff’s office, you can come back and take me home.”

  Although he was no longer a cop, Caden had made it clear he had every intention of accompanying Ryan while his brother relayed matters to Sheriff Weston and ensured a warrant was issued for Roger’s arrest. At some point, they would also have to break the news to their mother regarding the true nature of Maggie’s death. Neither brother was looking forward to that moment, but it couldn’t be avoided.

  “Ryan’s impatient,” she told Caden with a nod to the half-opened door of her office. Beyond the gap, the younger Flynn brother shifted from foot to foot, his face set in a perpetual scowl. She wanted both brothers to leave before Katie inadvertently wandered into the lobby and someone mentioned Wendy. Although there was no concrete evidence the remains in the Witch Wood belonged to Katie’s sister, circumstance pointed that way.

  “Go.” She kissed him again, then urged him toward the door with a gentle push. “I’m going upstairs to see how Katie’s doing with the party. Give me a call when you’re through at the sheriff’s office. By then, I’ll be ready to head home.”

  The discoveries of the night had left her mind reeling, her stomach in an unsettled knot. She needed time alone to think about what Aunt Rosie had done—or more precisely, what she hadn’t done. Her aunt’s silence was nearly as devastating as Maggie’s murder.

  At last Caden relented. He looked every bit as edgy as Ryan to start the wheels turning that would lead to Roger’s arrest. Pulling her tightly against him, he gave her a final kiss, then left in a rush.

  “Let’s go,” he called to Ryan as he breezed into the lobby.

  Eve waited until she heard the front door shut before collapsing into her desk chair. What a night! At least she had solved the mystery of why Aunt Rosie had broken off her engagement with Roger. Thank God, her aunt hadn’t married the man only to discover what a monster he was later.

  Exhausted, she rubbed her eyes and replayed the night through her head. The jumble of thoughts made her briefly consider calling her mother just to hear a soothing voice. But her mom would no doubt ask when she planned to return to Harrisburg, and Eve wasn’t ready to share her decision to remain in Point Pleasant. That was a conversation for a night when she was more alert, able to defend her choice.

  The jarring ring of the phone coaxed a sigh from her lips. Now what?

  She picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

  A high-pitched whine danced across the line. Gooseflesh rippled down her arms as the unnerving sound spawned a burst of static. Shrill clicks and a hollow jangling exploded in her ear.

  “No!” Her strange caller had never contacted her anywhere but at the house. Her gut reaction was to slam the phone down as she usually did, but she hesitated with the receiver halfway to its cradle. What if it really was Aunt Rosie on the other end?

  She’d discovered the negative of Roger and Maggie as a result of the last spine-tingling call. Maybe her aunt was still speaking to her, communicating the only way she could.

  Swallowing hard, Eve raised the receiver to her ear. “Aunt Rosie?”

  A horrible shrieking wail.

  “Aunt Rosie is that you? Are you trying to tell me something?”

  The screeching continued, punctuated every few seconds with a grating symphony of rapid taps and clangs. If it wasn’t her aunt, someone had a sick sense of humor. Propelled to her feet by fear, she clutched the phone to her ear.

  “Listen to me, whoever you are. If you don’t leave me alone, I’m going to report you to the police. Do you hear me?”

  A scream. Like someone being murdered.

  Her hands shook, and a cold knot of fear spread roots in her stomach. A single word pierced the static. “House.”

  Eve held her breath. Had she heard correctly? The voice sounded inhuman, a keening wail that might have resonated normally in some chaos-spawned, primal world. An icy sensation bloomed in her gut, and in that instant, she knew she communicated with her dead aunt.

  “Aunt Rosie?” Her mouth was dry.

  Three seconds of silence.

  Click. Click. Click.

  The word came again, joined with another, both distorted and muffled as if shrilled underwater. “House…now.”

  The line went dead.

  Limply, Eve folded into the chair, her heart rattling out a frantic rhythm. With shaking fingers, she returned the receiver to its cradle, half afraid the phone might ring again. She’d been given a directive—house now.

  Was her aunt instructing her to return home? Had she and Caden missed something in their search for the negative? Perhaps the reason Roger had killed Maggie was hidden in the house as well.

  Should she go with her instinct and do as the phone call instructed? There’d been urgency in the message, an instruction to go “now.” Caden would be angry if she took off without him, but she’d look foolish if she begged him to go with her and they came up empty-handed, especially when he had more important matters to address at the sheriff’s office.

  Biting her lip, she considered calling him. Or maybe she could leave a message with someone so he’d know where she was. She could borrow Katie’s car, perhaps even be back before Caden returned to the hotel. If Mrs. Flynn could speak to Maggie in her dreams, then it was equally possible Eve’s aunt could communicate with her over the phone lines.

  Crazy or not, she intended to put the idea to the test.

  * * * *

  Caden paced in Sheriff Pete Weston’s office while Ryan relayed the details involving Roger, Rosie, and Maggie. He offered the photo and negative Caden and Eve had discovered as proof. There was no question Weston was stunned. A big man with a burly frame and a normally ruddy complexion, the sheriff’s face turned the color of boiled cabbage when Ryan showed him the incriminating photo.

  Weston sank into his desk chair, the old wood squeaking loudly. “Shit, boys, this one isn’t going to go down easy. Roger Layton carries a lot of clout. You might as well be arresting the governor of West Virginia.”

  “Boys” because Weston had watched them grow up, a close friend of their father’s when Donal Flynn had been alive. Caden stopped pacing long enough to lob Weston a glare. “Lillian’s family is the one with the clout, and I don’t give a damn who it is. If the governor were involved, I’d slap him in cuffs, too.”

  The sheriff raised bushy gray eyebrows, a match for his salt-and-pepper hair. “You’re not a sergeant any longer, Caden. You’re here as a courtesy for past service and because of your brother.”

  Caden muttered an oath. Weston might be informal when it came to running his office, but there were specific things he couldn’t do, and that included extending certain privileges to civilians. Caden had made his choice when he’d trashed his career over the debacle he’d made with Hank Jeffries and the Kline brothers. He’d walked away from a job he’d worked hard to achieve, convinced he’d never want to carry a badge or gun again.

  But Roger Layton had changed that.

  Unfortunately, the knowledge did little good. Turning away, he scraped a hand through his hair. “Thanks for the timely reminder.”

  “Don’t be so huffy.”

  A desk drawer scraped open. Caden glanced back in time to see Weston toss a badge onto his desk. A badge he recognized. Raising his gaze from the shiny gold object, he met Weston’s eyes with a silent query.

  “I’ve kept it handy, hoping I’d have a chance to offer it again someday.” Weston nodded toward the badge. “It’s yours if you want it. We can do the paperwork later.”

  The offer was every bit as unexpected as the helter-skelter events of the night. Caden shot
his brother a questioning glance and read the message in Ryan’s eyes: Take it, you jerk.

  Could he? Could he go back to law-enforcement, knowing there might be another Hank Jeffries or Parker Kline in his future? He’d trained to “serve and protect.” There was no guarantee he wouldn’t have to use his gun, perhaps even take a life to save another.

  Decision made, he stepped nearer the desk and closed his hand over the badge.

  Weston grinned. “Good deal. Ryan said you were a shitty contractor, anyway.”

  “Ryan doesn’t know squat.” Caden slipped the badge into his pocket. “Now, are you ready to issue that APB?”

  * * * *

  Aunt Rosie’s house was only a few miles from the hotel, a drive Eve made with her hands clasped tightly to the steering wheel of Katie’s powder blue Ford Pinto. Her friend had known immediately something was wrong but agreed to lend her car, even after Eve had convinced her a full explanation would have to wait until she returned.

  Now, as Eve pulled to a stop in front of the house, she realized she had no idea what she was looking for. Maybe Aunt Rosie had hidden something in the final curtain panel she and Caden hadn’t dissected, or perhaps she’d stashed something elsewhere in the house. It would have been so much easier if her aunt had only shared her secrets before she died. What would ever possess her to protect a man like Roger?

  Eve turned off the ignition.

  Love. Denial. A willingness to forget the truth.

  They were plainly the motives that had driven her aunt and sustained her ignorance through the years. She hadn’t told the authorities the truth because she’d chosen to forget. Death likely brought a new perspective. In the world beyond the veil, she’d recognized her error and was doing all she could to correct it.

  Slipping from the car, Eve was thankful for the passing traffic on the road, headlights and taillights that illuminated the night and made her feel less alone. The air was warm, scented with summer grass and the fragrant perfume of Mrs. Flynn’s flowers next door. Yet despite those comforting touches, a chill settled into her bones. She locked the car and started for the house, wishing she’d left a light on to welcome her back. Foolishly, she hadn’t wanted the house looking so exposed without draperies at the front windows. At the very least, she should have flipped on the porch light.