by Hope Ramsay
A black man with gray hair, wearing a pair of faded overalls and carrying a toolbox, stood up from behind the candy counter.
Gabe took a step back, his heart pounding. He would know that man anywhere. That face was from out of the distant past. Why had he assumed that Zeph Gibbs was dead and gone?
The hairs on the back of Gabe’s neck rose, and the icy night got a little more frigid—cold enough to freeze him right where he stood while something hot and evil writhed in his gut.
The door opened. Zeph stepped out of the theater and stopped in his tracks. Time seemed to slow down as their gazes met and clashed.
“Gabe?” Zeph cocked his head.
“It’s me.”
“Lord a’mighty, what are you doin’ here?”
It wasn’t exactly a hearty welcome, but that didn’t surprise Gabe for some reason he couldn’t exactly articulate. Zeph had been a big part of his boyhood. This man had taught him to shoot a BB gun and bait a hook and walk quietly in the woods. And yet seeing him once again after a quarter century brought no joy.
“Hello, Zeph.” There seemed to be a torrent of words locked up inside him, but the simple greeting was all he could manage. Christ on a crutch, he had some strange feelings about Zeph.
Gabe had turned Zeph into a villain named Zebulon Stroud in the novel titled Black Water. And Black Water had taken Gabe to the top of the New York Times bestseller list. Black Water was also the first of Gabe’s novels to be made into a feature-length motion picture. Danny Glover had won an Oscar for his portrayal of the villain. Zeb Stroud was one of those characters people remembered, like Hannibal Lecter.
“You need to leave,” Zeph said.
“That’s going to be hard with all this ice.”
“Tomorrow then, when it melts.”
“Look, Zeph, about the character in Black Water, I sure don’t want you to take it—”
“This has nothing to do with that story. I’m not mad at you for that. But you can’t stay here.”
“I can’t stay here? Why not? I know The Jonquil House has been sold, but I can certainly book a room at the motel. In fact, I have.”
“Why are you here?”
“I was thinking about buying The Jonquil House back from that little woman who owns it now.”
“You can’t. You have no business being in this town. Not now. Not ever.”
This confused him. “Why not?”
“You know good and well why it’s a bad idea to come back here.” Zeph turned and locked the theater door.
Gabe couldn’t think of one good reason why he shouldn’t stay. But he understood why Zeph wouldn’t be happy about him being here. After all, Zeph was responsible for Luke’s death. The man probably didn’t want Gabe hanging around reminding him of that tragedy all the time. Granddad had never forgiven Zeph.
But Gabe could.
“Look, Zeph, I’m not my grandfather. I don’t blame you for what happened. I’m not here to rub your nose in it.”
Zeph turned around. He didn’t say a word, but he pressed his lips together as if he was trying damn hard not to say something ugly.
Gabe stuck out his hand. “I forgive you.”
Zeph stood there staring at Gabe’s outstretched hand as if he had been speaking in tongues or something. “What are you talking about, boy? You and I both know that’s not why I want you to go.”
“Then why?” He lowered his hand.
Zeph’s eyes unfocused for a moment. It made him look a little wild-eyed and crazy, like Zebulon Stroud. Staring into those black eyes was more than unsettling. The bad guy in Black Water had been a psychopathic killer.
But of course Zeph wasn’t like that at all. Luke’s death was an accident.
“You don’t remember, do you?” Zeph said.
“I don’t remember what?”
Zeph shook his head. “Lord have mercy,” he said, then blew out a long breath that created a cloud of steam.
“You mean about Luke?” Gabe said. “No I don’t remember exactly what happened. Afterward, you know, I went to see a therapist, and she told Granddad that it was just as well that I didn’t remember. But now I’m starting to think maybe that was bad advice. What happened, Zeph? You’re the only one who can tell me.”
“You should go back to Charleston. Don’t come here turning over rocks. You might not like what you find underneath.”
And with that, the man who’d once been Granddad’s hunting and fishing guide turned on his well-worn boot and strode off into the storm.
CHAPTER
2
By the time Jenny finished one curtain panel, the ice had grown so thick on the driveway that leaving The Jonquil House was no longer an option. She wasn’t all that troubled.
She had sandwich fixings and potato salad in her new Sub-Zero refrigerator, enough to feed the entire Methodist sewing circle. There was a pile of firewood stacked out back for a nice fire, which she could build in the front room, or better yet in the back bedroom with the iron bed.
The bed belonged to the house. She had found it rusting and broken in that little back bedroom. She’d brought it back to life with some paint and a new mattress. The curtains and bedspread for that room were not yet sewn, but Jenny had brought a couple of throw blankets in case someone got cold on this dreary day. There was also an emergency blanket in her car.
Tonight would be a good time to crawl under the covers and catch up on her reading. She was way behind on the current book club book, The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson.
It was odd to be reading a ghost story in January instead of October, when the book club usually tried to read something creepy. But the group had put together a list of classic genre novels and had been methodically working down the list regardless of month or season.
Not that Jenny was a huge fan of creepy stories. But she did love to read.
She was laying out the fire in the back bedroom when her cell phone rang. She checked the number. It was Maryanne, Jenny’s long-lost cousin who had turned up on her doorstep three weeks ago, on Christmas morning.
Right now, Maryanne and her baby son, Joshua, were living in one of the spare bedrooms in the house in town that Jenny had leased for years. The lease on the house was up at the end of January, and the plans were for Maryanne to move into the apartment above the beauty shop in town, where she’d be able to walk to her new job at the Methodist day care center.
“Hey, Maryanne,” Jenny said into her cell phone.
“Oh, thank goodness,” Maryanne said, her voice definitely strained on the other end of the line. “Daniel said the roads are just terrible. I was worried about you. You aren’t driving in this stuff, are you?”
“I’m fine. I decided to stay out here. I’ve got food. I’m going to try out the iron bed in the back bedroom. I’m sorry I didn’t call. I’m not used to having someone worrying about me.”
“Oh. I… Uh…”
If it were possible for Jenny’s heart to smile, it would have right at that moment. Mother had died three years ago, and Jenny believed that she was alone in the world until Maryanne had shown up on her doorstep. “It’s all right, Maryanne. I’m glad someone cares enough to worry about me.” Her throat tensed with the sudden emotion. “I only wish I had called to let you know what my plans were. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, don’t. We both need to get used to having each other. So did the movers come?”
“No, they didn’t. And neither did the landscapers or the sewing circle. And to top it all off, I had a run-in with someone claiming to be Gabriel Raintree who pounded on the door and demanded a room. I sent him packing. But other than that, it’s been quiet out here.”
“Gabriel Raintree the author?”
“Gabriel Raintree the former owner of The Jonquil House. Or so he claimed. He looked kind of like a wild man to me, if you want to know. I think it’s time to get that dog I’ve always wanted.”
“What did he want?” Maryanne’s voice sounded strained.
“You’re worried about me, aren’t you?”
“I am. I just found you, and I’ve wanted a real family for so long that I’m hanging on really tight. Maybe I should send Daniel out to pick you up. I don’t like the idea of big, wild men pounding on your front door. The Jonquil House is out there in the middle of nowhere.”
“So Daniel drove down from Atlanta? In the middle of the week?”
“Yeah, he did. He’s quit his job, and he’s moving back here. He’s going to join Eugene Hanks’s law practice as a junior partner.”
Wow. Things between Maryanne and Daniel were moving quickly. Jenny hoped they weren’t moving too quickly. Jenny knew how it could be when you were first in the throes of love. She had once had her own whirlwind love affair a decade ago—with a married man. Of course she hadn’t known he was married, so when reality hit, it hit with a gigantic crash that sent her reeling.
At least Maryanne knew Daniel wasn’t married. He’d divorced a few years ago. But Jenny wondered if Daniel loved Maryanne as much as he loved her little boy. And she was worried that the answer might be no.
Or maybe she was a tiny bit jealous. Romance seemed to be finding everyone in Last Chance these days. Except Jenny.
And when Reverend Bill Ellis ran off with Hettie Marshall last year, Jenny had been knocked for another serious loop—which had clarified everything for her.
She was not ever going to marry.
She was never going to have a child of her own.
She could either let that ruin the rest of her life or she could adjust her thinking. She opted for the attitude adjustment and decided she would embrace her single status and create a life worth living on her own. So she had written up a business plan, submitted it to Angel Development, secured a loan, and resigned from her job as a math teacher at the high school. And when March came, she would have her own business—one that she’d created for her own self.
She was thirty-six years old and in command of herself and her life. And the Lord had seen fit to send her Maryanne and Joshua this Christmas, so she wasn’t even alone anymore. What more did she need?
“Don’t send Daniel out into this storm,” she said into the phone. “I’ll be fine. I have a good book and firewood and food. And I’m used to being alone. So stop worrying about me, okay?”
“Okay,” Maryanne replied. “Sleep well. It’s your first night in the new house. You should have some champagne or something.”
“I’m not much of a wine drinker, but I’ve made myself a nice cup of hot tea.”
“That’s not very exciting. I’ll get Daniel to buy you some champagne, and we’ll toast to The Jonquil House when your furniture is installed.”
“All right,” Jenny said, although she would just as soon make a toast with something like ginger ale. She ended the call and lit her fire.
The chimney drew well, and soon the back bedroom was warm and cozy. She climbed on the new mattress, bundled herself up in one of the throw blankets, and folded the other to make a pillow.
She opened her book and began to read.
The wallpaper is yellow with delicate jonquils twining around green wreaths. She brushes on the wallpaper paste, places the sheet, and matches the pattern. She is happy. She is whistling a tune that her father used to hum when he walked through his peach orchard in the springtime.
What is that tune?
“I hate jonquils,” the voice says behind her.
She turns.
No one is there, just the little room with the iron bed. The jonquil paper will look perfect above the white lath. She turns back to her task.
But the paper disintegrates and the daffodils dance away from her in a gyrating, seductive way. They jump off the wall and twirl their way out the window in the back. She follows them through the window onto the porch and then into the yard.
“Flowers belong in the yard,” the voice says behind her. “Or on a grave.”
She turns. Still no one. The sun shines in pools of gold all around her. The jonquils are waving in the soft spring wind.
“It was daffodil time,” the voice says.
She looks up at the dogwood tree, its buds about to pop open. “Where are you?” she asks.
“Nowhere. Everywhere. You need a cat.”
“A cat? No. I need a dog. I want a dog. I’ve wanted one for a long time. Since the farm burned.” Her voice is emphatic. She still misses Brutus, her granddaddy’s long-dead dog. Mother hated dogs, but Mother is gone, and she can do what she wants now. “I want a big dog. The bigger the better.”
“Hmmm. I don’t think so. A spinster should have a cat.”
“I don’t like cats.”
“But you are a spinster.”
It is true. She’s not afraid of being a spinster. Being a spinster should not stand in the way of her having a dog, though. “Don’t give me stereotypes,” she says to the voice as she turns away, intent on enjoying the jonquils.
But the flowers wilt, turning brown and dead as if caught by a sudden spring freeze.
She is cold. Very cold. And alone. Her bones feel brittle. Her life feels brittle.
She is walking in the woods by the river. Someone, a shadow, is walking with her.
“It was springtime,” the voice says. She tries to see the shadow out of the corner of her eye, but it’s no use. If she tries to look, whoever is walking beside her melts into thin air.
“Who are you?”
“No one in particular.”
She is standing in a clearing holding a gun. She wants to put it down. She doesn’t like guns. But her hands are stiff and they don’t work. She is paralyzed.
And then the gun goes off.
Jenny struggled to move her hands. They didn’t want to move, and she panicked. And then, all at once, they came up off the bed with a jerk, as if they moved in spirit before her body caught up. She opened her eyes and blinked into darkness. She was lying on her back on the iron bed.
What had happened to the overhead light? What had happened to the fire? What had happened to the springtime?
No, that wasn’t right. She’d been dreaming of the spring. She’d been dreaming of creepy wallpaper that came alive and marched around the yard. No doubt that dream had been suggested by the book she’d been reading when she fell asleep.
But the book didn’t explain the sudden loss of light.
She wrapped herself in the throw and padded across the cold wooden floor to the light switch. She rocked it back and forth a few times. Nothing.
It would appear that the ice had taken its toll on the power lines.
Still, that didn’t explain why the window was wide open. The icy rain soaked her turtleneck, even though the window was protected by the back porch. The wind must be howling out there.
She wrestled with the sash. It didn’t want to close, which was odd because the window was brand new. She’d replaced every single window in The Jonquil House. None of them should have opened on their own, or gotten stuck.
After a few freezing minutes of trying to close the window, she gave up. She gathered her two throw blankets and left the back bedroom. She was halfway down the hallway to the front room when the door behind her slammed closed.
The noise startled her. She gasped right out loud like a ninny. And then she realized that the open window had merely created a draft that closed the door. Old houses were like that.
She made her way down the hallway without further mishap, even though it was pitch black.
She didn’t have a flashlight in the house, but she had laid a fire in the main parlor’s fireplace. She’d also left a tube of long safety matches right on the hearth. So it didn’t take long to get the fire going.
She wrapped up in her throw and settled down on the hard floor for a long night of catnapping.
A whining dog came to Zeph’s cabin door an hour before dawn and pulled him from his restless sleep.
Another stray had come to him.
But he was almost knocked over by surprise when he opened the d
oor and found a not-quite-full-grown mastiff. Black as night, with a little bit of brown on his face, the dog was like some haunt come back from the long dead. He looked exactly like Bear, Luke’s dog.
Poor Bear had been abandoned by the Raintrees when Luke died. That old boy had become Zeph’s constant companion for the next ten years until he was blind and lame and had to be put down.
Lord have mercy, Zeph still missed Bear. He still missed Luke. And telling Gabe to leave this evening had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done. He was glad Gabe didn’t remember what had happened, but the boy still needed to leave here and quick, before the ghost decided to haunt him.
It was no fun being haunted. No fun at all. And Zeph wasn’t going to let it happen to Gabe. Not if he could help it.
The dog standing out in the cold whined again, and Zeph realized that the critter wasn’t some dream born of Gabe Raintree’s sudden and unexpected return.
The critter was pitifully thin and dirty. Like every stray that came to Zeph, this dog was desperately in need of love. Helping the strays was Zeph’s penance. And so he took every one of them in with an easy heart.
He stepped into his boots, pulled on his heavy winter coat, and ventured out into the cold.
He had expected the dog to come to him, like all of them did. As if they knew he was there to help them. But this dog was different.
When Zeph got close, the creature growled and backed away. And then it turned tail and ran off a little ways. But it stopped and looked back. It sat down and waited.
The message was clear. The dog wanted Zeph to follow. So he went back inside and got himself a flashlight and his shotgun.
The ice hung heavy on the woods, and the footing was treacherous, but the rain had stopped and the moon had come out. It glowed blue and cold on the trees, making the icy Spanish moss look jewel-encrusted.
The dog headed straight to The Jonquil House, as if he were Bear come back from the dead. Zeph’s skin prickled with more than cold.
What was he supposed to do? He wanted Miz Jenny to leave the house, too, before she got caught up in the ghost’s web. But nothing was moving that woman. She was as determined as any steel magnolia he’d ever had the chance to know.