Shadows of the Past (Logan Point Book #1): A Novel

by Bradley, Patricia

  “You the owner? Been trying to find you.” The fireman turned and shouted over his shoulder. “Inspector, the owner’s here.”

  Nick didn’t wait. He sprinted for the door. The acrid scent of smoke and burnt electrical wire stung his nostrils.

  “Hey, wait! You can’t go in there!”

  He reached the door as paramedics shoved Scott through on a stretcher. Nick’s heart plummeted. His brother lay corpse-like on the gurney as oxygen hissed through the mask covering his nose and mouth. Tinges of soot stood out against the grayness of his face. “Scott!”

  No response. Nick grabbed a paramedic by the arm. “What happened? Is he going to be okay?”

  The paramedics pushed the stretcher past him. “We need to get him to the hospital.”

  “Which hospital?”

  “Baptist. It’s the closest.”

  Had he found Scott only to lose him? The thought constricted his chest. He had to go with him. Nick turned to follow the gurney, but a Memphis fire investigator blocked his way. “Hold up.”

  “I need to be with my brother.”

  “You’ll just be in their way in the ambulance, and you won’t see him at the hospital until he’s stabilized. Give me a minute.”

  “Now?” Nick scrubbed his face.

  The investigator flipped open a badge: Mike Hurley. “Give me two minutes so I can finish my report.” His face softened. “Your brother’s in good hands.”

  Nick glanced toward the ambulance. Hurley might be right, but that didn’t make staying behind any easier.

  “I promise this won’t take long.”

  Nick clenched and unclenched his hands. “Okay, two minutes, then I’m out of here.”

  He followed the investigator to the spreading elm tree in his yard.

  “First of all, you can’t go into your house.”

  Nick glanced toward the house. He didn’t see any damage. “Why not?”

  “Damage is on the back side,” Hurley explained. “Fire got your breaker box. No power. Should be able to get in later this afternoon to get personal effects, but you’ll have to rewire before you can stay here again.”

  Nick glanced back at the ambulance. Taylor said something to one of the paramedics, then turned and walked toward them. Before she reached him, the ambulance pulled away from the curb, siren blaring.

  “What’d he say?” Nick asked.

  “His vitals are better.” She turned to the investigator. “How did the fire start?”

  “Let me ask my questions first.” He took out a notebook. “Your name is Nicholas Sinclair, and you live alone. That right?”

  Nick nodded. “My brother spent the night with me.”

  “Do you have insurance?”

  “Of course.” Nick took a deep breath. “Call my insurance agent.” He scrolled through his phone for the number. “Anything else?”

  Hurley glanced up from his writing. “I need you to sign a consent-to-search form for the fire marshal.”

  “Fire marshal? Why?”

  “To make a determination that the fire wasn’t deliberately set.”

  “You think—”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I want an expert to look at it.” He asked a few more questions, then looked over his report. “That’ll do for now. When the investigation is finished, you’ll be contacted, and a report will go to your insurance company.”

  “Can’t you tell me something now?”

  The investigator tapped his pen against the pad several times. “Appears the fire started in the kitchen. Found your brother near the stove, a pint whiskey bottle beside him.”

  Nick rubbed his hand across his eyes. He didn’t keep alcohol in the house, but there was a liquor store at the end of the street.

  “When the fire marshal finishes, we’ll know for sure.” He held his notebook out for Nick to sign the form.

  Nick hesitated briefly, then signed.

  Hurley closed his notebook. “That about does it for me. There’ll be someone posted here until a determination is made. Don’t go into the house before you get the okay.” He touched his cap brim. “Hope your brother makes it.”

  “Thanks.” He turned to Taylor. The care in her blue eyes made his heart skip a beat.

  “He’ll make it, Nick.”

  “I hope so.” He stared in the direction the ambulance had gone.

  “Would you like me to follow you to the hospital?”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “Someone should be with you.”

  The last time he’d sat in a hospital waiting room was the night Angie died. The paramedics had gotten her heart beating long enough to get her to the ER. “Thanks.”

  Changes had been made to the ER waiting room since Angie’s death. New, softer chairs and earth-toned stained floors, but nothing could change the anxiety permeating the air. After Nick took care of the admission papers, he paced the floor, waiting for an update.

  Taylor disappeared briefly. When she returned, she handed him a Coke. “Thought you might need a pick-me-up.” She nodded toward two empty chairs in a corner of the room. “Let’s sit over there—the doctor will find you when he comes out.”

  Nick followed her to the chairs. “I’ve never liked hospitals. They make me feel so . . .”

  “Inadequate?”

  That was the perfect word. He popped the top on the soda. “Especially since Angie.”

  “Tell me about Scott when he was growing up, before the alcohol and drugs.”

  Nick was quiet a minute. Memories flowed through his mind—the first time his dad brought Cecelia and Scott to the house, years later, Scott with his two front teeth missing, the home run he’d hit when he was twelve . . . Sometimes, he felt more like Scott’s father than his brother. “Once when he was in the second grade, Mom—that’s what I called Cecelia—tried to teach him the value of money. She expected him to save half of his allowance. He went along with her, amassed a nice savings, then one day he wanted fifty dollars from his account.”

  “Fifty dollars? Whatever for?”

  “He wanted to buy his girlfriend a present.”

  “In the second grade?”

  “Mom responded the same way. Boy, did she preach to him, but he wouldn’t give up. Finally, she asked what he wanted to buy for this girl.” Nick paused. “Guess what it was.”

  “A bicycle, maybe?”

  “Nope. A pair of New Balance tennis shoes. This girl had three sisters, and her divorced mother struggled to keep food on the table. Her only pair of shoes came from a yard sale, and they weren’t name brand. The other kids made fun of her, and he wanted to do something about it. New Balance was the ‘in’ shoe that year.”

  “What did your mother do?”

  “They bought the shoes, wrapped them, and left them on the girl’s doorstep with her name on the package.” He caught her gaze and held it. “Drunk, sober, or anything in between, I don’t think that tenderhearted little boy could grow up and be involved in something that could hurt someone else.”

  A voice blared Nick’s name from the intercom, and he jerked his head toward the front as the intercom repeated it. A man too young to be a doctor stood at the front desk, scanning the room. Nick rose and waved, and the man hurried to their corner.

  “I’m Dr. Anderson. Your brother is going to make it.”

  “Oh, thank goodness.” He eyed the young doctor in his white lab coat with stethoscope draped around his neck. He looked more like a fuzzy-faced teenager playing grown-up than a physician.

  “We’ll admit him to ICU and wean him from the oxygen later tonight, but he’ll stay in the unit until I’m certain there’s no pneumonia.” In spite of his youthful looks, the doctor’s voice was strong, confident.

  “Has he said what happened?”

  “No, but from the size of that knot on the side of his head, it appears as though he fell and hit his head.” Dr. Anderson scanned the chart. “When they brought him in, he had a blood alcohol level of point-three-seven.”


  Point-zero-eight was the legal limit for driving. Nick whistled.

  “Yeah.” The doctor nodded his agreement. “Your brother is extremely fortunate. That level very often is fatal. The next few days will be difficult as he goes through detox. Has he ever been in rehab?”

  “Earlier this year, I think. I don’t know where, though.” Nick liked this doctor and his straightforward manner. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Get him back into rehab.”

  After the doctor left, Nick let out a deep sigh of relief. At least Scott would survive this time.

  Taylor glanced at her watch. “Wow. It’s after five.”

  “You need to go home.”

  “Will you be okay?”

  “I will now.” He stretched his arms back and flexed his shoulders.

  “You’re going to need a place to stay.”

  He gave her a blank stare, then tapped his forehead. “I haven’t even thought about that. I’ll stay here tonight. After that . . .” He slumped in the chair. Fatigue swept over his body. “I’ll cross that bridge tomorrow.”

  Taylor hesitated. “There’s a bed and breakfast next door to me in Logan Point, and the owner, Kate Adams, didn’t have any guests yesterday. It’s twenty miles away . . . but if it were me, I’d rather stay there than in a motel.”

  Stay in Logan Point? He’d only been there once before, and the memory of a lake and trees came to mind. Peaceful. The idea sounded good. “Do you have the number?”

  “It’s in my phone. Let me check and see if she’s booked.” Taylor found the number and called, but there was no answer. She frowned. “I’ll call her later tonight or first thing in the morning and let you know if she has a room.”

  “Thanks for staying with me.” He took her hand, noticing how long and tapered her fingers were. He lifted his gaze and connected with her luminous blue eyes. Nick’s heart thudded against his chest. He wished she wouldn’t look at him like that.

  Their footsteps echoed in the dimly lit hospital parking garage. She was glad Nick had insisted on escorting her to her car. After unlocking the Rav4, she turned to him, her hand still tingling from his touch when he’d held her hand. Exhaustion lined his face. “Sure you’ll be okay on your own? I can stay longer.”

  His gaze held hers, and the tingling spread to her heart.

  “I’ll be fine,” he said. “You need to get back to your family.”

  It was time to leave, but she hesitated, wishing she could tell him everything would be all right. “Nick, I’m truly sorry about what happened to Scott. I never wished him any harm.”

  “I know.” He kicked at a pebble on the garage floor.

  Silence charged the air between them as their gazes locked. Her whole body pounded with each heartbeat. Imperceptibly, he drew toward her. Taylor waited, her lips parted.

  Abruptly, Nick jerked a half step back. A slow flush crept over his face. “I . . . thanks again for being here.”

  In her wildest imagination, she hadn’t dreamed Nick might want to kiss her. So why did she feel so let down? Even if she had been waiting for someone like Nick her whole life.

  “Just glad to be of help,” she said, forcing a stiff smile to her lips. Nick opened the car door, and she slid behind the steering wheel.

  He tapped on the window. “Taylor—”

  She tensed. He had that look on his face, the one that said he was going to apologize for almost kissing her. Taylor lowered the window halfway. She wasn’t giving him a chance. “No need to thank me again.”

  He started to speak, then simply nodded. “Be careful.”

  She worked to keep the smile in place. “Sure.”

  Taylor raised the window and backed out of the parking slot. The void in her soul widened as she blinked against the stinging in her eyes.

  Frustrated, she flicked away a tear. What was the big deal, anyway? So what if Nick was probably the most honorable man she’d ever met. His heart belonged to his dead wife.

  She didn’t need him.

  She didn’t need anyone.

  17

  Her father swung Taylor up in the air. She squealed as his hands let go, and then he caught her as she came down. He was so strong. He held her close. He smelled so good, all spicy and woodsy.

  The dream shifted and Taylor was older, not yet eight as her dad fastened a necklace around her neck, then hugged her.

  “Daddy, you’re squeezing me!”

  “Come on. Let’s go see if we can find Uncle Jonathan. I have a plane to catch.” He set her down. Hand in hand they walked toward Oak Grove.

  “Can I go to the airport with you?”

  “Of course you can. You’re a princess, and a princess gets to do whatever she wants.”

  “Oh! Daddy! I forgot my princess purse.”

  “Well, we can’t have the princess without her purse, can we? Run get it, and I’ll find Uncle Jonathan.”

  Taylor looked up at her father. But the man holding her hand wasn’t her father. And they weren’t outside. They were someplace dark. The basement. Her necklace dangled from her hand as she scrunched her eyes, trying to see who it was. Black eyes with fierce black brows peered from a white face, the mouth an angry red slash. A clown. But the clown stared beyond her.

  She turned and saw her father. Taylor started to run to him, but he wasn’t alone. He was dancing with someone, holding her close.

  The clown rushed toward her father.

  “No!”

  He stopped and turned toward Taylor. She caught her breath. Then the clown was gone, and Andy Reed stood with a gun pointed at his stepfather.

  “No! Don’t do it, Andy! Noooooo!”

  Taylor jerked up, gasping for air. Newton, the Reed boy, the hostage situation that went bad . . . She tried to shake the nightmare off as her heart hammered against her ribs and the room slowly came into focus. Sunlight spilled through open curtains against pale blue walls and familiar white dresser. Her bedroom in Logan Point. She jerked her head toward the pounding on her door.

  “Taylor, are you all right?”

  “Mom?”

  Her mother burst into the room. “You were screaming. What’s wrong?”

  “Do you smell it?” Taylor pressed her hand to her forehead.

  “Smell what?” Her mom sniffed the air.

  “Old Spice.” She sucked a deep breath through her nose. A faint scent lingered . . . didn’t it? “Dad’s aftershave.”

  “Oh, Taylor. No, honey, I don’t. Is that why you screamed? Were you having a nightmare?”

  She nodded and hugged her knees to her chest.

  Her mother sat on the edge of the bed, stroking Taylor’s baby doll quilt. “You’re having the dreams again?”

  Taylor leaned against the headboard and nodded. “I smelled Old Spice. It was so real.”

  “How long have the dreams been back?”

  “Since before Christmas. I . . .” Taylor swallowed. “About the time Michael broke our engagement. And there was a case . . . a young man, not even twenty years old . . . he had a gun. Had his mind set, determined to kill his stepfather, who had just beaten his mother almost to death. I tried to talk him down.” She turned and stared out the window. “The stepfather was drunk and called the boy’s mother a name. The boy lost it, started shooting. When it was over, both were dead.” Taylor squeezed her eyes shut against the memory. Failure.

  Mom brushed a strand of hair from Taylor’s face. “Honey, it wasn’t your fault.”

  “I know. Or at least in my head, I know. Just not in my heart yet.”

  “Did you get counseling?”

  “Yes, the psychologist went for counseling.” She glanced up at her mother. “I need to find Dad.”

  Her mother stiffened, and she put her hand at the base of her throat. “Is that what the counselor recommended?”

  “I never talked about Dad with her. I didn’t have to. I already know he’s at the root of the nightmares, my failed relationships.” She moistened her lips. “Mom, it’s something I h
ave to do. I have to know why he left.”

  Unshed tears rimmed her mother’s eyes. “Why he left doesn’t matter. It had nothing to do with you.”

  “Then tell me what happened. Why did he leave?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve asked myself that question every day since he got on a plane and didn’t come home.” A slight tremor crossed her mom’s face. “In the letter I received a week later, he just asked me to forgive him. That’s all. No reason, not even a hint.”

  “He wrote you a letter?” She had never heard anything about a letter. “Did you keep it?”

  “The Memphis detective took it as evidence. They never gave it back.”

  Taylor had to find those files. But this was more than she’d ever learned. “Dad didn’t give any clue the day he left that he wasn’t coming back?”

  “No.” Her mother twisted the corner of the sheet. “It was the Fourth of July. Such a happy day. Half the town was here. Picnic tables and chairs were set up under the oak trees near the old house. Your granna had already moved in with us. Oak Grove was empty except for the farm office in the basement. Your father had to be at a conference in Dallas the next morning, and he planned to leave mid afternoon for the airport in Memphis. I was so busy that afternoon I barely remember him kissing me good-bye and going to find Jonathan to drive him to the airport.”

  Her mother dabbed the corner of her eye and took a tremulous breath. “My last memory of your father is seeing the two of you walk toward Oak Grove.”

  “What?” Taylor sat straighter in bed.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Before it became a nightmare, I was dreaming about Daddy. We were walking together to Granna’s old house. He called me his princess, then he tossed me in the air and caught me.”

  Her mother’s chin quivered. “When you were a baby, he was always doing that. He loved you so much. You were his princess.”

  Taylor touched the hollow of her neck. “In the dream, he fastened a necklace around my neck, and then I’d forgotten my purse and went to find it.”

  “Your necklace.” Her mom struggled, blinking back the tears in her eyes. “The heart-shaped pendant he’d given you that morning. You were brokenhearted when you lost it that day.”