“It’s okay, forget it.” She turned and stared out the window as Pete waved at them from Jonathan’s travel trailer. Circles ringed his sleeveless shirt and his tanned biceps glistened in the afternoon heat. She returned the wave. Ethan must have changed his mind about sending him to Jackson today.
“Pete Connelly, right?”
“Yeah. We went to high school together.” Oak Grove loomed to her right. “I see Jonathan pulled off those old boards.”
“He’s repairing that old house?”
“He was before we received an offer on the sixty-five acres the house sits on. He and my dad grew up there.” An unexpected shiver slid down her back. “A lot of the time, Oak Grove is where I am in my nightmares.”
“You mentioned nightmares at the restaurant.”
“Yeah. Well, this is where they take place. They get pretty wild sometimes with a clown chasing me.”
“Clown? What’s the significance of that?”
She took a shuddering breath. “I don’t know. Except clowns have always terrorized me. But it doesn’t end with the clown.”
“It gets worse?”
She nodded. “About six months ago I was working a case. Wasn’t called in until the last minute, and someone died. Sometimes the clown in my dreams is the shooter.”
“Taylor, I’m so sorry. After I met you, I read about that case online. From what the article said, there was nothing you could do. That kid meant to kill his stepfather.”
She closed her eyes. She’d tried to tell herself that over and over. Didn’t stop the feeling that she’d failed.
“Have you been inside the house since you’ve come back home?”
“No. Things keep coming up. Not sure I want to explore by myself. Jonathan had said he’d come with me.”
Nick slowed the truck. “Why don’t we stop now? You wouldn’t be by yourself, and exploring the place of your nightmares could—”
“No, thanks.” He didn’t want to date her but yet he wanted to be the white knight that chased away her inner demons? Not likely.
“On the way back, maybe?”
She bit her lip. “I’d rather ask Scott a few questions.”
“Let me call Kate and see how he’s doing.” Nick took out his phone and called the bed and breakfast. After a brief conversation, he hung up. “Kate seems to think he’s up to it. She said she’d tell him to expect us.”
“Thanks.”
“How about your dad’s file? Did you get it yet?”
“Got it Friday afternoon. Tomorrow I’m going with Livy to interview the detective who investigated the case.”
“That sounds promising. Learn anything you didn’t know?”
She wrinkled her nose. “One of the cops who investigated his disappearance died suspiciously.”
“Coincidence?”
“No such thing as coincidence when it comes to crime. Next on my list is to check the Logan Point newspapers printed around the time he disappeared. They’re archived at the library.”
“I’m a pretty good researcher. Why don’t I do that for you?”
“I hate for you to bother.” The lane forked. “Take the right lane. The old oak I used to climb should be just ahead.”
“Wouldn’t be any bother at all. And when you’re out and about, you really need to be careful. Your mom reminded me of that after lunch.”
She grunted. “She wasn’t happy I went out running yesterday.”
“I know. But she’s right. Just because nothing’s happened in the past few days doesn’t mean the threat is gone.”
“I’d like to think he’s lost interest,” Taylor said as they climbed out of the truck. At least that’s what she hoped. She was more than a little frustrated with her inability to get into her stalker’s mind and his on-again-off-again pursuit.
Unless her stalker was Scott. She tried to dismiss the thought—she’d settled in her mind that Scott didn’t meet the profile. But with him incapacitated, it could explain why she hadn’t received any more threats. She pushed the thoughts away and concentrated on showing Nick the land.
An hour and a half later, Taylor sat beneath the spreading limbs of the oak, listening to the soulful riffs of “Summertime” coming from Nick’s harmonica. They’d walked the land, and he’d infused her with his enthusiasm. The plan he carried in his heart was perfect for the twenty acres. As he’d talked, she’d pictured the cabins, the repairs to the existing boathouse, even the kids. It’d be great to see kids romping these woods and swimming in the lake like she had.
Her head nodded to the slow rhythm of the song as Nick wound the music down and then sat quietly beside her. “I can play that on the piano,” she said.
“You play the piano?”
“Learned how after my dad left.” She looked at him. “Do you always carry your harmonica with you?”
“Usually.” He sighed and tapped the harp against his knee. “Playing calms me, helps when I’m trying to make a hard decision.”
“Buying this land?”
He nodded. “I’m pretty sure it’ll be more than I’ve budgeted, but I keep thinking about how many lives could be changed. Without intervention, the boys I want to bring here don’t have much of a chance. If they could just live a different kind of life for a few months, they could see they don’t have to continue down the wrong road.”
“It’s a worthy goal.”
“Can you imagine what it would be like for a boy who’s known nothing but concrete and asphalt to come here?”
Nick’s wistfulness captured her heart as a light breeze from the lake stirred the air. “You’re going to do this, aren’t you?”
“Depends on whether I can afford it.”
“Did Jonathan quote you a price?”
“No. He said to look at it first, but Kate has already warned me that land around here will be high.”
“Jonathan says we’ve been offered a million dollars for that sixty-five acres.”
Air whooshed from Nick’s lips. “That’s more than fifteen thousand an acre.” He glanced toward the water. “This will probably bring more, being on the lake.” His shoulders slumped.
“Can you afford it?”
“It’s a lot more than I’ve budgeted. Nonprofits don’t usually buy prime real estate.” He slid the harmonica in his shirt pocket. “There’s enough from Angie’s insurance policy to pay for it, but I’ll need donations to build the cabins and run it. Potential donors might view the land purchase as extravagant.”
“You don’t have to advertise what you paid for it.”
He gave her an odd look. “No, but they’ll want to know, and I’ll tell them.”
Taylor thought about the boys he’d described and tried to imagine growing up in a big city, never knowing what it was like to roam the woods or swim in a lake. As a child, she’d never known anything else. Two swans glided from beneath the weathered boathouse, occasionally plunging their heads into the water, searching for food. Were they descendents of the ones who were here when she was a child?
Nick stirred beside her. “Kate says God will provide.”
She bit her lip to keep from laughing. “Not even God can get my uncle to reduce his price.”
“You never know . . .” He turned to her. “I try not to limit God.”
“And I do. That’s what you’re really saying.” She clasped her hands together and softly asked, “How can you trust God? He took your wife. Your brother almost killed himself . . .”
“So you think God doesn’t care about me.” Nick plucked a blade of grass and folded it in half. “I won’t lie to you. I struggled with my faith when Angie died.” He broke the end of the blade off. “But in the end, my faith is what sustained me.”
Taylor absorbed his words. Then unfolding her legs, she stood and walked out on the pier past the boathouse, stopping to scoop up a couple of small stones. The lake stretched before her like a sheet of glass.
Abruptly, she sailed one of the stones out across the lake, and it rippled the w
ater in their little cove with each skip. She turned and sailed another one and caught her breath as the rock startled one of the swans and it lifted off the lake. Years vanished, and she saw another swan in another time . . .
It’d been in autumn the year she turned seven, and she and her daddy had come to the lake to gaze at the night sky. She tried to count the stars. “Oh, Daddy, there must be a billion stars up there.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “I’m sure there are, honey. Did you know God set each and every one in place and named them?”
Her father’s laughter had startled a swan. She would never forget the sight of it lifting off the lake in the moonlight, her hand in her daddy’s. They’d been a family.
She clenched her jaw. No, she’d only thought they were a family. It had all been a lie.
Still, she’d give anything to feel her daddy’s hand wrapped around hers one more time.
She walked back to Nick. “Want to know why I don’t agree with you?”
“If you’d like to tell me.”
Taylor sat beneath the tree again, wrapping her arms around her knees. “Mom and Daddy took me to church every time the doors opened. He was a deacon, Sunday school teacher, you name it, he did it. When I was eight, I asked Jesus into my life. I believed God loved me. My daddy was so proud—so proud that the next week he walked out of my life. Didn’t even stay around for my baptism.”
She rested her chin on her knees. “When he first left, I believed with all my heart that if I prayed hard enough, God would bring him home. My Bible even told me he would. ‘Ask and you will receive.’ It didn’t happen. I asked and I did not receive.”
Overhead the haunting kee-ee-ar from a red-tailed hawk filled the air as it soared against the cobalt sky.
“That’s when I decided if there was a God, either he wasn’t powerful enough to bring my father home, or he wasn’t listening to my prayers.” She lifted her face toward Nick and narrowed her eyes. “So, don’t tell me he has a plan for my life or cares about me.”
Nick remained silent, and she got to her feet and walked to the end of the pier.
“Taylor.”
Strong hands turned her around. When she wouldn’t look at him, he lifted her face. His green-flecked eyes caught her gaze and held it.
“I wish I could take your pain away.”
She allowed Nick to draw her into his arms and rested her head on his chest, feeling his strength wrap around her. “It’s my fault he left. I did something wrong.”
“You know that’s not true.” He stroked her back.
She relaxed into his embrace and wished she never had to move. Finally, she sighed. “I know. I even told my niece the exact same thing this afternoon about her mom . . . It just hurts so much.”
“Oh, Taylor.” He cupped her face in his hands.
Desire smoldered in his hazel eyes, and Nick lowered his head, capturing her lips. There was nothing tentative about this kiss. She slipped her hands around his neck and lost herself in his arms, giving back as much as he gave.
Holding Taylor, kissing her, came as naturally to Nick as breathing. In spite of his determination otherwise, he was falling in love with this beautiful woman.
He lifted his eyes, and his gaze caught the weathered boathouse. It’d stood the test of time. He turned his head from the lake to the land they had walked together. He wanted this land, and he wanted Taylor beside him, helping him build the camp. He simply didn’t know how he’d get either one.
In the bedroom closet, Scott found a pair of jeans and a T-shirt Nick must have bought. With a shaky hand, Scott wiped sweat from his eyes. How could he sweat and freeze at the same time? He stripped off his pajamas and almost stumbled pulling on the jeans. Dr. Martin. She was coming to talk to him. Probably have him arrested.
Black dots swam before his eyes as he took a shaky step toward the door. He glanced back at his bed. One look and they’d know he was gone. He stuffed pillows on the mattress, then covered them with the blanket. Ought to buy him a little time. The door creaked open, and he held his breath as he looked down the hall. Empty.
His wallet, with his ID. He hadn’t seen it in his room. He tiptoed across to where Nick slept and searched, finding it in the drawer with his brother’s socks. Now to make it down the stairs without running into anyone, especially Kate. “God loves you. He will forgive you.” Her words rang in his ears. Scott wished he could believe that.
At the bottom of the steps, he paused. Snoring came from the room across from the stairs. Scott peeked inside. The old man who’d babysat him this morning laid stretched out in a recliner, his mouth half-opened, dead to the world. Scott zeroed in on a half pint of whiskey on the desk in the corner. Scott licked his lips. He hesitated. The old man—Charlie—had been kind to him. His glance slid to a shelf above the desk, and he caught his breath. A Ford key ring with two keys dangled from a peg. Yes!
Charlie shifted in the recliner, and Scott froze, waiting for the snoring to resume. Finally, it did and he lifted the keys, then turned toward the door. He took two steps before the whiskey won, and he turned around, grabbing the bottle. The old man had never even opened it. Three twenties caught his eye in the open drawer below the bottle, and he stuffed them in his pocket.
A dart from his conscience pricked his heart. He’d liked the old man and his stories about being a merchant seaman. And Charlie hadn’t tried to make him eat. Scott fished one of the twenties from his pocket. He hated to take it all. But what if he needed it? Wait. It had to be after the first of the month, and he had money in the bank. The twenty went back in his pocket. He’d stop at an ATM in Memphis and withdraw some money—enough to pay the old man back. He eased the drawer a little wider. His hand froze as a .22 caliber pistol came into sight. A gun might come in handy. He stuck it in the waistband of his jeans and slipped out of the room.
Heat blasted his face as he stepped out the kitchen door, stealing his breath. Scott scanned the drive then the parking area in front of what looked like some sort of shop. Where was the old man’s truck? No way could he get away from here without wheels. Then he spied a seventies model Ford pickup pulled beside the house. He was in business.
25
Nick slowed in front of Oak Grove, and Taylor tensed. “Why are we stopping? I told you I didn’t want to stop here.”
Her anxiety grew as he turned into the lane beside the old home place.
“I know, but let’s talk about it.” He parked the truck under a tree. “This place causes you nightmares. It’s connected in some way with your dad. And it frightens you.”
“But—”
Nick held up his hand. “You know that’s true or you wouldn’t have a problem exploring the place. So what about it scares you?”
Taylor licked her lips. “I . . . don’t know.”
She turned and stared at the empty house. What was she afraid of? That she had seen something she shouldn’t have . . . perhaps the woman her father had danced with?
“You won’t be by yourself.” Nick’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Whatever is in there, we can face together.”
Taylor swallowed. “Okay.”
The musty scent of old wood greeted them as they stepped into the foyer.
“Hey, this is just like your mom’s house,” Nick said.
“Only bigger. The living room and dining room were here.” She pointed to the rooms to their left. “And over here”—Taylor’s shoes made hollow echoing sounds as she walked across the hall—“was the library. Granna’s bedroom was down the hall.”
“How long has the house been empty?”
She tried to remember. Granna moved in with them a few months before her dad left. Jonathan moved out afterwards. “Almost twenty years.”
“It’s still in pretty good shape. And it’s cool in here,” Nick said. “Must be the high ceilings and trees.”
They wandered down the hallway that divided the house, and Taylor halted at the basement door. A shiver ran down her spine. The door in h
er dreams. With her stomach churning, she touched the glass doorknob. Don’t go down there. The voice from her dreams.
An invisible band squeezed her chest, cutting off her air. Nick said something, but the beat of her heart drowned out his words. Tremors shook her body. With the walls closing in, she slid to the floor and wrapped her arms around her stomach.
“Taylor, it’s all right.” Nick’s body warmed her as he knelt and drew her into his arms. “You’re safe. Everything will be okay. Look into my eyes. It’s Nick.”
His voice penetrated the fog in her head, soothing her jagged nerves. Slowly, she raised her eyes. “Nick?”
“Breathe. Slow and easy.”
“What happened? What am I doing on the floor?”
“I don’t know. You freaked out.”
The basement . . . the nightmares. She couldn’t live this way. “Help me up. I . . . I have to face this.”
“I don’t think so. We’ll come back another time.”
“No!” She pulled away from Nick and climbed to her feet. “Help me do this.”
“Are you sure?”
No, she wasn’t sure. Taylor swallowed, trying to wet her parched throat. With a deep breath, she twisted the doorknob.
Silently, it swung open, and Taylor peered down the pitch-black steps, her heart still hammering against her ribs. A silver Maglite hung on the wall. Another breath, then she slipped the flashlight from its hook and flicked it on. Light arced into the darkness.
“Let me hold it, and you grab that rail there,” Nick said, pointing to the narrow banister along the wall.
Halfway down, the skin on the back of her neck prickled. Her fingers curled tighter around the rail as stale, dank air filled her nostrils, and she tried not to hyperventilate. Nick shined the light ahead of her, and briefly it reflected something shiny at the bottom of the steps. “What’s that?”
“Where?”
“There.” They stepped onto the basement floor, and she guided the light to where she’d seen the sparkle. Something was caught between the bracing and the step.
Taylor bent and cautiously ran her finger along the dried-out crack between the step and brace. A metal ring? Yes. And it was attached to a smooth metal object. She tugged on the loop, but it wouldn’t budge. Taylor traced her index finger around a barely visible double curve. Her heart caught in her throat.
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