Sea of Darkness: A World of Gothic: France

by Amanda McCabe

I stared after him for a moment, unable to believe he’d been so rude. Then again, I had to admit his backside made for pleasant viewing.

  I watched him disappear into the old Victorian before trudging back to where my car was parked along the road. I clicked the remote to unlock it, hesitating with one hand on the door handle when a pickup truck pulled to a stop behind me.

  “Lost?” the man asked, leaning his head out the window, holding his hand up in a useless attempt at shielding his eyes from the sun. He was in his mid-to-late fifties, short gray hair and a weathered face.

  “You’re the second person to ask me that in the last few minutes.”

  “Who was the first?”

  I motioned toward the B&B. “Some rude guy.”

  He laughed and got out of the truck. “Allow me to introduce myself. Morgan Thayner. Father of some rude guy.”

  My cheeks flamed as I let out a groan.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “Walker tends to be…” His voice trailed off. Color seemed to fade from his skin.

  “Are you all right?” I asked, praying he wasn’t having a heart attack or something.

  He shook his head slowly. I stepped closer, wrapping one hand around his upper arm. “Sit down in the truck. I’ll get your son.”

  “No,” he said. “I’m fine, it’s just… What did you say your name was?”

  “I didn’t. You can call me Cassie. Cassie O’Dey.”

  “Becca’s daughter.” The words were little more than a breath but they were enough to send my heart flying into my throat.

  “You knew my mother?” This was what I’d come to Florida for, to find someone who remembered her.

  He nodded. “I knew Becca. She and my little sister were best friends.”

  My hand slipped from his arm. I stood there with my mouth hanging open and tears blurring my eyes.

  “I wanted to find someone who knew her,” I whispered around the frog in my throat. I held the picture out.

  Mr. Thayner took it from my hand. He looked at it and a smile tugged one corner of his mouth. “Becca was a beauty.”

  When he didn’t immediately hand the picture back, I held out my hand for it. “It’s the only picture I have of her,” I said.

  He handed it back, reluctantly I thought.

  “I can’t believe it’s the only one you have. The girl I knew wasn’t exactly camera shy.”

  “My grandparents threw away anything of hers. The only reason I have this picture is because my father stuck it in his high school yearbook.”

  “C’mon then.”

  “Pardon?”

  He jerked his head in the direction of the Victorian. “The house. I’m thinking there might be a few pictures of Becca there. That’s what you came for, isn’t it?”

  I had hoped to find someone who remembered when my parents had stayed there. Someone who might have a kind word to say about her. I had never expected to find pictures of her.

  He reached for the door handle of his truck. “Follow me. You don’t want to park in the old parking lot.”

  I followed him to a spot next to the house where the grass was mashed down, and parked next to him.

  “Is your father in town?” Mr. Thayner asked as we walked around to the back of the house.

  “No. He died when I was ten. My grandparents raised me after that.”

  From somewhere in the house came a high pitched whirring sound. I followed Mr. Thayner through the raggedy door and into the kitchen. The place was a disaster. Most of the metal cabinets had been pulled out and stacked against the wall. The linoleum was stained, torn and dirty and the huge enamel coated sink looked ready for the dump.

  “My parents ran this place. My wife and I took it over back when Walker was small. My wife passed away six years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He moved his chin once in what might have been a nod. “She’d been sick for a few years before that. We couldn’t keep up with things here, not with her health and the hospital stays eating away at our time and money. We closed it three years before she died.” He looked at me and shrugged. “I know I should have sold it when she passed away, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Good thing, too. Walker called me a few weeks ago and said he wanted to buy the place and put it to rights. Helps us both out.”

  “What’s she doing here?”

  Until he spoke from the doorway I hadn’t even noted the cessation of noise.

  “Don’t be rude,” his father said. “This is Cassidy O’Dey.” He winked at me. “Cassie to her friends.”

  Walker crossed his arms in front of his chest and glared at us both.

  “Her mother was Rebecca Cassidy. She was your aunt Lorraine’s best friend. Practically grew up here. Hell, after the fire my folks took her in.”

  I made an effort to pull my jaw up off the floor. Mr. Thayner had said his sister and my mother were friends. I thought they’d met at the B&B as adults, the summer my mother left us. My mother had lived here in Virtue? In this very house?

  “What fire?” I asked.

  Mr. Thayner turned pale blue eyes in my direction. “The one that killed Becca’s parents.”