Unearthed

by J. S. Marlo

  “There you are, Rowan. I’ve been—” Chris’s stare settled on the man now sitting at the desk near the window. “I’m Doctor Chris Malcolm. You are?”

  “Avery Stone.” A blank expression masked Stone’s face.

  “Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Stone, but I was hoping to have a talk with Rowan. Alone.”

  “This is my room, Malcolm, and I pay good money for it. If you want to be alone, you’re welcome to get out.”

  A cold front swept through the room and locked the two men in a glaring match.

  To intrude into a guest’s room and to suggest for the guest to leave in order to accommodate their discussion had been rude, but at least Chris had had the decency not to ditch her in public.

  “For thunder’s sake, Chris.” She unbuckled her tool belt and lowered it onto the plastic sheet. “Let’s go to my office.”

  ***

  Curious to check if O’Reilly knew what she was doing, Avery took advantage of her departure with her doctor to crawl into the claustrophobic closet. Using the flashlight she’d abandoned on the plastic sheet, he examined her handiwork. So far, she’d managed not to damage the floor or the ceiling while tearing down the back wall.

  “Not bad, O’Reilly. Not bad at all.”

  The opening didn’t reveal any accumulation of guano or any dead pups. The bats must not have stayed within the walls for very long. He shined the light farther behind what remained of the wall and glimpsed the corner of what appeared to be another envelope.

  Without touching the pink insulation, he reached in. “What have we here?”

  “Found something?”

  No one sneaked up on him without paying the price. That O’Reilly managed the feat irked him, and he mumbled a curse learned years ago during RCMP training.

  “Would you care to repeat that?”

  Her cheerful mood worsened his disposition. Bloody hell. Whatever he held by the corner was stuck. “Where’s your doctor, O’Reilly?”

  “He’s not my doctor.”

  Appearances sure contradicted her statement. “Whatever you say.” He joggled the envelope, hoping to loosen it without ripping it.

  “Chris left for the hospital. One of his patients went into labor.”

  “And he stopped here to tell you?” Something with that doctor didn’t add up. To think the poor, pregnant woman waited at the hospital while the doctor visited his girlfriend… “I got a second envelope. A big one.”

  Her warm body pressed against his back. “With more pictures?”

  “Give me room,” he snapped. Nobody intruded upon his personal space without being invited—or shot.

  As he struggled out of the cramped closet, he felt O’Reilly’s gaze scratching her back, making him that much more aware of his handicap. Unnerved and abashed, he pulled himself up.

  A cripple. He’d become a cripple, a faint shadow of the man he used to be. Enraged anew over the fate that had befallen him and Rachel, he tossed the large brown envelope at O’Reilly. “Clean up the mess and close the hole. The bats didn’t leave anything behind.”

  With those words, he stormed out, thumping the cane on the floor with more force than necessary.

  ***

  Rowan hammered another nail into the back wall of the closet.

  “Men.” As much as she tried, she always seemed to read them wrong.

  In her office, Chris had reiterated how much he’d enjoyed her company and apologized for not being able to take her out for dinner tonight since he expected Mrs. Carter’s labor to last long into the evening—not that she remembered accepting an invitation for tonight. The small oversight had become irrelevant anyway.

  Then she’d caught Stone in the closet, digging for treasure. She wasn’t mad at him, but her arrival had sure upset him.

  The hammer missed the nail and grazed her thumb. “Spike up, girl, and pay attention.” Still, the man renting the attic, the man who’d stood up straight and limped out of the room after throwing her the new envelope, the man who kept murder themes on his computer, intrigued her. “What’s your story, Stone?”

  The closet offered no answers to her questions. She pushed Stone out of her mind and concentrated on the wall she was rebuilding with spare cedar planks found in the shed. Taking a long breath through her nose, she inhaled the fresh scent of cedar.

  “Need help?”

  A piece of wood slipped from her fingers and onto her foot. Can’t men stop startling me? One more interruption like this one, and she’d strap bells around their necks. Good thing she wore her hiking boots and not her sneakers, or her toe would never have forgiven her.

  She glanced behind her. Crouched with his back against the doorframe, Bill scrutinized her.

  “Aren’t you installing gutters?”

  “Obviously not.” The impish smile on his face disconcerted her. “You’re doing a great job in there, Miss Rowan.”

  Praise after blasting me for climbing on the gazebo? Another man she couldn’t figure out. That appeared to be the story of her life. “Thank you. What can I do for you?”

  “I saw the doctor paid you a visit. I was worried something might have happened.”

  His interest in her welfare seemed exaggerated. “Chris stopped to reschedule dinner.”

  An invisible veil seemed to shroud his expression. “Does that mean you’re seeing him again?”

  Bill’s personal qualms about the doctor didn’t concern her. Besides, her private life wasn’t open to discussion. “Yes. Would that be all?”

  His tongue pushed against the inside of his cheek. If the forming bump mirrored his thought, he’d better swallow it before it led to his dismissal.

  After what felt like an eternity, he nodded. “Good day, Miss Rowan.”

  Humph! Upon his departure, relief washed over her sore muscles.

  Chapter Eight

  In the privacy of her quarters, Rowan soaked in the bathtub. The vanilla-scented water soothed her aching body after a long day spent working in the confines of the closet.

  By the time she’d finished the repairs, the sun had sunk below the horizon, and Stone had remained conspicuously absent.

  “Need anything else, Miss Rowan?”

  The bathroom, which she shared with Gail, doubled as a laundry room. Rowan peeked from behind the shower curtain. Gail folded men’s clothes into a laundry basket.

  “A massage would be nice.”

  A smile cracked Gail’s face. “I could use one too.”

  The witty reply amused Rowan. “Did the Caldwell family settle in?”

  “You can relax. The Caldwells retired for the night, and I’ll see to Mr. Stone’s comfort.”

  To hire Gail had been a stroke of genius on Mattie’s part. “You’re an angel.”

  Gail’s joyous laughter filled the room. “If he were still alive, I doubt my husband would agree. I’ll come check on you every so often to make sure you don’t fall asleep in the tub. We can’t have you drowning, can we?”

  Rowan pictured the newspaper headlines.

  Buccaneer’s owner, Rowan O’Reilly, drowns in her bath. Police suspect foul play. Guests are questioned, and an arrest is imminent.

  “No. Not tonight.”

  The door closed, and Gail’s renewed laughter faded away.

  Alone at last, Rowan reached out for the shelf above the toilet where she’d stowed the large brown envelope. It was bulkier than the one with the pictures of her father and Mattie in it. Careful not to drop the contents in the tub, she unsealed it and peeked inside.

  “More envelopes?” A stack of white envelopes addressed to Mattie O’Reilly was stashed inside. She opened the first one and found a letter dated twenty-seven years earlier.

  Hey Mattie,

  I hope you’re still the one who picks up the mail every morning. If not, you’ll probably never see this letter. I just wanted to let you know I arrived safe and sound at Uncle Charlie’s cabin. He calls it a cabin, but it’s more like an old ranch falling apart at the foot of the mountains.
If I’m still around on my 18th birthday, Uncle Charlie told me he’d give it to me. I’m not sure if I believe him or if the ranch will still be standing by then, but for the moment, it’s a roof over my head. It’s sure nice to go to bed without fighting with the drunk.

  Stay out of trouble, sis. Love,

  Chad

  The bond between her father and his sister was undeniable. He would have been fifteen years old at the time. What kind of altercations had pushed him to run away at such a tender age? And who was the drunk? The letter raised more questions than answers.

  The second letter was dated four months later.

  Hey Mattie,

  I was so happy to hear from you, but please, be careful. If the drunk learns we’re writing to each other, he’ll get really angry, and we both know what happens when he gets angry.

  Rowan’s pulse accelerated.

  You’ll never guess what happened at the post office last week. I met the most beautiful girl. Her name is Riley Kendrick, and she lives with her grandfather.

  “Mom?” There could be only one Riley Kendrick.

  I didn’t know how to ask her out, so I told her it’d be my 16th birthday next month, and it’d be a great gift if she accepted to catch a movie with me. Uncle Charlie said I needed to work on my pickup lines, but she accepted, and now I’m nervous. Wish me luck. I need it.

  Chad

  No one had ever told Rowan that her parents had met in a post office, or that her father took her mother to a movie on their first date.

  “Miss Rowan?” Gail called from behind the closed door. “You still in there? I need more towels for Mr. S.”

  If Stone wanted a second set of towels, who was she to argue? “Come in.” The opening and closing of the door ruffled the shower curtain.

  Heedless of Gail’s humming, Rowan read the third letter. “A year later? You didn’t write home very often, did you?”

  “Who didn’t write home, Miss Rowan?”

  Caught red-handed, Rowan felt her face flame. “My imaginary friend.”

  “Is your imaginary friend tall, charming, and handsome like your doctor?” Gail quipped.

  “No.” Smelly geysers, Chris isn’t my doctor. “He’s short, chubby, grumpy, and his name is Bob.”

  Laughter bubbled out from Gail’s throat. “You’re depicting my late husband, and that’s plain scary.”

  “Mr. Stone is waiting.” As much as Rowan enjoyed Gail’s chitchat, the letter in her hand demanded her attention.

  Hey Mattie,

  I know it’s been a long time, but I got really busy. Uncle Charlie is sick, so I’m taking care of him. You know how I always wanted to become a firefighter. Well, I applied yesterday. I don’t know how long the whole process takes, but I’m really excited. Riley is finishing high school, and she’ll take a librarian course not too far from here while I’m in training. She likes books and stories, and she promised to wait for me. One day, I hope you get to meet her.

  Time to go check on Uncle Charlie.

  Chad

  The letter had captured her father’s dream, a dream that had ended in a fire. There was no mention of the drunk. “Too bad no one kept the letters Mattie sent him in response.”

  The next letter was dated two months later.

  Hey Mattie

  I don’t want you to worry about me. Being a firefighter is safer than being a fisherman. I’ll be fine. I promise.

  Her father hadn’t been good at keeping his promises.

  You’re probably surprised to hear from me so soon, but I have bad news. Uncle Charlie is dead. You may want to break the news to Mom gently.

  There would have been no reason to break the news gently unless Uncle Charlie had been a relative on her grandmother’s side.

  Tell her he didn’t suffer, and like he promised, he gave me the ranch. It’s still standing, but the roof is leaking. Riley and her grandfather are helping with the repairs. Because I’m not eighteen yet, her grandfather was named my guardian. Not sure how Uncle Charlie managed to include that in his will, but apparently, it’s legal.

  I better run. I have a ton of stuff to do before I start my training next week.

  Chad

  It didn’t sound like anyone contested Uncle Charlie’s will or her grandfather’s guardianship. “Strange. Next letter.”

  Hey Mattie,

  I don’t remember the last time I wrote to you—

  “A year later, Father.” Her father had been bad at keeping track of his correspondence with his sister.

  —but I’m a firefighter now. Training is done, and I’m finally seeing some action, but that’s not why I’m writing.

  It was the first anniversary of Uncle Charlie’s death last week, so I invited Riley to come to the cemetery. I brought flowers, knelt on Uncle Charlie’s grave, and then guess what? I took Riley’s hand and asked her to marry me.

  No one had ever told her father asked her mom to marry him on his uncle’s grave. “That’s so creepy—and so awesome.”

  I wanted Uncle Charlie to witness the proposal, and I bet he got a good laugh out of it. Riley said I was the weirdest guy she’d ever known. I know you can’t attend, not if you don’t want to be kicked out of the house, but I’ll be thinking about you.

  Chad

  The only people with enough authority to kick Mattie out would have been her parents, but it didn’t explain why they cut their son out of their lives. “They sound like Bjorn’s grandmother.”

  Another letter was dated five months later, and it contained the wedding picture of her parents.

  Hey Mattie,

  This is Riley. She says hello. As you can see, I did marry the most beautiful girl in the whole world. Her grandfather gave her away, and Oliver was my best man. One day I’ll have to introduce you to Oliver. He’s a fellow firefighter and my best friend. A real nice, quiet guy. You’d like him. He’d make a good husband and father. Not that I’m trying to set you up or anything. You take care,

  Chad

  Tears clouded Rowan’s vision. Shortly after her father’s death, her mother had married Oliver. Her father’s best friend had been a wonderful dad until a fire also claimed him, and she missed him dearly.

  The water in the tub was getting cold. Setting letter and picture aside, she fetched the last envelope. The stylish handwriting on the front caught her attention before her mind registered the different address. The letter wasn’t from her father. It was addressed to her father in Sparrowsnest, Alberta. The envelope was sealed with a thirty-two cent stamp affixed to the top corner, but someone had scribbled INSUFFICIENT POSTAGE - RETURN TO SENDER on the front. The letter originated from Mattie in PEI.

  A hike in postal cost didn’t explain why Mattie didn’t re-mail the letter unless she never had the chance. Eager to get a glimpse into her aunt’s early life, Rowan ripped the flap and pulled out a sheet of light blue paper.

  Hello little brother,

  I’m afraid I made a horrible mistake. I showed your wedding picture to Mom. She was so happy for you, and she found your new wife to be very lovely.

  When Dad came home, there were still tears of joy in her eyes. He was in his usual state—

  While his usual state could mean many things, one meaning stuck in Rowan’s mind. Drunk.

  —and he demanded to know what happened. To say he was furious was an understatement. He forbade me to ever contact you again, or else I’d end up like Rufus, the kitten I found abandoned a few weeks ago. He disappeared yesterday, and last night I found the dirt had been moved around the gazebo. When I flattened it, I unearthed small bones. Dad blamed the coyotes for killing Rufus. I know some were introduced on the island a year ago, but I never saw any near the house. I want to believe him, Chad, but I don’t know if I can. Mother and I gave Rufus a proper burial near the stream.

  I miss you. Love always,

  Mattie

  Shocked by the allegations, Rowan dropped the letter in the tub. The lukewarm water blurred the blue-inked words into one another, but
it wasn’t responsible for the shivers wracking her body.

  ***

  To get away from O’Reilly and the memories of his past, Avery spent the day on the bench by the stream. And long after the sun set over the island, he entered his room.

  It had been cleaned, and his belongings were stored in the closet.

  Ready to retire for the night, he hung his cane on the bedpost and whisked back the quilt. A picture swirled from under the bed. It grazed his toes and landed against the wall.

  He bent down to pick it up. In the snapshot, O’Reilly’s father straddled a thick branch, high up in an ugly shaped tree. Hands on her hips, his sister watched from the ground.

  He flipped the photo between his fingers and read the caption.

  CHAD & MATTIE. AFRAID OF HEIGHTS, MATTIE REFUSED TO CLIMB THE APPLE TREE.

  Chapter Nine

  I pictured Mattie falling down and breaking her neck—Afraid of heights—I pictured Mattie falling down and breaking her neck—Afraid of heights—I pictured Mattie falling down and breaking her neck—Afraid of heights.

  The words reverberated in Avery’s mind as he tossed and turned in the small attic bed.

  O’Reilly had been on the roof when the doctor had uttered those words, but if Mattie was afraid of heights, she would have been reluctant to climb a ladder. And in order to die from the fall, she would have had to be up higher than her brother in the picture. The inconsistency had gnawed at him all week, and tonight it annoyingly encroached on his sleep.

  He had come here to escape his past. Looking into Mattie’s accident would only draw him back into his old life. Bloody picture and bloody bats. Cursing his training, he tossed the quilt aside and got up.

  The blinds had stayed rolled up, and through the mesh screen, the moon shone into the room. He approached the desk and grabbed a can of tomato juice and a beer. Never too early or too late for a Red Eye. His grandpa’s favorite mantra.