A Thousand Yesteryears (6 page)

“You could be a cop if you wanted to.” Ryan leaned against the railing. “Sheriff Weston would take his best sergeant back in a heartbeat.”

“Ryan.” He didn’t want to go there, not down a path they’d trodden countless times before.

“All right.” His brother backed away from the discussion. “What are you suggesting?”

“Maybe Rosalind Parrish did have enemies.” Caden paused, thinking about what their mother had said. “Or secrets.”

Ryan exhaled. “Okay, I’ll buy it wasn’t typical vandalism, but there’s not a hell of a lot to be done. There was no one to report anything stolen, and the estate was in probate. We didn’t even dust for prints.” He shifted from foot to foot. “I’m more inclined to think someone was looking for money, couldn’t find any, and made a mess to cover their tracks. Everyone in town knew Rosie was a wealthy woman.”

Caden considered that. “When she died, an empty house became fair game.”

Ryan nodded. “That doesn’t mean you can’t make things extra secure for Eve while she’s here.”

“I’m way ahead of you brother. I’m taking care of that back door later today whether she likes it or not.”

Ryan grinned. “Looking out for little sister’s friend?”

Caden shook his head. “Looking out for Eve.”

Amos Carter swatted a mosquito from his arm and took a drag off his Marlboro. Still early in the morning, the hush hanging over the TNT was heavier than usual. He didn’t buy the legend of the Mothman, but sometimes the remote location gave him the creeps, even in daylight. It wasn’t that he believed a giant winged humanoid haunted the place, but the vastness of the region didn’t sit well with someone who liked noise. With over 3600 acres of nothing but overgrown trees, ponds, and old World War II ammunition igloos, it was too damn quiet, the silence broken only by the trill of a bird or the chattering of leaves.

Shifting, he settled against his car, bracing his back against the driver’s door. The old ’72 T-Bird was a hell of a gas hog, but it got him where he needed to go. Most of the time. This morning, the Ford had sputtered and coughed even on the straight flat of Potters Creek Road. He’d pressed deeper into the TNT, eventually pulling off the narrow road at the mouth of an overgrown trail cut into the woods. Hidden behind a rusted guardrail installed by the Army decades past, a tapered rut sliced between the trees—a footpath for anyone willing to brave chiggers, ticks, and the domain of the Mothman.

As a teen he used to get his jollies hanging out up here, drag racing or smoking weed. Then the damn creature had shown up, and suddenly there were carloads of people camped out waiting to spot “the bird.” UFO fanatics came, too. Spiritualists, hippies, all sorts of whackos, even reporters. People used to ride around with guns like vigilante hit squads, waiting to nail the monster that had put Point Pleasant under a microscope. He’d done his share, tossing down a six-pack as he rode point with a loaded .30-06, best damn gun he ever owned. No one wanted to be caught off guard by the Mothman—especially since cars often stalled on the deserted stretch of road for no reason. Sure kept the cops hopping in those days.

Eventually, the crowds dwindled and the reporters went away. After the Silver Bridge fell, the Mothman disappeared, too. Now it was just birds, trees, grass, and abandoned ammunition igloos. A lot of the old WWII shells were still there, most in bad condition. Some of the bunkers had even exploded, causing temporary shutdowns. There’d been a few injuries, lots of bad press. People tended to stay away now. There was talk of contaminants and red water seepage, rumors the TNT was slated to become a government Superfund site. Local kids still hung out and curiosity-seekers went looking for the Mothman, but for the most part, the area was deserted.

Which is why the man he thought of as Reaper insisted on meeting there. He’d never call the bastard that to his face, but the name fit. The guy was like a leech, sucking life from everything he encountered. Too bad some of his nastier habits were about to blow up in his face.

Amos took another drag off his cigarette, then crushed it under his foot as a big car rolled in beside him. The mother never did anything small-scale.

Reaper got out of the vehicle, straightened his shirt, and walked around the front of the sedan. “You screwed up.”

He hadn’t expected an accusation, or the black look Reaper gave him. It wasn’t his fault the guy hadn’t given him enough information. Hell, Reaper hadn’t even paid him much now that he thought about it. A couple measly hundred to toss the place and search for a photo negative. Reaper hadn’t told him what it was, just said Amos would know when he saw it. Probably a shot of the guy getting his rocks off or balling someone’s old lady. Whatever it was, Rosalind Parrish had held it over his head, and he wanted the damn thing back.

“I tore that cursed dark room apart.” Amos jutted his chin to emphasize the words. He’d done his part. The guy wasn’t getting no money back. “I trashed the house like you said to make it look like vandalism, but I couldn’t find no film negative. It woulda helped if I’d knowed what I was lookin’ for.”

“Asshole.” Reaper cracked him across the face.

Amos staggered, shocked by the abrupt violence. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Spittle flew from his mouth. Ain’t no way some puffed-up cretin was going to put their hands on him. Damn, it hurt. “No one takes a crack at me.”

Before he could swing, Reaper hit him again. Open-palmed, as if he was slapping some worthless bitch. Amos gave a squawk when the third blow fell, driving him against his car. His ears rang, and his cheek burned with a powerful sting like bees had burrowed under the skin. He tried to catch his breath but Reaper hit him again. And again.

Oh, hell. He was getting the shit beat out of him like Doreen Sue when he smacked her around. This couldn’t be happening. Not to him, not Amos Carter.

He raised his arms to protect himself, crumpling to his knees as Reaper rained blow after blow on his head and shoulders, using his fists now instead of his palm. The pain was excruciating. He couldn’t even find the wherewithal to strike back.

“Who did you tell?” Reaper demanded.

“What?” Blood coated his tongue, making it hard to talk. A meager spark of hope sprouted in his gut. “What do you mean?”

Reaper kicked him in the ribs, sending new agony barrel-rolling through his chest. He groaned and tried to curl into a ball. “Who did you tell?” Reaper snarled. “Damn, you, I’ll beat the shit out of you. Who did you tell?”

“No one!” He screamed the words, though he wasn’t sure what he was screaming about. Reaper kicked him again and, for the first time, Amos started to think he might not come out of the beating alive.

“You can have the money back,” he blubbered, uncaring that he cried like a five-year-old. Tears streaked his cheeks as fresh agony knifed through his belly with another kick. “Please! You can have the money back. I’ll give it all back. I didn’t tell no one nuthin’. I swear.”

“I don’t believe you, parasite.”

Reaper withdrew. Oh, thank God, he withdrew! Amos was sure his ribs were broken, and several teeth had worked loose in his mouth. Maybe that’s all the man wanted, his money back. He had to have hope. Let him get the hell out of here, and he’d lay off smacking Doreen Sue around. He’d make her work extra hours at that salon of hers until she earned enough money for him to pay back Reaper.

Sniffling, he wiped blood and snot from his nose. He could get up now, stand up like a man and face Reaper. They’d work it out. He looked up hopefully, trying to wedge his arms beneath him.

That was when he saw Reaper slowly and methodically pull on a pair of black gloves.

* * * *

She owned the place. It was a sobering thought.

Eve parked beside the Parrish Hotel. Behind her, the high flood walls that kept Point Pleasant safe from the waters of the Ohio River were broken by a wide gap. In the event of a potential flood, that gap could be filled with concrete inserts to hold the water at bay. An unlikely event given the last devastating flood had occurred in 1948, years before she was born. As a child, she’d often heard people talk about it, others going so far as to recall the colossal damage wrought by the floods of ’37 and ’13. Chief Cornstalk’s curse in play, according to the old-timers.

By the time she was born, the Army Corp of Engineers had constructed flood walls around the city. Seventy-three hundred feet of concrete ranging from small obstructions to fifty feet in height. The grassy banks of the Ohio River lay behind that barrier, a place where she’d enjoyed many hours fishing, hiking, and bike riding. The waterway was now regulated by a lock and dam system that kept the once flood-prone city safe. Curse or no curse, her family’s hotel was secure from the threat of overflow.

Her hotel.

Eve drew a breath. Three stories high with single rooms, suites, a parlor, ballroom, and café, it had been a second home while growing up. Her parents had rarely lacked lodgers thanks to Point Pleasant’s location at the confluence of the Kanawha and Ohio Rivers, a junction commonly referred to as Tu-Endie-Wei in the Native American tongue of Wyandotte. She’d forgotten the rich history of the town, dating back to the time of George Washington and Daniel Boone. Chief Cornstalk was buried at Tu-Endie-Wei Park, his infamous curse blamed for everything from catastrophic floods to Mothman sightings and the Silver Bridge tragedy.

As she sat in her car staring up at the hotel with its wide front porch and bright blue awnings, an icy sensation crawled over her skin. Her great grandfather Clarence had burned to death, along with her grandparents, in a fire that took place at the hotel four years after she was born. Her great grandmother Sadie had died in the Influenza Pandemic of 1919 when she was just twenty-eight years old. Eve’s own father had perished at thirty-four in the Silver Bridge collapse, and her aunt had died of cancer at forty-nine. Maybe there was something to the curse after all.

She shook the thoughts away. No, it was just superstition and silliness. Whatever memories lingered in Point Pleasant, they were only that— memories of the past. She had come to face the present, and that included coming to terms with the Parrish Hotel.

Eve entered through the front door into the lobby. The place looked much as she remembered with a large sitting area and a second floor balcony. An imposing staircase led to the second level, a wooden reception counter below. From the massive moldings to the thick brocade carpeting, Victorian furniture, gas lamps, and brick hearth, everything reflected the trappings of another era. This was a grand hotel modeled after a faded time in history when opera houses, afternoon tea, and horse-drawn carriages were the norm.

Eve approached the registration counter and offered a polite smile to the woman behind it. She seemed vaguely familiar with her straight blond hair secured in a ponytail and green eyes. Judging by her youthful appearance, they were likely close in age, which meant they might have gone to school together. Point Pleasant was only so big.

She extended her hand. “Hi. I’m Eve Parrish.”

The girl frowned slightly but shook her hand before closing a ledger book that lay open on the counter. “We’ve been expecting you.”

“We?”

“The staff.” She tilted her head slightly. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

Eve racked her brain. “I’m sorry. Should I?”

“We went to school together. I’m Katie Lynch.”

“Oh!” The exclamation slipped from Eve’s tongue before she could stop it. The Katie she remembered was the product of a broken family who lived on the wrong side of the tracks. Or, at least, that’s what people had been fond of saying. Her mother had owned a hair salon and worked nights at a bar outside of town, which often ended up on police radar. Her older sister, Wendy, had a reputation for being “loose.” Wendy had vanished shortly before the Silver Bridge fell, a rumored runaway, and to the best of Eve’s knowledge, had never returned. Although she, Maggie, and Sarah had known Katie in school, they’d avoided her, often giggling behind her back.

“I, uh…” Tongue-tied, she wasn’t certain how to respond. “It’s good to see you.”

Katie didn’t roll her eyes, but the expression she gave Eve indicated she was tempted.

“Do you work here?” Eve asked.

Rather than answer, Katie motioned her behind the reception counter. “The office is this way. I assume you’ll want to see the books.”

“I… Yes. That would be good.” Still flustered, Eve followed Katie into an office overlooking the rear parking lot. The view afforded little but a glimpse of river water tucked behind the flood walls. Despite the limited view, the room was bright and cheerful. Aunt Rosie had added personal touches since her parents had owned the hotel.

A maple desk and three wooden file cabinets were complemented by white eyelet curtains and a paisley rug over a wide-plank hardwood floor. Two visitor chairs with a small table between them occupied the wall across from the desk, and a large potted ficus tree basked in the light from two windows.

The tree brought a smile to her face, reminding her of the numerous plants she’d collected in her apartment at home. Hopefully, her mother was watering them as promised. A few more added to this office would make it feel more inviting.

“This was Rosie’s office,” Katie said. “I left the keys for the files in the top drawer of her desk. Guest receipts are to the left, employee and payroll records to the right. The cabinet in the middle is for vendors and expenses. I’m sure Mr. Barnett’s firm would have gone over the figures with you, but should you like to review anything—”

“You seem to know an awful lot about my aunt’s business dealings.” Eve found herself on the defensive. How did this girl she’d once viewed with contempt know so much about Aunt Rosie? “Mr. Barnett told me there was an interim manager. I’d like to meet her.”

“That would be me.”

Eve blinked. “You?”

Katie’s lips curled in a tight smile. “Surprised? Do you think I’m not qualified?”

“No, I…” She was turning into a stammering fool. This was ridiculous! She was the owner of the hotel. So what if she’d been caught off guard by a girl she’d once thought incapable of amounting to anything? It was time to reassert her position and the established pecking order from childhood. She’d never been one to hold herself above others, but Katie made her feel abruptly superficial. Gripping the strap of her shoulder bag tightly in her left hand, Eve pressed her lips together. “I simply wasn’t aware of the protocols Aunt Rosie had in place. Her death was unexpected.”