by T K Eldridge
T.K. Eldridge
Remembrance
The Descendants - Book One
First published by Graffridge Publishing 2019
Copyright © 2019 by T.K. Eldridge
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
T.K. Eldridge asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.
First edition
Editing by Donna A. Martz
Cover art by Dreambria Designs
This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy
Find out more at reedsy.com
To my great-grandmother, Hazel Pearl Roberts Reynolds, for always encouraging me, for buying me my first electric typewriter - and for reminding me to live with no regrets.
To my parents, Charles & Elizabeth Eldridge, for always believing in me and knowing that I would, some day, achieve this dream.
“Revenge is an act of passion, vengeance is the act of justice.”
- Samuel Johnson
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Prologue
Camille Brewster shifted the weight of her sleeping daughter in her arms and tucked the crocheted blanket around Emmy a little more securely. Times like this when she realized that she’d made the right decision to move from Boston and settle on Cape Cod. A quiet town, Muckle Cove had a good school system and a solid sense of community. Things she hadn’t realized were valuable until six months ago when it had all come crashing down. Back then, the only thing holding her to Boston was a job she had grown to despise. Being a fashion writer had been her dream for as long as she could remember and writing for Harper’s had been a realization of that dream - until Emlen was born. Funny how having a child completely changed one’s priorities.
Her mind went over the past few years. Meeting JJ at the gala - their whirlwind relationship, the bitter crash at the end. Realizing that this child would be hers, and hers alone. All of it had brought her to this place and this point in time. Cradling this sweet little girl in her arms, listening to her soft breaths mingling with the pounding of waves on the beach still audible even through the closed windows. A sense of contentment washed over her as Cami let herself drift into near sleep. She’d make this life work for them - peace, security and stability.
The creak of the floor in the back hallway that must’ve woken her, but for a few moments, Cami couldn’t figure out what had brought her suddenly awake. The faint gleam of the light over the sink in the kitchen and the dim lamp in the living room where she sat were the only illumination in the house. Barely breathing, she listened to the house and her sleeping child, wondering what had her trembling in anticipation. Again, a soft shuffle of a shoe in the hall and Cami knew someone was in her house. Rising slowly from the rocker, she moved to the built-in blanket chest under the window and carefully lifted the lid before moving to place Emmy in the niche. The child’s eyes opened wide and Cami pressed a finger to the girl’s lips. “Shh. Stay quiet and don’t come out, no matter what, until I get you, okay?” A faint nod from Emmy and Cami slowly lowered the lid, the mesh vent in the front of the chest allowing plenty of air into the space.
Cami reached for the fireplace poker, a faint scrape of metal sounding much too loud as she armed herself against the intruder. Hefting it like a baseball bat, she stepped towards the hallway and waited just out of sight. One breath…two…and she saw a gloved hand holding a revolver slip past the edge of the wall. Bringing the poker down hard, she heard a man’s cry of pain and the roar and flash of a bullet hitting the hardwood floor a few feet away. Suddenly fear that Emlen would accidentally get shot had her moving to swing again, but the man had turned the corner and the gun was coming up towards her. A face she vaguely recognized met her wide eyes before she heard the sound of the gun firing once more, a sharp spike of pain at the side of her head, and everything went dark.
* * *
Cursing, the man grabbed his forearm, pretty sure the blow she’d dealt him had broken it. Looking at the woman’s body sprawled on the floor, the growing puddle of blood under her head, he kicked the poker out of the way and leaned down to listen. No breathing. Good. Picking up the fireplace tool, he placed it back in the stand and glanced around the room. “Now to find the brat.” He muttered as he turned towards the bedrooms. Looking first in one room, then the other, he didn’t see any sign of the child. “Bloody hell.” He cursed as he pulled out his radio, thumbing the button. “She’s down. Kid isn’t here.”
“Of course she’s there. Keep looking!” the voice yelled back at him.
“No, really, she’s not here. Maybe she’s at the aunt’s or something?” the shooter replied.
A few minutes hesitation and then a low growl. “Fine. Get out. I’ll deal with your fuck up later.”
Another look around the room and the man turned, heading back out the way he came, gloves leaving no fingerprints, revolver leaving no casings, and a faint click as he closed the door.
Silence filled the small cottage. It was probably close to an hour before Emlen pushed the lid up on her hiding spot and crawled out. “Mummy?” she whispered, pajama covered feet padding closer to the still figure on the floor. A tiny hand reached out to pat Cami’s still face. “Mummy? I waited. Wake up, Mummy.” When Cami didn’t stir, Emlen sighed and curled up against her mother’s side, head resting on her mother’s belly where she fell asleep.
* * *
James O’Brien parked his pickup in the gravel drive outside the cottage and set his travel mug in the console holder. Glancing at the work order, he went over it one more time before stepping out and reaching into the back to grab his toolbox. This job had been scheduled for about a week and it didn’t look like it was going to take him long. Repairing the railing on the porch and fixing the pantry door - could be easy, or could turn into one of those jobs where starting to fix one thing opened up a whole ‘nother mess of problems. He’d spoken to Camille Brewster two days ago to verify the appointment time and stepped up to the door, rapping next to the glass panes with a brisk tap. He waited a few moments, then rapped again. Cupping a hand against the glass, James peered in through the lace curtains hanging over the door window
. “Ms. Brewster?” he called out and then caught his breath as he saw a small girl walking towards him. She looked like she’d been playing with paints and was trailing bits of cereal from the box she hugged against her chest.
“Mummy’s sleepin’ on the floor.” the child called out and the first stirrings of panic whirled in James’ chest. He reached for the doorknob and twisted, the door opening easily. He looked into the hallway and shouted “Ms. Brewster? It’s James O’Brien. Are you okay?”
“Mummy’s there.” The little girl said and pointed towards the living room. James took a couple of steps inside and the smell hit him first before he noticed a pair of white sock-covered feet lying just inside the living room archway. Fumbling in his pocket, he flipped his phone open and dialed 911. It only took him a few words to get the operator sending help, and her insistence he stay on the line was ignored as he turned to look at the child once more. What he had thought was paint, he was pretty sure now was blood. Crouching down, he gestured to the child. “What’s your name, honey?” he asked softly.
“I’m Emmy.” She replied. “I’m three and a half.” She held up three fingers and smiled. “I’ll be four at Christmas.”
Turning to the bathroom to his right, James reached in and grabbed a bath towel and reached out to scoop up the child, careful to not get any of the blood on himself. Wrapping her up, he headed back out to his truck, pulling the door closed behind him before he set the child on the bench seat. “Are you thirsty?” he asked and pulled a bottle of water out of his lunch cooler, opening it up and handing it to her.
Red smeared the plastic as she gripped the wet bottle and drank about a third before gasping and smiling up at him. “Fank you. I drinked all the juice all gone.” All James could think about were his own two boys, only a couple of years older than this little one. Grabbing a couple of wet wipes, he cleaned off her hands and face, tucking them into a plastic trash bag and setting them carefully aside in case the police needed them. He pulled his lunch towards him and looked up at Emlen. “Hungry? I’ve got a ham and cheese sandwich, some carrots and a couple of cookies.” Being a normal child, she of course reached for the cookies and James let her. As she munched away, pausing to sip at the water, the sounds of sirens slowly grew louder before shutting off as a town cruiser pulled up. “You stay right here, and I’ll be back. I’m just going to talk to the nice policeman, okay?”
Emlen nodded, her attention on the cookies as James closed the truck door, pocketing his keys as he headed over to the sheriff. “Hey Joel, thanks for getting here so quick. It looks real bad. I’ve got the little one in my truck, wrapped in a bath towel, but she’s covered in blood and none of it her own.”
Joel Desantis, sheriff in Muckle Cove for the past eighteen years, ran a hand over his bald head before settling his cap in place and nodded to James’ words. “Let me go take a look and then we’ll talk. Do you know if she’s got family in the area or anything? Someone to take care of the kid?”
“She’s got some family in Hyannisport and some in Boston, from what I could gather the few times we’ve chatted. I’ve been coming by for the past few months, slowly fixing things on the cottage. She kept a big address book on the shelf next to the phone in the kitchen, so maybe there’s something in there. I didn’t touch anything but the towel and the child after I stepped inside. Even saved the wet wipes I cleaned her hands and face with, in case you need them,” James replied. “If you need me to take the girl home, Eileen and I can keep an eye on her until you contact family.”
Joel nodded. “Let me take a look first and I’ll get back to you on that.”
* * *
Turning away from James, Joel headed up to the house. He slowed as he peered into the truck at the little girl wrapped in a towel, eating a cookie. She didn’t notice him as he kept on walking and stepped inside. As with James, the smell told Joel that Camille Brewster was dead. A quick canvass of the scene and Joel went into the child’s room, grabbing a change of clothes and a stuffed toy off the bed before getting the aforementioned address book out of the kitchen. He paused and leaned over the body, gently taking the necklace off Camille. In the bathroom he rinsed the blood from the roughly inch long amber egg wrapped in silver vines, drying it and tucking it into the zipper back of the stuffed bunny. It was the best he could do to keep the gem close to Emlen. It had to be close to her.
Once outside, he jogged over to his car and grabbed the crime scene tape with one hand, dialing his phone with the other. “This is Sheriff Desantis over in Muckle Cove. I need state CSI and investigators at 15 Rocky Ridge, ASAP.”
* * *
Hours later, Emlen was bathed and fed and changed, curled up asleep in Eileen O’Brien’s arms, hugging her bunny. The bloody clothes had been bagged and tagged, and once CSI was done with the house, Joel had brought Eileen into the child’s room to pack her a bag to last a few days. It had taken nearly six hours to get ahold of her family, but no one was rushing to claim the girl, so she was with James and Eileen for now. Muckle Cove didn’t have a dedicated CPS office. The town was small enough that it was not uncommon for kids in need to stay with a local family until processing could be done.
Glancing down at the sleeping child in her arms, Eileen rocked gently as she spoke to James seated nearby. “What do you think will happen to her?”
“Her family will come get her, I guess.” His voice sounded weary and yet he couldn’t take his eyes off the little girl curled against his wife. “Joel was pretty pissed though. Seems like no one really wants her. Something about Camille not being married and the child having no known father.”
Eileen made a rude noise and her gaze flashed to James “Are you -serious- right now? It’s…what…nearly the twenty-first century and they’re worried about legitimacy?”
“Remember, Eileen, they’re from money. Stuff like that matters to them, I guess.” James leaned back, taking a sip of coffee. “I’ll never forget what I saw today,” he whispered low. “Made me want to do more than just hug Cullen and Connor.”
Eileen started to ask what he’d really seen and when James’ gaze settled on hers, she stopped mid statement and sighed. His eyes were positively haunted. “It’s not us. We’re all fine. But I’d appreciate it if you’d be home before dark for the next few nights until they catch whoever did that.” A nod from him and Eileen rose with the sleeping child. “I’ll put her on the cot in our room so I can keep an eye on her tonight. Come up soon, okay?”
James rose too and kissed her cheek as she moved past, before he went to secure the house - again - for the night.
* * *
Emlen had seen the files from the case, but she didn’t remember much of the actual events. In fact, she really had no clear memories at all until a year after the murder. Her grandparents had refused to take her in until her aunt Corinne had guilted them into retrieving her, yet it was still nearly six months later that she left the O’Brien’s home. She had a feeling of affection and safety when she thought of the O’Briens, but no actual visual memory. Everything she knew as facts all came from records.
The files stated Joseph and Emilia Brewster had sent the O’Brien family money for her care and signed temporary guardianship over to them. It was thought, for a time, that they would be able to adopt the little girl.
News stories kept the murder from completely fading from sight, finding new fodder each time someone was brought in for questioning. It was when James O’Brien himself was questioned that things got really messy. Did the society couple of the senior Brewster’s leave their granddaughter with a murderer? Did Corinne, wife of Jonathan Hale and mother to the heir to the Hale fortune, leave her only sister’s child in the hands of the man that was a likely killer?
The media crucified James O’Brien, even when zero evidence was found against him. Corinne and Jonathan obtained guardianship of Emlen and within a year, the child was put in her first boarding school.
James and Eileen took the boys and moved out of state for nearly five year
s before returning in time for both sons to attend, and graduate from Cove High.
Over two decades had passed - and no murderer was ever found.
Chapter One
Emlen stepped up to the porch running along the front of the General Store and flashed her fake press pass to the group of ladies sitting around a rough wooden table - coffee cups and cards scattered across the surface. “Good afternoon, ladies. I’m here from the New York Transcript and would like to speak with you.” Well, that wasn’t a full out lie. Emlen did plan on selling the story to any number of outlets, including the New York Transcript, but she hadn’t been a stringer for them in a few years. As far as Emlen was concerned, ‘any means necessary’ went a long way when you were digging for a story.
“Is it about the road repair project over near the bridge?” one woman asked, her salt-and-pepper curls bouncing as she looked up at Emlen. “They’re taking way too long with that. I can’t stand the smell of hot tar when I’m out trying to tend my gardens.”
“Oh, Martha, why would a New York paper care about a local road project?” another replied as she rose from her seat, she offered her hand. “Janet Martin. A pleasure to meet you, miss. What questions do you have?”
Emlen shook Janet’s hand and smiled at the woman. A braided crown of pure white hair wrapped around Janet’s head and clear blue eyes glinted with intelligence as she gestured to a seat for Emlen, then nodded to the carafe of coffee and stack of mugs on the table. “Would you like a coffee?”
“Yes, thank you. I’m Emilia Baldwin and I’m doing a follow-up story on something that happened in Muckle Cove about twenty years ago.” Emlen took her seat, setting her phone on the table and glancing around. “Do you mind if I record this conversation? Helps with my notes.” After a chorus of “go ahead” and “no problem”, she clicked the record app on her phone and accepted a mug of coffee. “First, I’d like your names, please?”
