by D J Monroe
“I did. Found a skillet and some other pans as well so I’ll be able to cook,” Creed said.
“Okay,” Nate said, hesitantly. “I’m just not used to-I mean, I’ve lived alone for a long time.”
“Listen, when I get on your nerves, you just let me know,” Creed said, nodding in understanding. “I don’t mind taking over kitchen duties.”
“You’re doing great,” Nate said, reaching for the legal pad that lay near Creed’s crumb filled saucer.
“That’s the list of thoughts I had this morning,” Creed said from his post by the toaster. “It helps if I write things out on real paper with a real pen.”
“I work that way, too,” Nate said. Strange, he thought in this digital age he was the only one who did that. He read down through the list and nodded. “Good ideas.”
The toast popped up and Creed grabbed them, placed them on a paper plate and carried them to the table. “I don’t know how expensive a dumpster might be but I added it anyway. I’m assuming we’ll need one.”
“I’m sure we will before it’s over with,” Nate said, spreading butter on the toast and taking a crunchy bite. “I’ll check it out.”
Creed finished eating first and left the kitchen. When he returned, he was wearing a t-shirt and carrying sneakers in one hand. When he sat down to put on his shoes, Nate caught a whiff of his clean scent. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Creed’s hair was still damp from his morning shower. It curled around his ears and neck in little ringlets, practically begging for Nate’s fingers.
“Sorry, but my curiosity got the best of me this morning,” Creed said, standing and stretching his arms over his head.
“About?”
“The camera. I had to know if last night was a fluke or if we really saw what we thought we saw.”
“Has anything changed?”
Creed nodded. “When you get finished, I’ll show you.”
Now, Nate’s curiosity was aroused. He gulped down the last of his coffee. “Let’s go have a look.”
Creed led the way up the stairs to the third floor, taking the stairs two at a time. “The first thing I want to mention is everything was exactly as we left it last night,” Creed told him when they entered the attic room together.
“Did you expect it to be different?” Nate asked, confused.
Creed shrugged. “I’m just trying to cover this from all angles and, as far as I can tell, nothing was disturbed during the night.”
“Who would have disturbed it?”
Creed’s answer was a simple shrug.
Nate let it go. “Go on.”
“Look in the camera and tell me what you see?” Creed said.
Intrigued, Nate picked up the camera and held it to his face as if he was going to snap a photo. The scene had changed somewhat. Still mostly in black and white, Nate saw that girl was standing in a doorway, behind what appeared to be a screen door. She looked worried or nervous. He couldn’t tell which.
“She’s inside a house now and not as happy as she was yesterday,” Nate reported.
“She almost looks scared to me,” Creed said. “And I don’t think the doorway she’s standing in belongs to this house.”
Nate looked again. “At least, it’s not the same door. The door to this house has glass in it. The one in this scene does not.”
“She’s looking through a screen door,” Creed said.
“I see that.”
“Look at the numbers on the door,” Creed said.
As if the girl heard Creed’s instruction, she stepped back and looked as if she was about to close the door. Three metal numbers adorned the door, in a row right down the middle. Two two nine.
“Two twenty-nine,” Nate said aloud.
“Different address,” Creed reminded him.
“I get it,” Nate said.
Suddenly, the girl looked alarmed and disappeared inside the house.
“What happened?” Nate asked, looking at Creed incredulously.
“She disappeared right?” Creed asked.
Nate nodded.
Creed shook his head. “Nate, you’re going to think I’m crazy. But whoever she is, she’s trying to tell us something. Something very, very important.
“If that’s true,” Nate began, “I don’t see how we can help her.”
Creed didn’t appear to be satisfied with that answer.
“So, what do we need to do next?” Nate asked.
“I think we have to do is find out who she is before we even know where to start.”
Nate placed the camera gently on the closest box. “I think you’re right.”
“And since this is your family-” Creed finished with a shrug.
Nate thought for a moment. “The only person I know of to ask right off the bat is my dad.”
Creed shrugged. “Only if you want to pursue this. If not, you can toss the camera in the trash and never think about it again.”
“But you don’t think that’s a good idea,” Nate guessed.
“No.”
“And the mystery of it would drive you crazy, wouldn’t it?” Nate asked, grinning.
Creed nodded, the serious look on his face finally breaking into a smile.
Nate wanted to kiss Creed so badly at that moment but he returned his attention to the camera. “I have to admit, I’m curious about it, too.”
Creed frowned again and then asked, “How is your dad’s memory?”
“His memory?”
“Yes,” Creed said and then sighed. “My mother has Alzheimer’s. My sister takes care of her and I help out when I can. Some days she doesn’t recognize any of us. Talks out of her head.”
“I’m sorry,” Nate said, reaching out to touch Creed’s shoulder. “That must be hard.”
“It is but we make the best of it. All we can do is keep her safe and comfortable until-”
“Well, for better or worse, my dad’s mental state is a little too good,” Nate said, reaching for his cell. “It’s his body that’s failing on him much sooner than it should have. Otherwise, he’d be right here in the middle of all of this.”
“Extra hands,” Creed said with a little laugh.
Nate shook his head and rolled his eyes. “His extra hands would slow us down considerably.”
Creed laughed.
The phone rang four times before his dad answered. He sounded groggy as if he’d been asleep.
“Good morning, Dad?” Nate said, glancing at Creed who had moved away and was looking in boxes scattered around the room.
“Nate? Why are you calling me so early?”
Nate realized his father knew nothing of what had happened the day before. He wasn’t about to try to explain everything to him over the phone, especially with him still half-asleep. “I’m in Lost Creek, here at the house,” he said.
Everett Palmer cleared his throat. “Does it look any better today?”
Nate barked out a laugh. “Nope.”
“Not surprising,” his dad said. “So what’s your plan of attack?”
His dad had always been big on having a plan as if everything was a battle. “I’ve enlisted the help of a friend to help me get things cleaned up,” Nate said, glancing at Creed again. Creed had squatted down in a far corner of the room examining an old trunk with a huge, rusty padlock. Somehow just having him there made Nate feel better.
“Good,” Everett said.
“We’ve run into a little mystery,” Nate finally said.
“Oh, yeah.”
“Yeah. Dad, do you know anything about a camera?”
“A camera?”
“Yes. It’s an old camera, heavy, looks like maybe something from the seventies.”
There were voices in the background and Nate realized someone was probably coming to take his father down to breakfast. Even though his dad’s response was muffled, Nate knew he wasn’t happy about this interruption. He smiled when he heard someone say ‘grumpy pants’.
His dad came back on the line. “A camer
a,” he said, as if reminding himself what they were talking about.
“Yeah. There are some initials scratched onto the bottom,” Nate said, picking up the camera and turning it over. “TP.”
His dad was so quiet, Nate thought his phone had dropped the call. He looked at the screen but found that they were still connected.
“Dad?”
“I don’t want to talk about this over the phone,” Everett Palmer said, his voice had grown cold.
Nate was surprised at his reaction. “But do you know about the camera or the initials. I imagine the P is for Palmer-“
“If you want to know more, you’re going to have to come out here,” his dad snapped, cutting him off. The line went dead.
Twelve: A Family Secret
“He hung up on me,” Nate said, looking at his phone as if checking to make sure the call really had ended.
“Was he angry?” Creed asked, standing and picking his way back across the room toward Nate.
Nate shook his head. “No more than usual. He just got real quiet the moment I mentioned the initials on the bottom of that camera.”
“Maybe it was supposed to be a secret,” Creed suggested.
“Whatever it was, he wasn’t about to talk about it over the phone. Said, if I wanted to know anything, I needed to come and see him.”
“This gets more mysterious by the minute,” Creed said.
“You got that right,” Nate said, tucking the phone into the holster on his belt. “Come on. You’re about to meet my dad.”
This time, it was Nate leading the way down the stairs with Creed following behind.
“Let me get my wallet,” Nate said and disappeared into the library.
Creed stepped out onto the front porch and took a deep breath of the sweet morning air. It was scented with a cascade of purple flowers that were blooming at the other end of the porch.
Placing both hands on the white railing around the porch, Creed thought about how he’d woken up early that morning and lay there watching Nate sleep, listening to his slow, easy breathing, his face relaxed. Once Nate smiled in his sleep and Creed had wondered what he was dreaming about.
Creed knew what he’d dreamed about half the night. He had a serious crush on Nate and he had to get it out of his system one way or another. The question was how. He and Nate were going to be working and living side by side for at least the next few weeks.
Closing his eyes, Creed conjured up the memory of the sight of Nate sitting up on that air mattress earlier that morning. If Creed thought Nate was sexy before that was nothing compared to seeing him sitting there holding onto the blanket for dear life, with a severe case of bed head. His deep brown eyes still had that dreamy, half-asleep look as he struggled to get his bearings and his lips looked even more kissable than they had the night before.
And now, they had a mystery to solve.
“Sorry, that took so long,” Nate said, stepping out onto the porch, keys dangling from one hand. “I misplaced my keys.”
His dark hair was neatly combed and he’d changed from his t-shirt into a button up shirt. The sleeves were rolled up, exposing just his forearms. Creed barely heard a word he’d said..
They climbed into Nate’s car. As Nate drove through town, toward MileTree, the assisted living facility where his dad lived, Creed pointed out businesses that had closed or changed hands while Nate had been living in Charlotte.
“It’s not all bad news,” Creed said. “We’ve had several new business that are bringing in fresh revenue to Lost Creek.”
“Tourists?” Nate asked.
“Not many,” Creed shook his head. “Too far off the beaten path. Too far from the beach, too far from the mountains.”
“You might be able to get on with the paper here,” Creed finally said. “I mean, if you’re worried about finding another job.”
“I’m not worried about it right now,” Nate told him. “Right now, getting that house ready to sell is my job.”
“I can understand that,” Creed said, watching Nate’s long-fingered hands, strong and confident on the steering wheel. He tried not to think about those hands stroking his skin, fingers running through his hair and changed the subject. “How long has your dad been out at MileTree?”
“About a year now, I think,” Nate answered. “The COPD and his bad heart makes it impossible for him to live alone. He’s pretty weak and prone to falls. He has his own apartment but someone checks on him regularly and he can ring for help if he needs it.”
Creed was quiet wondering if his mother would be better off in a facility like that.
“He gets regular meals and has his own space,” Nate explained.
“On a good day this would be a great place for mom but on her bad days-” Creed shook his head. “I don’t know.”
MileTree came into view shortly after that, looking peaceful, serene. Its well-manicured lawns stretched almost to the thick woods separating it from the town of Lost Creek. The campus consisted of a several large brick buildings with patios. As they drove up to the main office, Creed saw several patients already sitting outside enjoying the morning sunshine.
Inside the main building Nate led the way to what looked like a nurse’s station.
A petite, red haired nurse smiled at Nate. “Can I help you?”
“I’d like to see Everett Palmer,” Nate said.
She looked surprised. “He doesn’t get many visitors.”
“I’m his son. I live out of town,” Nate explained.
“So you’re back in the area,” she purred, giving Nate a little wink.
“For the foreseeable future,” Nate answered.
Creed hid his grin behind a cough, loving the fact that this pretty nurse was hitting on Nate.
“I’ll get an orderly to escort you,” she said, reaching for the phone.
While they waited for an orderly, the nurse made small talk with Nate, ignoring Creed completely. Creed could sense Nate’s unease as her flirting ramped up but kept his eyes on the elevators at the end of the short entry way hall. A little niggle of jealousy slowly wormed its way into his heart. Now, why should someone flirting with Nate, make him jealous? He wasn’t sure but he took a step or two away from Nate, struggling to bury those feelings as deep as possible.
Finally, just when Creed thought the nurse was going to offer Nate her phone number or maybe climb over the counter and leap into his arms, the orderly arrived.
“Maybe I’ll see you around more often now that you’re back in town,” the nurse said, batting her eyelashes.
“Probably,” Nate said.
Creed felt Nate’s relief as they started for the elevator. And then Nate did something that surprised him. He caught Creed’s hand in his, twining his fingers in between Creed’s, pressing their palms together. It was one of the most unexpectedly exciting gestures Creed had ever experienced.
Once they were in the elevator, Nate looked down at their joined hands and then back up at Creed. He winked. “Just making a statement,” he said, angling his head toward the nurse’s station.
Creed should have been disappointed. It was a ruse just to let the nurse know he wasn’t available, to let her know that he preferred Creed to her. Yet Nate continued to hold Creed’s hand until they reached the third floor and the doors slid open silently.
They followed the orderly down a brightly lit hall with tiled floors, potted plants and artwork on the walls. Except for the tile, they could have been in some posh hotel. The orderly stopped and tapped lightly on the door marked three-eleven.
“Come in.” The voice was deep and gravelly like someone who had smoked a lot of cigarettes and drank a lot of whiskey in his lifetime.
The orderly pushed the door open slightly. “Mr. Palmer, you have company.”
“Who is it?”
The orderly looked over his shoulder at Nate.
“It’s me, Dad,” Nate said, loud enough for his father to hear.
Creed felt Nate’s anxiety return. And then he h
eard Nate take a deep breath and put his hand out behind him. Creed gave Nate’s fingers a reassuring squeeze as they stepped into the room.
The assisted living space where Everett Palmer lived was essentially a studio apartment with a very small living area and a tiny bedroom area. Large, floor to ceiling windows allowed light to flood into the room. Creed guessed that the closed door to the right of the bed must be a bathroom. Yet, what caught and held his attention was the older man sitting in one of the recliners by the window. He was heavy set with gray hair and a grizzled gray beard. The oxygen canula was attached to a nearby oxygen tank that looked heavy, unwieldy.
But he was definitely Nate’s father. The resemblance was uncanny, especially around the eyes and nose.
“Dad,” Nate said, moving toward his father.
His father stood slowly and both men stood facing each other as if they weren’t sure what to do next. The unease seemed to suck the air out of the room. Nate’s father finally put out his hand and they shook. Then Nate turned to Creed.
“This is Creed Autry,” he said.
“From the realtor’s office,” Everett Palmer said. Smiling, he extending his hand to Creed.
“Yes, sir,” Creed said. “Nice to meet you.”
“Creed is the friend I’ve got helping me clean out the house,” Nate explained.
His father nodded and returned to his seat by the window, every movement painfully slow. That tiny bit of exertion appeared to make him out of breath.
“I’ll leave you gentlemen alone,” the orderly said from the doorway. “Mr. Palmer, if you need anything don’t hesitate to ring.”
“Thank you, Carl,” Everett said and they watched the orderly leave, closing the door softly behind him.
“I see. So, how long do you think it will take you to get it on the market?” Nate’s dad asked.
“I have no idea, Dad. Every room is filled with boxes and-and stuff. We have to go through it to find out what should be kept and what should be thrown out,” Nate explained. “I would hate to throw away what might be something important just because I was in a hurry.”
Nate’s dad grunted. “You’ll probably find tax returns from the sixties.”
“I promise you that we will go through things as quickly as possible. If it looks like trash, it’s gone,” Nate told him.
