The House on Foster Hill

by Jaime Jo Wright

  “You’re called a home,” Ivy said. She couldn’t help but insert herself again. The old feelings of defensiveness for Joel rose up inside her. That young man who threw pebbles at her window, who had made her laugh, and who went on grand adventures with her.

  “Home is a figurative word, Miss Thorpe, for house.”

  Joel stood, pulling Ivy up with him. “Mr. Casey, I would like to see the babe.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Why?”

  Mr. Casey stalked past them and yanked his office door open, a clear invitation to leave. “Because you severed all ties here when you left our good graces, Mr. Cunningham.”

  Joel sniffed in disdain as he met Mr. Casey at the door. Ivy followed, glad to have retrieved her hand back from Joel’s desperate grip. The two men stood nose to nose. Joel’s mouth was set in a tight line, contempt exuding from his glare.

  “You severed my ties here when you loaded me on the train and shipped me off to Chicago to fend for myself with only five dollars to my name and not a soul to greet me.”

  Ivy froze. Mr. Casey had sent Joel away?

  A vein throbbed in Mr. Casey’s neck. “You were of age.”

  “My best friend had just drowned in an icy lake.” Joel’s voice lowered into a deep growl. Ivy looked between the men, pieces she’d not invited Joel to share falling into place. Mr. Casey sent Joel away! A chilling realization spread through her.

  “Perhaps your friend wouldn’t have drowned in that lake had you obeyed the rules of the house and not led the boy on your ridiculous, adolescent escapades.”

  Joel grabbed the director’s coat lapels and pulled him forward. “How dare you,” he growled.

  “Joel!” Ivy put a restraining hand on Joel’s arm.

  “You were nothing but a troubled young man with a frank disregard for the rules,” Mr. Casey continued, his face turning red. “When I discovered that you were sneaking from the house day and night, you left me with no choice but to be rid of you.”

  Ivy’s hand slipped from Joel’s arm. Joel had just said it, but now, hearing it from Mr. Casey, it seemed so much more irrefutable. Joel had been sent away. Under the worst circumstances imaginable. And she’d accused him of even worse.

  Mr. Casey snarled in Joel’s face, Joel’s grip on the man’s shirtfront still firm. “I don’t know why you returned to Oakwood.”

  Ivy stared in disbelief at the director, the man who had sent Joel away in his most desperate moment. The man who had only just now proven that Joel had not made excuses to justify his absence that night at the grave. He had never intended to betray her, nor had he deserted her.

  Joel gave the man a shove and released him. “I don’t know why you run a home for orphans when you have the empathy of an ogre.”

  With a tug on his coat, Joel straightened it. “I will return to see the babe, and I will bring the sheriff with me so you cannot deny me that right.”

  Mr. Casey glowered at him. “I don’t know why this girl is important anyway. It’s not as if she’s worth anything to you.”

  Ivy never felt such satisfaction as when Joel’s knuckles rammed into the man’s nose.

  Chapter 29

  Kaine

  Kaine stood in the bedroom doorway and stared at the pink-carnation-colored walls of Megan’s bedroom.

  “You’re welcome to stay here until this whole kerfuffle is sorted out.” Joy’s musical lilt drifted down the hall. Kaine turned and almost slammed into Grant, who’d snuck up behind her. Joy peeked over his shoulder, her red-lipped smile inviting. Grant’s brows were bent with concern.

  “Thank you.” Kaine took the extra blanket Joy had shoved over Grant’s shoulder. “But I really would be fine at the motel.” Not really. She had no desire to spend another night alone ever.

  “No.” The rebuttal was in unison. Joy’s smile dislocated to a half slouch on her face. Grant scowled and speared her with a hazel glare.

  Kaine caught Grant’s eyes. The warmth in them tripped down into her soul. Safe. He was safe. But he didn’t live with Joy. “I’m scared I’ll endanger you and Megan.” She directed her words to Joy.

  Joy squeezed past Grant through the doorway and went over to the twin bed that matched Megan’s on the opposite side of the room. Gaudy and bold flowers decorated the pillowcase Joy fluffed up as she attempted to reassure Kaine. “You belong here until everything gets figured out.”

  “Or you could stay at my place.” Grant offered her a wink that made warmth seep into Kaine’s face. There, right there. That was the reason she shouldn’t stay with Grant. She had a weakness for the man, who counseled the grieving and had seen inside her the instant they collided at the gas station. She didn’t want her weakness to lead to temptation.

  Joy tossed a pillow back at Grant. “Stay on my couch. We’ll all sleep better having a man around. And bring your dog. Besides, you won’t have to lie awake texting Kaine every five seconds to see if she’s all right. The girl won’t get a wink of sleep.”

  “I’ll bring my shotgun too.” Grant’s lopsided grin brought a touch of levity into a tense situation, relaxing Kaine even further. The idea of Grant camped out just yards from the bedroom in which she slept brought comfort. He wasn’t exactly the Navy SEAL type, but he was tougher than Joy.

  Joy propped her hands on her hips. A gray curl flipped upward, like a horn on the side of her head. “I have my own pistol, and my husband was a sharpshooter. Call me Annie Oakley. So, whether you’re here or not, I’ll make sure no one lays a hand on your Kaine.”

  Your Kaine?

  Kaine stole a glance at Grant. A few red splotches appeared on his neck. She wasn’t sure if she was flattered, intrigued, or terrified at the thought that, in such a short period of time, she was already considered Grant’s. Actually, she wasn’t sure she was ready for a relationship with a man ever again.

  “So.” Joy plopped onto the bed while Kaine and Grant lingered by the door. “What’s the game plan?” She pointed a long red fingernail at them. “Sounds like it’s time for Foster Hill House to unveil its history of mystery.” She giggled at her clever rhyme.

  Kaine managed a smile.

  Joy rolled her eyes and waved her hand at Kaine in dismissal. “Smile, girl. I’ve never found any sense in not seeing the humor when going through a trial. But if you’re both going to act mopey, I’ll be serious.”

  Kaine went over and sank onto Megan’s bed next to Joy, gaining some distance from Grant. His presence, so close to her, was a distraction at the moment.

  Grant leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms. “I just want to know what Ivy’s quilt has to do with Kaine’s past in San Diego.”

  “You and me both,” Kaine said, and picked at a thread on the comforter. “I had the quilt at the motel for the last few days and just yesterday put it in my car.” She gave Grant a sheepish look. “I figured maybe it was time to take it to the Oakwood police. It was stolen after all.”

  “So how on God’s green earth did anyone get a chance to slice off a piece of that beautiful antique?” Joy asked. Then she looked at Kaine. “How long have you been missing your motel key?”

  The question sent a chill down Kaine’s spine. The motel had issued her two keys at check-in. Since they weren’t cards, and it was just a cheap motel, Kaine remembered dropping the spare key in the room’s ashtray and keeping the other one with her.

  Kaine looked up at her friends. “I was given two keys,” she began. “I misplaced one of them, and the key I lost tonight was the spare. I think. I thought maybe I’d left it at the house, so I grabbed the extra key and have been using that—until it went missing tonight too.” She jumped from the bed and snatched her purse from her pile of belongings on the floor. Dumping out the contents on the bed, she rifled through them. “The police found a key at Foster Hill tonight in the entryway, on the windowsill. I remember setting it there today. That must be the spare key, which means I’m still missing one. I figured it was just lost in my mess of junk, but then I co
uldn’t remember which key I put where.” She tossed a handful of receipts into the wastebasket and then took stock of what remained: lip gloss, Kleenex pack, wallet, gum, a few more receipts, the charger for her phone. “Well, it’s definitely not in my purse.”

  “I’m not sure I’m following,” Joy said, looking confused.

  “Sorry.” Kaine swallowed and drew a deep breath. “The police found one motel key tonight at Foster Hill House, and there isn’t a second one in my purse or in the ashtray where I left it in my room at the motel. Which means—”

  “The first key went missing a few days ago,” Grant supplied.

  “Oh my . . .” Joy’s eyes widened.

  “Which also means someone got ahold of the key somehow and broke into my motel room—I’m thinking to cut off the piece of the quilt—while I was out.” Did they search her things? Touch her pillow? Pick up her toothbrush, then set it back on the vanity? Kaine’s skin crawled. This was San Diego all over again—times one hundred!

  Joy leaned back against the wall alongside the bed. “I declare, we will not be swayed by this.” Her charismatic tone wasn’t something Kaine was accustomed to, but Joy’s confidence was inspiring, if not comforting. “The Lord brought you here. To us. You’re ours now, not just Grant’s. And I declare that this freak of nature isn’t going to haunt you anymore.”

  Grant cleared his throat and kicked at one of Megan’s shoes on the floor.

  Kaine appreciated their protectiveness and even Joy’s reference to God. Maybe He had brought her here. But then, she had no clue what He was thinking. That had been her original intention of moving here in the first place—uncover what the Lord had for her. Find a reason to move on in life. Instead, trouble followed her. Or found her. Or smashed into her California trouble and it all got muddled.

  “The police will check out your motel room. For prints, if nothing else,” Grant said.

  Kaine shook her head. “They won’t find anything. They never have.” This guy is too careful, too smart.

  “Still,” Grant persisted, “it’s worth a try. Anyone can make a mistake.”

  “I can’t figure it out,” Kaine went on, ignoring him, though she knew he was right. “Danny was killed two years ago. Since then, it’s been subtle things. Like I knew someone was in my house, but it wasn’t overt. When I moved here, I assumed it would all go away. There are no ties between what happened in California, my husband’s suspicious death, and Foster Hill House. Zero. And yet now Danny’s killer is here. Or it’s someone else and not the killer. Or . . . I just don’t get it.” She finished with a frustrated flourish of her hands. Thank goodness, Grant and Joy were willing to let her talk it through. If left to her own devices, Kaine would probably end up on the next plane for New Zealand in the hopes her stalker didn’t care for international travel and horrible jet lag.

  “Okay.” Thank goodness. Grant, the voice of reason. “We need to work our way backward. Foster Hill House. How does it connect to you, Kaine, and to your great-great-grandmother? If we can piece that together, maybe we’ll find a commonality, because whoever left the piece of quilt there wants us to connect the dots.”

  Joy drummed her fingers on the yellow nightstand beside the bed. “I think you need to go even further back. To the Fosters. The original builders of the house. There’s history there that has never been resolved. Sort of like a puzzle put together without the edges.”

  “The Fosters?” Kaine drew her leg up under her knee. The bed bounced with her movement.

  Joy waggled her drawn-on eyebrows. “They may have nothing to do with you, or your genealogy, and I have no possible idea how it’d tie to your dear husband, but I’m still saying. Foster Hill House has been a point of mystery in this town since the history books started recording it. And, we know Patti, our jealous little librarian, hung Myrtle Foster’s picture back in the hallway upstairs across from the bedrooms after she found it in the museum’s storage room.”

  “Jealous?” Grant’s eyes widened. “She is, isn’t she?”

  Kaine read his thoughts. “My stalker is male. A muffled, disguised voice based on the phone call, but definitely male.”

  Grant shrugged. “Well, Patti has always wanted Foster Hill House.”

  “Word has it,” Joy continued, “the picture goes with the house, so I can see why Patti felt it should be there. She certainly didn’t expect Kaine to buy Foster Hill, but then she never held out much hope of purchasing it with that gambling problem of hers. Meanwhile, Patti and Mr. Mason have done what they could to preserve things, even if it was a losing battle.”

  “So, Myrtle Foster’s painting was left behind in the house originally?” Kaine asked. “I mean, where did it come from before it got put in storage in the museum for Patti to find?”

  Joy tipped her head, thinking. “I’m not sure. But, keep in mind, Myrtle Foster and her children were run out of town when they found out she was loyal to the South. Story goes, they left everything behind. No one lived in the house until about forty years later, when a family bought the place from the town of Oakwood, moved in and made it their own.”

  “Who bought the house?” Kaine frowned. “Wouldn’t that be about the same time as when the girl was found murdered on Foster Hill?”

  Joy nodded. “Maybe that’s your missing link.”

  “Maybe.” Kaine swallowed the ball of anxiety that had yet to leave her stomach since the attack the previous night.

  Nothing computed. That was the problem. Nothing tied together, and now even Grant and Joy could offer no real answers, only an endless amount of ancient stories with unanswered questions trailing behind them.

  Kaine scrubbed at the paint on the window. Useless. She threw the brush into the soapy pail of water.

  “Soap won’t remove paint, Kaine. You’ll probably first have to scrape it off with a razor blade. Or use paint remover.” Grant climbed the porch stairs and rested his hands on her shoulders. Kaine pulled away from him. Danny’s name screamed at her in blood red.

  “I need a new window, that’s what.” She kicked the pail of water and stalked into the house.

  Grant had helped her replace the front door earlier in the day. The make-do modern design was like a blatant scar on the face of the historical architecture. Detective Carter had recommended that with the suspicion of a break-in at her motel, plus the recent attack, an alarm system should be installed for her own safety. One that would alert the police of an intruder. But to do that, the house needed to be secured, which meant putting in a sturdy front door and repairing or replacing several broken windows.

  Kaine climbed the stairs with Grant close behind her. She passed Myrtle Foster’s portrait, slapping her hand on the woman’s face and accidently sending a piece of canvas floating to the floor. The painting was crumbling, much like Kaine’s life, though she was past caring. She was boiling mad now, mad that she was back at this evil, horrific house that was stealing the last vestiges of hope she had left. Taking out her anger on the woman’s image was minor compared with how she felt after seeing Danny’s name in the light of day.

  “Kaine.” Grant tried to get her attention.

  Ignoring him, Kaine went to her backpack in the corner and pulled from it the pages she’d found under the floorboards. She thumbed through them again, kneeling on the floor and spreading the pages around her like a map of another damaged life. Page after page of scribbling.

  Weary and worn, yet God has not deserted me.

  God.

  I will hope in what I cannot see. For these walls close around me like a prison.

  Faith.

  He will come soon. I cannot bear this much longer. Oh, Lord, as David cried, “Please deliver me.” Even in death, I welcome your presence and your rescue.

  “What did she mean?” Kaine pressed her palms on the pages. “What did you mean?” she whispered once more, as if Gabriella could hear her on the other side of death.

  The room was silent. Kaine ran her fingers down a page. Grant came and knelt
beside her.

  “How did she find hope?” Kaine blinked several times, willing away the cloud of tears that made reading Gabriella’s handwriting impossible. Ivy’s locket dangled from her neck, and she grasped it. “Even Ivy—she was here. What if she wrote all this?”

  Grant’s voice was calm beside her. “Doubtful. Outside of Ivy’s attack, she isn’t linked to Foster Hill House as having been held captive here.”

  Kaine picked up a page. “Then it must be that girl, Gabriella. The one who mothered the child Ivy was so determined to find. It’s obvious, whoever it was, that her life was horrific. She was held here in the house by someone. And yet here she is, writing promises to herself that God will rescue her.”

  “He will.” Grant’s quiet statement of faith irked Kaine.

  “He didn’t. She was murdered! And only God knows what happened to my great-great-grandmother. My whole life is filled with women treated as if they’re nothing. But we are valuable human beings. Intelligent. Strong. Independent. I can’t believe God would allow Gabriella to be held here, against her will, or whatever her circumstances were. And now, I’m imprisoned by some monster who probably murdered my husband and thinks he can play mind games with me. I can’t do this anymore! I’m so done!”

  Kaine jumped to her feet, and Grant followed suit. She shoved past him and marched to the window overlooking the field and woods beyond. She bit her lip. Great. Now she was making an emotional display of herself.

  “What happened to you, Kaine?”

  Grant’s words sliced through her with the sharp edge of honest insight.

  Lord, no. Please. Not that. Not now.

  Kaine shook her head. Not even Danny knew. Or her sister, Leah. No one knew. It had always been her secret.

  “Kaine . . .” Grant’s footsteps echoed in the empty room. She could feel his presence behind her.

  Go away. But she couldn’t say the words out loud, because a part of her screamed for him to stay.