Muddy Creek: A Paranormal Mystery (Taryn's Camera Book 7)

by Rebecca Patrick-Howard

  “You don’t drink,” Taryn protested.

  “I think it might be time to start.”

  * * *

  TARYN AND MATT stood over the sea of green felt and contemplated their next moves.

  “See?” Matt said as the satisfying click of cue hitting ball rang out through the room. “I told you I’d get you on a date.”

  “I haven’t played pool in forever,” Taryn grumbled. “It’s not fair. You’re a math person.”

  “Don’t let her fool ya, man,” the guy at the next table over called. “I’ve been watching that one. She’s better than she wants you to think she is.”

  Matt laughed and looked at Taryn with adoration. “Don’t I know it. It’s a game she plays.”

  Taryn rolled her eyes then blew both men a flirtatious kiss. Then, after prancing around the table on her tiptoes, she leaned backward, struck a pose, and got three balls in at once. “Ta da!”

  The other man laughed and clapped Matt on the shoulder. “Good luck with that one, man.”

  Taryn laughed. “It’s payback for my eleventh birthday party,” she said as she sidled up next to Matt and nuzzled his shoulder.

  “Are you still complaining about that?”

  “Yep. And I’ll continue to do so until,” she pretended to ponder the question, “forever, really.”

  “Well, I’ve got time then.” He fondly ruffled her hair.

  She’d had her eleventh birthday party at a skating rink in Nashville. The manager had created all kinds of games for the kids to play, most including balls and strategy. Matt had won every single one of them. Of course, he’d taken his time playing them, had even gotten down on his hands and knees and measured distances with his fingers (much to the fascination of Taryn’s girlfriends who already looked at him as an unidentified specimen), but he’d still won.

  Incidentally, that had been her last birthday party. Her female friendships had steadily fallen apart over the course of the next year and she’d had trouble making close bonds since. But she still had Matt, at least.

  While they waited for their pizzas, Taryn played around on the jukebox, delighting in the fact that it was the old-school kind without the moving CD covers. “Hey, you want to play anything,” she called over to their table. “I put $5 in here and that apparently allows me to play all of them.”

  “You’re the music person,” Matt answered back. “I wouldn’t know one from the other.”

  “Okey dokey then. Don’t be surprised or irritated when they’re all Garth Brooks and Shania.” Of course, Taryn would never play all Garth or all Shania. Although a little of both never hurt anyone.

  With “Honey I’m Home” blaring through the small room, Taryn danced back to their table, wiggling her hips and moving her arms until her tiny dress flew around her knees.

  “That whiskey must have been good stuff,” Matt remarked when she sat down.

  “Actually, I didn’t have any before we left. I am just glad to be out, to be doing something,” she confessed. “You know, I don’t mind this place so much. I mean, let’s face it, there’s almost nothing to do here but I am starting to recognize faces and getting this little groove going. I think maybe it’s time to leave Nashville. It’s just become a closet for me anyway. I’m having way more fun in other places.”

  Matt’s eyes lit up as she reached over and took her hands. “I would love it if you came to Florida with me,” he said.

  Taryn squeezed his fingers back but looked down, unable to meet his eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t know that I am ready for that. I was thinking of going to New Hampshire for awhile, staying in Sarah’s house. It needs more work and I can’t keep my eye on it from down here.”

  The color all but drained from Matt’s face. She hated herself for the disappointment she’d caused. “But that’s even farther away,” he whispered.

  “I know. But we fly to each other anyway. Once we’re in the air, does it matter?”

  Matt let go of her hand and cracked his knuckles. “Are you ever going to come to Florida? Be honest, Taryn.”

  She bit her lip and struggled to find the right words. “I want to,” she began. “I really, really do. I want to be with you all the time but…I just don’t think I am ready. I feel like…”

  “There’s someone else?” he asked gently.

  Taryn shrugged her shoulders. “How could there be?”

  Nobody was better for her than Matt. Nobody loved her more; she didn’t love anyone more. And there was chemistry between them. It wasn’t just a case of friendship. There were times when she thought she’d have trouble breathing without him near. She could not even stand the idea of a life that didn’t involve him. Since Andrew had died…

  And that was it. Since Andrew died. She’d been happy with Andrew. Happy in a different way than she was with Matt. She could never explain that to him. How could she tell him that she felt like someone else was out there, that her story was not meant to end with him? Her feelings were based on nothing rational. Every reasonable bone in her body screamed at her to drop everything and go with him, to run, run, RUN!

  And then there was that one little fragment, that one tiny tinge, that told her to wait. It whispered it. Just wait.

  “I know this song,” Matt smiled abruptly, the clouds passing from his face. His ability to bounce back with ease was something Taryn envied. “It’s Chicago. My mom had this album.”

  “Mine too,” Taryn bobbed her head in agreement. “One of the few things that made my otherwise vanilla mother interesting. She used to play it in the car, on the cassette player. Do you think our kids will even know what a cassette is?”

  They both ignored the fact that she’d used the hypothetical “our kids.”

  To her surprise, Matt began singing along with it, his baritone voice smooth and strong. He didn’t sing often, but his voice was a nice one. But Taryn’s face turned crimson when the irony of the lyrics struck her. A man and woman, going separate ways, trying to move on with their lives without each other…not wanting the other to see them upset.

  Still, it was a catchy tune and Taryn hummed along with him until they were both smiling at each other and snickering, too caught in the silly moment of irony to be grieved.

  All at once, the color drained from Matt’s face. “Taryn–”

  As though they shared the same mind, she was struck at once by the implication of his thoughts. “Oh my–”

  “How did we–”

  “Miss that?” she finished for him.

  Both jumped up from the table and sprinted to the jukebox. Using her finger, Taryn eagerly scanned down the list of tracks until they found the one playing over the speakers.

  “’Look Away,’” she read excitedly. “That is the title.”

  “The graffiti. They’re song titles,” Matt swore, slapping his thigh. “It’s a song title.”

  “Oh my God,” Taryn laughed, on the verge of mania. “Lucy stood there and talked to me about songs and had this big speech about if I’d ever hated one nobody else liked and–okay, it doesn’t really matter. The fact is, I thought she was using some metaphor or something. She may have actually been talking about a song!”

  “How literal of her,” Matt beamed.

  “We’ve got to reassess this,” Taryn shouted out with excitement, slapping her hands together. “Let’s get that pizza to go.”

  “Good thing you played that track,” Matt proclaimed over his shoulder as he marched up to the register to change their order.

  Taryn was left standing by the jukebox, her hand still flat on the glass.

  “But I didn’t,” she whispered.

  Twenty-Four

  “So one more time,” Taryn said before stuffing her mouth with another bite. “Tell me what we’ve got so far.”

  “Two song titles,” Matt replied. “Maybe three. We have ‘Friend,’ which we determined is meant to be the James Taylor song. ‘Look Away’ which is, of course, the Chicago song. ‘Haunting.’ Which you think is from ‘Th
e Bluest Eyes in Texas’, given Lucy’s reaction to the song.”

  “And the fact that it says ‘Haunting’. And I’ve heard it in the school. And in my dreams…”

  “That first one doesn’t make much sense in the context of everything else,” Taryn pointed out through a mouthful of pepperoni.

  “None of this makes sense in a context of anything. How can we be sure that these aren’t just random song titles spray painted on the walls?” Matt muttered.

  “We know they have to mean something,” Taryn protested. “They’re all from the same year, for one thing. And it’s roughly the same year we’ve narrowed this bad thing down to.”

  “So who did this? Lucy? The ghosts?”

  Matt shrugged in frustration. “Beats the hell out of me.”

  “Okay, so does anything stand out?”

  “‘You’ve Got a Friend.’ That one was written on the floor. A little hard to make out.”

  Taryn nodded. “Yep. And it’s the one written in the bright blue paint. The only one written in blue.”

  “So we have to consider the fact that these might not be drafted by the same person,” Matt added.

  “Why so?”

  “All the others are painted on the wall, in red. This one is on the floor, in blue. And it’s from an entirely different decade. So unless there is some symbolism there…”

  “Ah, I got you! I am so glad you’re here.”

  “Me too,” Matt sent her an angelic smile from the other side of the bed.

  “Let’s do this full time,” Taryn exclaimed, surprising herself. “Just quit your job at NASA, move up to New Hampshire with me, and we’ll solve mysteries!”

  “Just like Scooby and Shaggy,” Matt grinned, giving her a wink.

  “So what’s our theme here?” Taryn asked. “Are these all songs that Lucy hates?”

  “They’re definitely a message,” Matt said slowly. “Dang it. For a minute there something came to me, but then I lost it. Let me see that photo album again.”

  Taryn dug it out of the nightstand and crawled over to him with it. Sitting on his lap, they opened it together and began flipping through the pages for the umpteenth time.

  “This one is cute,” Taryn said, pointing to a shot of a young Jamey standing in the middle of the gym, holding onto a basketball. He looked about eight years old.

  “And there’s our criminal,” Matt added, pointing to the picture right below it.

  It was hard to believe that the young girl with pigtails, holding tightly to the red pompoms in her hands, would one day be on trial for murder. “Hard to believe Lucy Dawson was ever a cheerleader.”

  “You like her, don’t you?” Matt asked.

  Taryn nodded. “I do. I guess I see something of me in her. She’s quiet; she keeps to herself. Didn’t have a lot of friends when she was younger. Has lost most of the people in her life. I don’t know. There’s something there. Something almost maternal. You wouldn’t know it right at first, but I get a good vibe.”

  “So you don’t think she did it?”

  “No,” Taryn replied. “I believe she did it. I just don’t think it’s because she’s a murderer.”

  “Do you know this game?” Matt asked. “I earmarked this because I wanted to ask you. I don’t recognize it.”

  Taryn stretched her body out to get a better look. The children were lined up on one side of the gym. In their hands they held the yellow, Styrofoam balls. Their faces were gleeful, excited. Some had their arms raised, prepared for battle. She couldn’t see what they were preparing to throw the balls at.

  “A kind of Dodgeball I guess,” she shrugged. “I don’t recognize it but I did see one of those balls in the storage closet.”

  “The kids look so happy in these,” Matt said, indicating a group shot of Mr. Scott’s class on the playground. They all stood around a drawing on the concrete. The teacher himself was covered in multi-colored chalk dust, his tanned skin now gaudy rainbow streaks. The kids grouped around him and clung to him; some looked at him adoringly, and they all laughed like they were having the best times of their lives.

  “As opposed to these kids,” Taryn pointed to the next page, a picture of Mrs. Evan’s class. She sat tall and erect on a stool in front of her classroom. The two small windows behind her held gingham curtains, one of the only spots of color in the room. She balanced a guitar in her lap and the photographer had caught her in mid-strum.

  Although there were also children grouped around her, these kids wore scowls, not smiles. One was even glaring at his teacher, a far cry from the adoring smiles worn on the previous page. And yes, there was fear. You could almost smell it, even from where Taryn and Matt sat. The whole setup appeared very rigid, almost Victorian. Taryn laughed in spite of herself.

  “Do you think she was really that bad?” Matt asked.

  “Well, her reviews have not been stellar.”

  “What has Lucy said about her?”

  Taryn thought about it before answering. “You know, Lucy actually hasn’t said anything at all about the teachers. I don’t know how I missed that. Oh well. I will go back. I am armed with much more information this time around.”

  “This little boy, right here,” Matt indicated to a tow-headed kid sitting at a desk with a white, plastic recorder in his hand. “He reminds me of me a little bit.”

  The boy’s somber expression, the tufts of hair hanging down into his eyes. He wasn’t cracking a smile, but there was something going on behind his eyes, that was evident even from the camera. Taryn also thought of Matt when she looked at him.

  “Aw, he’s a cutie. Wonder who he is?”

  Matt slipped his finger behind the plastic sheet and gently pulled the photo free. “Let’s see…” Turning it over, he read the inscription aloud. “Ethan Wayne, October open house.”

  Matt turned the photo back over and carefully re-inserted it. Taryn could feel him shaking slightly. She leaned back into him and snuggled against his chest.

  Ethan Wayne. Death by self-inflicted gunshot wound, only ten years after that photo.

  These had been children, real children. And someone had failed them. Whether Lucy wanted her help or not, Taryn was going to find the answers.

  * * *

  THE FEAR THAT scorched through her body burned. She could actually feel her insides blister. She reached up and brushed a droplet of sweat from her forehead and was shocked at the heat on her face. She couldn’t ever remember feeling that hot, not even when she had chicken pox as a little kid.

  The hard chair under her was uncomfortable but she dared not wiggle and draw attention to herself. Instead, she brought the book in her hand closer to her face and stared intently at the words before her. She’d read them a dozen times already and hadn’t retained a single sentence.

  She wanted to look up. The last time she’d done it, however, a giggle had escaped. She didn’t understand the giggle, was angry at herself for letting it bubble to her surface. She didn’t find anything funny. Why was laughter swilling inside her, along with the anger and fear?

  Nothing will happen to me; nothing will happen to me, she chanted inside. She knew that for a fact. It was a hard, cold truth that did little to soothe her. Indeed, it made her feel worse–if that was possible.

  It would be lunchtime soon. From the corner of her eye she could glance down at her My Little Pony watch, a Christmas present from her granny, and see the time. In just two more minutes they’d all be lining up and filing away. Good girls and boys.

  Stop it, she scolded herself. And then, please don’t laugh, please don’t laugh…

  A sound then, a soft thud that caught her off guard. On reflex, she did look up now. The eyes that stared back at her were only a few feet away. Nothing came between the two of them. Dull, soulless eyes that didn’t even see her.

  The giggle did escape then. She hated herself for it.

  If there was a God, then why wasn’t she dead?

  Twenty-Five

  Taryn hated leaving Matt be
hind at the motel, especially considering there wasn’t much for him to see or do there, but he’d been asleep when she left. Matt had tossed and turned all night; it was better to let him rest. He’d be leaving the next day. She didn’t want to return him in worse shape than she’d collected him.

  Still, Taryn wasn’t thrilled at being at the school alone. The dream she’d had the night before was still with her, and it wasn’t one she enjoyed hanging over her head.

  “I can’t make heads nor tails of what’s going on here,” she complained to Miss Dixie. “And the only person who could tell me won’t.”

  She contemplated going to Jamey or back to Misty but didn’t feel like either one of them would open up to her. Indeed, Misty appeared to have nothing but good memories of her time at Muddy Creek. She’d have to get through Heather to get to Jamey and Taryn couldn’t be sure that gatekeeper would hand over the key. She knew a possessive, and protective, woman she saw one.

  Taryn was one.

  “Maybe it is a malice over the school,” Taryn whispered as she set up her easel and started unpacking her paints. “Wickedness. It might not have anything to do with the school or the people, but the place.”

  So what had happened? Had Lucy been possessed to try to burn it down? Had she not known there were going to be people inside?

  No, she’d known. The building had been empty for twenty years. She’d had plenty of opportunities to destroy it. She only lived a few hundred yards behind it. No, she’d waited until a homecoming, a school reunion.

  Taryn hummed to herself. Haunted by the bluest eyes in Texas…She hummed as she walked, as she searched. What about that song had troubled Lucy? What about it was so significant that she, or someone, had taken the time to write it in the school?

  It had been in the newspaper that former staff members would be taking a “field trip” from the high school to the old elementary school during the reunion. Lucy had planned for it. The paper had even mentioned the names of the six faculty and staff members that would be riding one of the old school buses to the site. Lucy had known. She’d known what she was doing. She’d premeditated it.