by Mae Clair
* * * *
It was almost six o’clock by the time Eve made it back to Aunt Rosie’s house. Sarah had taken an extended lunch break, and they’d spent a good two hours catching up. Katie had returned sometime near three, saying one of the stylists at Doreen Sue’s salon had taken her mom home and planned to stay with her until Katie got off work.
Eve found Caden in the dark room, measuring a sheet of drywall placed across two sawhorses. Dressed in jeans, a gray T-shirt, and work boots, he used a level to mark off a straight line as he bent over the sheet. Plaster dust peppered his black hair, and a tool belt hung from his hips. Three stark red gashes, the middle slightly longer than the others, were wrapped around his forearm. Scars of some sort, but they looked too vivid to be old.
“Hi,” she greeted. From the looks of things he’d been busy tearing the room down to the studs. “How’s it going?”
Caden glanced up. “On schedule.” He drew a quick line along the level, then slipped the pencil behind his ear. “Don’t let the look of things fool you.”
Things looked rather good, especially him. “You’re the contractor. I trust you completely.” Folding her arms, she leaned against the doorway. “By the way, I heard you were with Ryan earlier today.”
“You mean you heard about Amos Carter?”
“I was with Katie Lynch when I found out. Her mother was at the hotel, worried because he hadn’t come home last night. Sarah Sherman showed up later and told us the news. It hasn’t hit the paper, but I think it’s all over town.”
“Figures.” Caden scowled. “I went to see Ryan early this morning to tell him about the note you got. He was headed out on a call, and I rode with him. I wasn’t a fan of Amos, but someone definitely had it in for the guy. When I left Ryan, he was headed out to see Doreen Sue.”
“Breaking the news couldn’t have been easy.” She paused, remembering some gossip Sarah had shared. “I hear some people think the Mothman is back.”
Caden set his level aside. “The Mothman never hurt anyone.”
“Oh?” Eve made no attempt to mask her surprise as she stepped away from the door. “What about the Silver Bridge? Some people think it caused the collapse.”
Caden removed his tool belt and dumped it in the corner. “That’s hogwash. If anything, the monster tried to help.”
Interesting. “You sound like you know that for a fact.”
He shook his head. “I’m just saying I don’t think it caused anything. The bridge was old and couldn’t support the weight of all that backed-up traffic. One of the eye-bars failed. Everyone knows that.”
“So you do believe in the Mothman?” Why was that suddenly important to her?
“That’s not what I said. A lot of people will do anything to fuel superstition in this town. I saw Amos Carter—or what was left of him. Someone beat him with their fists, plain and simple.”
She flinched, unwillingly conjuring the sight in her head. As a child, she’d always thought Point Pleasant a safe haven. Murders didn’t happen in the small river town. Domestic disputes, minor assaults here and there, even an occasional break-in, but not murder.
She decided to change the subject. “What did Ryan say about the note?”
“The same as before…not to worry. He thinks it was probably a kid playing a prank.” He sounded as though he didn’t buy it. She wasn’t sure she did either, but in another week or so she’d be gone, and none of it would matter.
“I think I’ll knock off for the night and start early tomorrow.” Caden interrupted her thoughts. “I told Ryan I’d check on our mom since he’s going to be stuck on a double shift. I just need to clean up a few things.”
She nodded, finding it curious he’d chosen not to answer her question about the Mothman. “I’ll see you downstairs.”
When he wandered into the kitchen ten minutes later, he seemed in a better mood. “I’m sorry if I was short earlier. Sometimes the mentality of the town gets to me…the past.”
Eve turned from the cupboard where she’d been scrounging up the makings of a meal. “You mean because of the bridge? Maggie?”
“Something like that.” He cleared his throat, ending the subject. “So how have you found Point Pleasant since you’ve been back?”
She smiled. “Different, but the same.”
“Have you been to the riverfront yet?”
“I haven’t had the chance.” She and Maggie used to love hanging out there as children, watching the large riverboats chug up and down the waterways pushing barges of coal. In the summer, there were fishing and boat rides, followed by school events and festivals in the fall.
Caden shifted. “There’s a concert tomorrow night. A few friends of mine on guitar. I thought you might like to hear them.”
It sounded like he was asking her out. “I’d love to.” She offered a smile and couldn’t help adding. “Do you still play? I remember you sometimes performed at the fairgrounds.”
He shook his head, looking awkward. “Not much these days. I’m surprised you remember.”
“I remember a lot of things, Caden. I had a terrible crush on you when I was a kid.” Inwardly she cringed, shocked she’d blurted the truth. It was becoming far too easy to talk to him.
“Seriously?” He grinned. “You were what—six years younger?”
“That hardly made a difference.” Stumbling to recover, she grasped at the first thing she could think to say. “All the girls liked you. Maggie used to say you could charm her into doing almost anything.”
A shadow crossed his face at the mention of Maggie. “I should go. My mother’s alone.”
Something she’d said had obviously upset him. “Of course.” They’d talked about Maggie before, if only briefly, so it couldn’t be that. Bewildered by the change in his personality, she followed him to the front door.
He paused on the threshold, indecision in his gaze. “Look, I didn’t mean to cut you off. It’s just…”
“Maggie?”
“Yeah.” He exhaled a tired breath, the fatigue reflected in his eyes. “I have good memories, but other times, all I think about is that night on the bridge.”
“Maybe you should talk about it.”
“Not now.” He managed a weary smile. “I’ll be back in the morning to continue work. Maybe we can grab dinner before heading to the riverfront and the concert.”
She brightened with the idea. He was asking her on a date. “That’s sounds great.”
She followed him onto the porch, then waved goodbye as he headed across the yard to his mother’s home. As she watched his retreating form, she was struck again by the change in his mood.
Like so many people in Point Pleasant, Caden Flynn had secrets.
* * * *
Caden tried to shove the discussion with Eve behind him as he walked into the living room of his mother’s home. He had charmed Maggie that night, smiling and cajoling until she agreed to go out with him. Afterward, he’d been puffed up and proud for accomplishing something no one else in the family had been able to do. Maggie had looked up to him, even idolized him a little, and he’d used that adoration to manipulate her. The truth stung.
He found his mother seated on the couch, a pool of red yarn in her lap, a pair of wire-framed spectacles perched on the end of her nose. She divided her attention between Wheel of Fortune on the TV and the puddle of yarn that was slowly transforming into a scarf.
“Oh, Caden.” She glanced up with a smile, a short fluttery laugh escaping her lips. “I thought you were Ryan. Isn’t he coming home?”
“He got held up in town.”
“Is it because of the murder?”
“You know about it?” He eased into a seat across from her. Mrs. Aldridge would have stayed through most of the day, leaving just a short while ago. But even if Mrs. Aldridge had heard the news, it was doubtful she’d have shared the information, fearful it would upset his mother.
“A man was found in the TNT.” S
he spoke casually, her attention on the series of loops and stitches she skillfully produced. “I don’t know who he was, but I know he was murdered.”
Not possible. “How could you have heard?”
“You’re dusty dear. You look like you’ve been rolling in plaster dust.”
Distracted, Caden glanced down at his jeans, the denim dotted with a few clinging flecks of white powder. A neat freak, his mother would notice. Absently, he swatted the residue away. “Mom?”
“Maggie told me.”
Not this again. He exhaled in frustration. “Mom, Maggie is gone.”
His mother shot him a sharp look from above her glasses. “That doesn’t mean she can’t talk to me.”
“Whatever.” He stood, knowing arguing would do no good. “Ryan will be home later tonight. I’ll get dinner started for you.” The kitchen would be an escape from discussions about Maggie.
His mother continued as if she hadn’t heard. “How else do you think I found out about the murder?”
Halfway from the room, he paused. Maybe someone had phoned to check up on her or shoot the breeze. She had plenty of friends in town, and Eve said word had spread about Amos’s death. That made far more sense than his dead sister communicating with her. Enough was enough.
“Mom, this has to stop.”
“She’s only trying to help, you know.”
Irritated, he scuffed a hand through his hair. Ryan handled these things far better than he did. His younger brother had patience he lacked. Then again, Ryan didn’t carry the burden of Maggie’s death. “All right. What did she say?”
“That you should go to the bunker and ask questions.”
“The bunker?”
“In the TNT. The one where the Mothman was seen.”
The hair on the back of his neck stood on end.
His mother set her knitting down and focused on him. Her gaze was direct, nothing clouded or hesitant to indicate fragility of mind. “Maggie said you know about the Mothman. From a Halloween night long ago and from when the bridge fell.”
Caden felt the color leave his face. He’d heard enough. Between the discussion he’d had with Eve and his mother’s crazy ramblings, he had to get away. Pivoting, he turned on his heel and stalked from the room. Even then the memories hounded him. But it wasn’t the Mothman he remembered. It was Maggie and the last moments they’d shared.
* * * *
“Are you cold?” Caden cranked the heat in the car, noting his sister sat slouched in the passenger’s seat, huddled into her jacket. She’d grown solemn, especially after his last minute detour to the gas station for a pack of Marlboros. He’d run into Wyatt Fisher and ended up bullshitting for fifteen minutes while Maggie waited in the Chevy.
“I just want to go home,” she said in a small voice.
His gut twisted. He thought was doing a good thing, getting her out of the house. For the last three days, she’d done nothing but hide in her bedroom, fearful the Mothman would steal her away if she ventured outside. She’d eaten little and broken into hysterics when her parents tried to force her into going to school. Doctor Pullman hadn’t been able to find anything wrong with her, only that something must have given her a terrible fright.
His parents had been at wits’ end not knowing what to do. Eventually, he’d managed to coax her from the house with the promise of helping her choose a Christmas gift for their mother and father. The holiday was only a little over a week away, and he wanted his sister to enjoy it. “I won’t let the Mothman or anything else harm you,” he’d vowed. He knew about the Mothman—more than most—and had no fear of the creature.
In Gallipolis they’d visited two stores before she settled on a keychain for their father and a pretty silver locket for their mother. After that she’d been ready to head home, growing increasingly anxious the closer it drew to sundown.
“It’s going to be dark soon,” she said.
“I told you I wouldn’t let anything hurt you.”
Caden turned down the volume on the radio. The station had switched from Christmas songs to contemporary music, blaring “Never My Love” by The Association. He came to a stop in the middle of the Silver Bridge, swearing softly at the back-up unspooling in front of his Nova. Traffic had been crawling, but now it was at a standstill. He shouldn’t have stopped for the damn cigarettes. If he hadn’t made the detour, they’d probably be home already. He hoped his mom was making something hot for dinner. It was fricking freezing outside.
He peered through the windshield, noting how many birds had accumulated overhead. He’d never seen so many flying together this time of year. Normally they roosted on the bridge. It was almost as if they didn’t know where to land.
“Weird.” Two vehicles ahead of him, a tractor-trailer rolled forward a few feet before stopping. Caden inched closer, then hit the brakes. “Damn. I can’t see shit with that truck in the way.”
“You shouldn’t swear,” Maggie said.
“You’re right, I shouldn’t. At least not in front of you.” He grinned. “I’m glad you went out with me. Maybe tomorrow you’ll go somewhere with Mom and Dad.”
She looked down at the bag on her lap that contained brightly colored packages inside. The clerk at the store had wrapped both gifts in festive red and green paper, a sight that had made her smile. He wished she’d smile more.
“I don’t like going outside,” she whispered. “He’s outside.”
“The Mothman?”
She nodded, but kept her head down. “I was so scared Caden. I think he wanted to kill me.”
He frowned, wondering if he should confide in her about his own experience. Maybe telling her about what happened to him at the TNT over Halloween might lessen her fear.
No.
He chewed the inside of his cheek. It was better to pretend the creature was a myth. Myths had no power to harm.
On the radio The Association continued their melodic song about eternal love.
“No one’s going to hurt you, Maggie, but you have to let go of this—” A strange tremor buffeted the car. It felt as if the bridge shifted. “My God!”
The tall rocker towers on either side of the bridge swayed with a sickening lurch, and the headlights in his rearview mirror dropped abruptly into empty space. One second there, the next gone. Someone screamed, igniting a bone-chilling chorus of frantic cries. A sound like metal grinding against metal exploded in his head. Beside him, Maggie let out an ear-piercing shriek, but he only had time to gulp a breath before the world fell away.
Chapter 6
Lillian Layton was not at all as Eve expected. Perhaps it was the lilt of her name, conjuring images of a singer or stage actress, but she had anticipated a striking, stylish woman. Rather, the woman who met with her the next day at the Parrish Hotel was understated, plain in appearance. She wore no make-up and had secured her graying blond hair in a tight bun. A sensible button blouse and baggy slacks hung shapelessly on her stick-thin figure. Seated across from Eve, she perched primly on the edge of her chair and held her handbag—square brown leather—like a shield on her lap. Her nails were chewed to the quick.
“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice,” she said.
“It’s certainly not a problem, Mrs. Layton. I was planning on contacting you next week to make sure I was familiar with everything you’d like for your husband’s birthday celebration.” She smiled warmly, trying to ease the stilted air. The woman reminded her of a stereotypical church lady who didn’t have time for shenanigans. “Fifty is a big one.”
“Yes, well…” Mrs. Layton’s gaze flicked away briefly. “I appreciate your time nonetheless. I know it must be difficult after your aunt’s passing. And please, call me Lillian.”
“Thank you. I’m fine with Eve as well.”
“Do you remember my husband?”
“Vaguely.” An image of Roger Layton flashed into her mind as she recalled the words her father had penned to her mother—I don’t
like him. Something must have happened to change Aunt Rosie’s opinion of him, too. Why else would she end their relationship? “I know my aunt was engaged to him for a time.”
“Yes.” Lillian’s mouth puckered in displeasure, but she didn’t comment further. Rather, she took a sip of the coffee Eve had offered earlier, pausing briefly before returning the cup to its saucer. “Roger is well thought of in Point Pleasant,” she ventured at last. “My family owns the bank, and he operates it as Vice President. I thought it was fitting his birthday be celebrated in style.”
Interesting. He’d gone from a dockworker when Aunt Rosie had known him to a bank VP. That was definitely a step up in position. “Is it a surprise?”
“Oh dear, no.” Lillian parted with a fluty laugh. “Roger expects the hoopla and would have it no other way. My husband enjoys being the center of attention. Fortunately, he’s permitted me to handle all of the preparations. I wanted to talk to you about the menu.”
“Of course.” Eve had been prepared for that and removed the banquet order from a file on her desk. “You requested a pasta buffet with lasagna, spinach tortellini, and meatballs. We’ll include the usual sides—salads, several breads, and antipasto, as well as a dessert bar.” She ran a finger down the page. “I see you also requested hot hors d’oeuvres and an open bar.”
“Yes.” Lillian shifted, clutching her handbag more tightly. “I’ve been rethinking the menu, however, and would like to switch to a split entrée if the option is still available.”
“Certainly.” It would mean securing more servers since the menu would switch to a sit-down dinner, but the pricing on entrees was higher and the hotel could use the revenue. There was also the up-charge for a split entrée which would help defer the cost of the additional staff. “Would you like to see a banquet menu or did you have something in mind?”
Lillian opened her purse and withdrew several creased sheets of paper. “Rosalind gave these to me earlier.” Unfolding them, she read from the printed list. “I’ve already reviewed them and would like to go with the prime rib and stuffed chicken breast. Greek, for the salad, I think, and I’d like to add a bottle of your middle-shelf Merlot and Riesling to each table.”
