A Thousand Yesteryears

by Mae Clair

  Eve looked from the silver clip lying in her palm to Caden. “Do you think this is worth giving to Ryan?”

  “It can’t hurt.” He ran his thumb over the letters. “R-A-L. You know who this belongs to, don’t you?”

  She shook her head.

  “Roger Layton. I’ve seen him pull it out at the café.”

  “He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to hike around the TNT, but I suppose it could have been stolen. Maybe Amos took it.”

  “Maybe.” Caden gripped her arm above the elbow. “Come on. I’m going to take you home. We can decide what to do with it later.”

  * * * *

  “This is silly.” Eve shook her head and folded her arms across her chest. “Caden, be reasonable. I let you follow me home, but there’s no reason for you to start acting like a bodyguard again. I’ll be perfectly fine on my own.”

  It was like talking to a brick wall. The infuriatingly calm man she’d started to think of as her boyfriend checked the lock on the kitchen door to make sure it was secure, then turned to face her with a raised eyebrow. “I thought I’d visit for a while. Are you that anxious to get rid of me?”

  He would throw that into her face. “Of course not, but—”

  The jarring intrusion of the phone cut off her protest. Not that it would have done any good anyway. There were certain areas in which Caden wouldn’t budge, and her safety had become one of them. Shaking her head, she turned to the wall phone and picked up the receiver.

  “Hello.” A whistling shriek erupted in her ear. Recoiling, she held the phone at arm’s length and grimaced. “Not again.” The screeching was louder than usual, magnified in the small space between her and Caden.

  “What the hell?” He took the receiver from her. “What’s wrong with your phone?”

  “I don’t know. I keep getting calls like that. Static and squeals.”

  “Did you report it to the phone company?”

  “Yes, but they said they couldn’t find anything wrong.”

  Her stomach tightened as a wave of fear buffeted her. The squawks and shrieks spilling from the receiver were far more jarring than in the past, mournful wails that seemed ripped from the throats of the dying.

  “Someone’s playing around.” Caden lifted the phone to his ear. “Who is this?” he demanded.

  Eve shivered and wrapped her arms close, wanting the gruesome orchestration to stop. Caden depressed the switch hook several times until the drone of a dial tone replaced the shrieks. Hanging up the phone, he kept his hand locked on the receiver as if he expected the caller to make a repeat performance. Frown lines tugged the corners of his mouth. “This has been going on for a while, and you haven’t told me?”

  She could see it in his eyes; they’d just gone through the same thing with the crow. How could he protect her if she continued to keep secrets? She hadn’t considered the distressing calls something she’d deliberately kept private, but her omission made them seem that way now. “The first few times it happened, I thought it was static.”

  “Eve—”

  “And then Doreen Sue tried to convince me it was Aunt Rosie.”

  “Rosie?” A look of incredulity spread over his face. She’d definitely caught his attention with that bombshell. “What are you talking about?”

  “Not here.” It had grown dark, night nestling close against the windows and the door to the screened porch. She felt exposed standing in the kitchen, knowing someone had once lurked outside. The kitchen wasn’t a place to have a discussion about ghosts and communication with the dead. “Let’s go into the living room.”

  Grabbing a can of beer from the refrigerator, she passed it to Caden, conscious of the scrutiny in his eyes when their fingers brushed. If he’d been worried about her before, a call from her creepy phone stalker hadn’t helped. Claiming a Tab for herself, she tried to look at the situation positively. Having the call happen while he was here forced her to consider Doreen Sue’s explanation. Even he couldn’t deny the eerie screeching had sounded inhuman.

  “You do know Doreen Sue buys into everything supernatural?” he asked as he followed her into the living room. “Anyone in town can tell you that. She was one of the people who claimed to see a UFO when all those sightings were happening in ’66 and ’67.”

  Odd that Katie hadn’t mentioned her mom’s attachment to the paranormal. Eve folded into a seat on the sofa, tucking one leg beneath her. She vaguely remembered the UFO sightings and the uproar they had caused in the town. “Interesting.”

  “Maybe.” Caden paced across the room and took a swig from his beer. “Regardless, I can have Ryan put a trace on your phone.”

  “Won’t he look foolish if it’s a minor glitch somewhere on the line?”

  His brows drew down as he turned to face her. “I thought you’d already ruled that out.”

  She sighed, suddenly tired. “I didn’t press as hard as I could have. At the time, it didn’t seem that important.” Life had certainly been much simpler in Harrisburg. It would be wonderful to reside in Point Pleasant and not have so many issues hanging over her head. All she wanted to do was stay and run her family’s hotel. Enjoy her time with Caden, but she’d attracted some nut who was set on driving her away.

  Because they don’t want me to find whatever’s hidden in the house.

  The being at the igloo had indicated as much, confirming her belief Aunt Rosie had hidden something in the house before she died. It had to be what Amos—or whoever had vandalized the property—had been looking for. Something of value. Money or jewelry, perhaps. Why else would someone focus on forcing her from town? And yet the creature at the TNT had hinted whatever was hidden had to do with Wendy Lynch.

  Perhaps Aunt Rosie was trying to tell her where she’d stashed the item.

  “What if Doreen Sue was right?” Eve wrapped her hands around the can of Tab as she tossed the idea to Caden. Surrounded by her aunt’s possessions, most unchanged from the time she was a child, was like being enveloped in a shawl of her aunt’s love. Now that the house was hers, she couldn’t see herself replacing the heavy traditional furniture with something more contemporary. Even the colorful rugs that warmed the hardwood floor evoked memories of her beloved aunt. It was that sense of closeness that gave her the courage to plow ahead. “What if Aunt Rosie is trying to tell me something?”

  Caden dismissed the idea with a backhanded wave. “Be serious.” He started pacing again.

  “I am being serious.” Defensiveness stiffened her spine. “According to the being at the igloo, Aunt Rosie hid something in the house. What if she’s trying to tell me where it is?”

  He shook his head, dark hair spilling across his brow. “To believe that, I’d have to believe in the thing at the igloo.” He turned to face her. “Which I don’t.”

  “Even after it led us to Wendy’s body?”

  “We don’t know if it’s Wendy’s body.”

  “And we don’t know it isn’t. Either way, it led us to a body.” Leaning forward, Eve set her soda on the coffee table. “Caden, you know I’m not crazy. I certainly didn’t imagine what happened out there. I don’t doubt that you had an encounter—two encounters—with the Mothman. All I’m asking is that you extend me the same measure of belief.”

  She’d struck a chord with that one. A frown flitted around his mouth, and his gaze dropped to the gashes on his arm. He nodded. “Okay, you’re right. Say I do believe you. What exactly did Doreen Sue tell you?”

  Elated by a surge of victory, she bit away a smile. “That spirits often try to communicate through electricity or phone lines. She’d told me about a woman whose dead husband contacted her by using clicks and static delivered over the phone. Kind of like what I’ve been experiencing. Given all the other strange things we’ve encountered, it’s not outside the realm of possibility.”

  “I can’t argue that.” The admission came reluctantly, but he joined her on the couch. Setting his beer on the coffee table, he lea
ned back with a loud exhale and scrubbed a hand over his face. “It would be a lot easier if we knew what Rosie was trying to tell you.”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Eve twisted to face him, her knee butting against his thigh. The fact he was onboard with the idea—at least the possibility of the idea—brought a renewed rush of excitement. “Aunt Rosie hid something in the house. It’s what the vandal was looking for. I think she’s trying to tell me where to find it.”

  “Why now?”

  She tilted her head, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

  “If it’s something important, something she wanted you to have, wouldn’t she have told Adam Barnett about it?”

  “Not necessarily.” Thinking it over, she tapped a finger against her lips. “She might have had a change of heart. Something that didn’t seem important while she was alive, or maybe wasn’t critical to her until those last moments.” She snapped her fingers. “The gray vines.”

  Caden looked at her askance. “The thing she told Katie about?”

  “Yes. Don’t you see? That has to be it.” Caught up in the idea, Eve bolted to her feet and began to pace. “It wasn’t important to her until those final moments of life. She tried to tell Katie, but she was already slipping away.” Gray vines. Gray vines.

  It made no sense. Her aunt didn’t even like gray. Everything about her had been vibrant, full of life. She’d favored bright clothing, stylish hats, and chunky jewelry. Even the furnishings in her house reflected her personality. From the vibrant gold swirls in the rug under Eve’s feet, to the vivid green grape vines embroidered in the living room drapes, Aunt Rosie’s zest for life was evident. True, that vivaciousness had dimmed when the Silver Bridge collapsed, but—

  Something clicked in Eve’s mind. “That’s it!”

  Caden raised a brow. “What is?”

  “Gray vines!” Eve darted to the bow window, her heart hammering wildly as pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Giddy, she fingered a drapery panel. “At the end, when Aunt Rosie was with Katie, she was doped up on morphine. She wasn’t speaking clearly. Katie even told me she slurred her words.”

  Caden spread his hands. “So?”

  Eve’s gaze tracked over the twining vines embroidered on the drapes. “What if she hadn’t been saying ‘gray vines’? What if it only sounded like that, but what she meant to say was ‘grape vines’?”

  Caden followed her glance to the drapes. “You think that—”

  “Yes, I do!” Excited, Eve flipped the edge of the panel so the backing was exposed. Running her finger along the white fabric, she noted where the panel and backing were stitched together. “This has to be it, Caden. Whatever Aunt Rosie was hiding…whatever her secret was, it has to do with these drapes. I think she must have hid something inside the panel and sewn it back together.”

  He frowned, joining her to examine the heavy curtains. “Didn’t your aunt make these by hand? I remember Maggie talking about that years ago.”

  “She did. Aunt Rosie loved these drapes.”

  “And you want to rip them apart?”

  Her stomach fell. He was right. If she tore them to pieces only to find nothing inside, she would have destroyed one of her aunt’s prized possessions. After the horrid vandalism to Aunt Rosie’s house, it seemed heinous to even consider tampering with the drapes. And yet inborn conviction told her she had to be right. “I can have them repaired if I’m wrong. We’ll be careful with the stitching so we don’t tear the fabric. Help me get them down.”

  “You’re decided on this?”

  She nodded. “I can’t explain why, but I feel certain I’m right.”

  Exhaling, he dragged a hand through his hair. “Okay. Let me grab a chair from the dining room so I can unhook them without tearing them.”

  It took longer than Eve thought. Probably because of the inordinate care she placed in examining each panel. First, she rolled the fabric between her fingers, hoping to feel an obstruction if something was hidden inside. Unfortunately, the fabric was too thick to yield anything by touch. Eventually, she resorted to snipping the seams with scissors, going stitch by stitch, until she could separate the backing from the fabric.

  By the time she reached the third panel without discovering anything, doubt had crept up her spine. Her aunt’s beloved curtains lay folded over the opposite end of the couch, ruined until she could have them repaired. She wanted to sob. She’d been so certain. How could she have been so utterly wrong?

  Shifting, she stretched her legs under the coffee table, adjusting the panel on her lap. She was about to embrace regret when her movement dislodged a white triangle, pushing it through the half-open seam. For the span of a heartbeat, she didn’t breathe. “Caden!”

  He stood on a chair by the window taking down the fourth and last panel.

  “Caden, come quick. I found something.”

  Without waiting, she snipped away the rest of the seam, exposing the edge of an envelope.

  “I don’t believe it.” Caden peered over her shoulder, then quickly took a seat next to her.

  Eve eased the envelope from the panel, suddenly terrified of what she would find inside. Plain white, without any markings, the envelope was the size someone might use to send an invitation or thank-you card. Her heart quickened as she clutched it in her hands. Is this why her house had been vandalized? This single innocuous-looking item? It certainly wasn’t money or jewelry. Perhaps it contained a message revealing the location to something of value. Or maybe it was connected to Wendy Lynch.

  “Careful with it,” Caden said.

  “Do you think we should give it to Ryan? If it’s related to the vandalism…”

  “We don’t know that.”

  “Then you open it. I’m too nervous.” The idea Aunt Rosie harbored secrets sent dread tunneling through her stomach.

  Caden held the envelope up to the light, squinting to decipher what was inside. “Can I have the scissors?”

  She passed them without speaking, consciously gnawing her bottom lip. The air in the room felt abruptly oppressive, ballooning in her lungs, pushing against the back of her throat. Placing the envelope on the coffee table, Caden opened the scissors on a butterfly. Carefully, while holding the white square in place, he slipped one end under the flap and slit the seal from edge to edge.

  Eve held her breath.

  Gingerly, Caden withdrew the contents of the envelope—a note-sized piece of paper folded in half. Like the cover that had contained it, the sheet was plain and without markings.

  “What is it?” Her voice was strained in the weighted silence.

  “Something’s tucked inside.” Even as he spoke, a small piece of transparent film dropped from the open edge into Caden’s hand.

  Eve stared at the object incomprehensibly. “A negative?” Her aunt had been an amateur photographer and occasionally had even taken shots for the local paper, but they’d been simple slice-of-life and human interest type photographs. “Why would someone vandalize the place for a negative?”

  Caden withdrew a small black and white picture from the envelope, his face draining of all color.

  Eve’s gaze fell to the image she surmised had been lifted from the negative. Expecting to see a candid shot of Wendy Lynch or something that would tie Katie’s sister to her aunt, she recoiled at the ghastly sight in horror.

  “Oh my God, Caden. Roger Layton killed Maggie!”

  Chapter 12

  Caden bolted for the door intent on one thought only—find Roger Layton. He didn’t know why, but the bastard had killed his sister. He’d held the photographic evidence in his hands—an image of Maggie struggling to thrash free of the river. Roger Layton had loomed above her, knee-deep in the water, hands throttling her neck. All this time, Caden had thought the bridge collapse killed Maggie, but she’d survived the tragedy. If not for Layton, she would have been one of the lucky few pulled from the water.

  “Caden, no,” Eve yelled behind him.

 
He barely heard, remembering those first raw moments of rescue—the sting of headlights in his eyes, screams and sobs reverberating through the night, the icy bite of wind cutting beneath his sopping clothes. He should have seen Maggie in the confusion. He should have saved her. A bonfire of anger and grief crashed over him. Ripping open the door, he imagined doing the same to Layton’s gullet.

  “Caden, think!” Eve caught up to him and clutched his arm. “This isn’t the way.”

  “Layton has to pay.” He didn’t recognize his voice, thick with hatred. The need for vengeance bubbled hot in his gut.

  “I know that. I do.” Eve refused to release him, staring up into his eyes. Her gaze, troubled and beseeching, mirrored the pleading tone in her voice. “But if you go after Layton in a rage—if you hurt him—you’ll only make things worse, and it won’t help Maggie. Roger needs to be brought to justice for his crime. Call Ryan and let him handle this legally.”

  Legally? He grunted at the bothersome thought. The justice system hadn’t been worth a damn when Layton wrapped his hands around Maggie’s neck and choked the life from her. “Eve—”

  “Listen to me.” Anger mingled with the desperation in her voice. “Do you want Roger to go free because you acted impulsively and did something stupid?”

  “He killed her.” For fifteen long years he’d held himself accountable for his sister’s death. Even saying the words sent a stab of pain through his gut. “Killed her. An innocent child who’d done nothing wrong.” Wrenching his arm free, he stalked onto the porch.

  “You know I’m right,” Eve yelled, trailing behind him. Her voice was choked, as if she fought tears. “You were a cop, Caden. Think like one!”