The movie was a romantic comedy and had a feel-good ending. When it was over, they grabbed some coffee and went for a walk along the deserted beach.
Chase talked easily about himself. Like Reagan, his dad had passed away when he was young. His mom worked at her cottage industry creating soaps, herbal lotions, and other healing products. He took his studies seriously, and he was hoping for a scholarship or two to help him pay for college.
Reagan mentioned that Darcy and Savannah said that he didn’t date. She left out the part that there was speculation that he was gay. He had looked at her sideways and told her that no one had sparked his interest until just recently. Then he reached over and took her hand in his, and they walked down the beach watching the moon’s reflection on the water.
When he dropped her off, he very politely told her goodnight, then gently kissed her on the forehead. He asked if he might see her again. It was silly and old-fashioned, and she loved it. She told him to call her when he was ready, and she was pretty sure she would be able to fit him into her schedule. Grinning, she gently closed the door on him, and now she was leaning against that door, smiling and listening to the car pull down the driveway.
“So, I take it you had a good night,” said a voice in the darkness. Reagan gasped and turned around.
“You scared the shit out of me. I mean crap out of me. Why are you sitting in the dark?”
“I wasn’t. You were so moon-faced over Chase that when you flipped the porch light off, you flipped the kitchen light off, too. You didn’t even notice that I was sitting here with my Pepsi. You just backed in the door, watched out the window, then flipped both lights off. Either you’ve got it bad or you’re daft.”
“I had a good time. I don’t ‘have it bad,’ and I don’t think I’m daft.”
“Well, that’s good, now would you mind turning the kitchen light back on, please?” Reagan felt the blush rising on her face as she flipped the switch that turned on the small wall sconce light. The kitchen was bathed in a soft, warm glow from the tiny lamp.
“To be fair, Aunt Willow, this light doesn’t really light up the kitchen. You are still in some shadow over there. It’s not like you were sitting with the big overhead light on. I mean, you might even have been hiding out over there in those shadows, trying to make me look bad.” Reagan teased. “Wait, are you eating cookies? Did Cora Rose make cookies and I missed it? What the heck?” Willow offered a soft chocolate chip cookie, and Reagan grabbed a glass of milk to go with it. They sat in a companionable silence, enjoying a late-night snack. For the first time since Reagan had arrived that summer, she actually felt comfortable and at home.
Later that evening, Reagan brushed her hair, lining up her hairbrush like she did every night, but tonight she was certain that things would still be in order when she woke up. Crawling into bed, she decided to read a page or two of Adelaide’s diary before she tackled the difficult plot twists of her forensic mystery novel.
Today S. came home from the sea. He has been gone for a fortnight. He brought me a beautiful carved wooden box that he said came from some islands in the sea far south from here. S traded with an old man a carving of a whale for the box. The man told him that the box came from an exotic island and was carved by the native people who lived there. I think it is exquisite, and I will cherish it forever. Ariana said it was crude and cheap. I don’t understand why she is so unkind. Papa asked where I got the box, and when I told him, he looked so cross. So far, he hasn’t forbidden me to see S. but I am worried he might. I just want him to see that S. is a wonderful man. It’s funny, but Ariana always has unkind things to say about him, but her eyes follow him whenever he is around. It is strange.
Reagan closed the journal. She didn’t really feel a connection or care much about Adelaide’s love life. It just didn’t intrigue her like the suspense of a good mystery, so she put the journal aside and read her library book for the next half hour. When her eyes started to close of their own accord, she put the book on her bedside table and turned out the light. It had been a wonderful day, but she was tired. She fell into a deep sleep within minutes.
Adelaide stood on the edge of the cliff, her long hair lifting in the ocean breeze. She looked at Reagan and gestured for her to come closer. Reagan hesitated, feeling a cold ball of fear in the pit of her stomach. Frantically, Adelaide motioned for Reagan to hurry. Reagan gave in and moved toward her. The closer she got, the more she could see that Adelaide’s clothes were soiled and torn. Her dress was clinging to her body, obviously drenched, and bits of seaweed clung to her hair and her skirt. Seagulls curled overhead, dive bombing Adelaide’s head, striking her face. When Reagan got within an arm’s length, she realized that Adelaide’s eyes were missing, plucked from their sockets by a gull that had landed on her shoulder.
Reagan covered her face with her hands and screamed in terror. Something struck the top of her head; the wings of a gull. She opened her eyes for a second, and in front of her stood, not Adelaide, but Ariana, smiling triumphantly, her head thrown back and her arms raised to the sky. Reagan ducked her head and screamed again, trying to protect herself from the onslaught of attacking seagulls. She felt the wings beating her and the talons slashing toward her face. A hand closed around her neck, Ariana’s hands, tightening, closing her throat, as if a noose was squeezing off all of her air. She couldn’t breathe, and the gulls were tangled in her hair.
Wiley whined, pawing at the blankets. Reagan thrashed back and forth, caught up in the twisted sheet. Wiley leapt on the bed and tried to lick Reagan’s face while trying to avoid her wildly thrashing arms. He whimpered again and barked softly, this time pawing at Reagan’s shoulder. Her eyes flew open, wild with terror. Wiley settled down on the blankets, stretching his body alongside hers. He laid his big, bony head on her shoulder and gently licked her chin. Her breathing hitched as she tried to catch her breath and orient herself on this side of her dream world.
“Wiley, stop. I’m good. I’m awake. You are such a good dog. How did you know I was having a bad dream?” Wiley thumped his tail against the bed and looked over his shoulder at the rocking chair. Reagan was afraid to glance over, but she forced herself to. Nothing was there, and nothing was out of place. Just a stupid dream, she told herself. Nothing more. Just a really stupid dream. Still, there was something so sinister about it. She was having trouble shaking it off.
When she was a little kid, she used to have a lot of bad dreams, especially after her daddy died. Her mother would get out of bed and make Reagan a big mug of hot chocolate. It would always calm her down and help her fall back to sleep. She wished her mom were here now, and she wished she had that mug of hot chocolate clasped between her two hands, but it was just not meant to be. She was damn sure she wasn’t going to go walking down to the kitchen tonight to get herself some of the hot, soothing drink. Even though she didn’t believe in the wolves under the dining room table, tonight wasn’t a night she was eager to test out her theory.
Chapter 17
Reagan woke up cranky and out of sorts. After the dream, she slept fitfully for the rest of the night. Wiley stayed by her side, pressed firmly up against her. He was tired and cranky, too, having watched over her while she slept. He jumped off the bed stiffly, arching his back once all four feet were on the floor. Then one by one, he stretched his hind legs straight back as far as he could with a pained look on his face.
“Poor, Wiley. You look like one sore dog. You must have had a miserable night just like I did. I’m sorry, fella.” Wiley slowly wagged his tail and smiled a tired Labrador retriever smile. Suddenly, his ears perked up, hearing something to his liking downstairs. With a glance back at Reagan, as if making sure she was okay, he bounded out of the room and hurried down the stairs.
“Leaving me for a scrap dropped by Cora Rose, huh? So much for loyalty,” teased Reagan. As she left the room to head for a hot shower, she checked her hairbrush. It was lined up right where it belonged. At least that was one thing going right this morning thought
Reagan.
Reagan padded down the hall to the bathroom with one thought on her mind; a hot shower. She felt miserable. After such an enjoyable evening with Chase, she didn’t expect to wake up all out of sorts.
She spun the faucets, adjusting the shower to a steamy, hard stream of water. Sighing, she stepped in and let the water pound on her shoulders. One good thing about an old house, she thought to herself, there are no water saving features here. The amount of water massaging her shoulders was pure heaven. She moved so it hammered the top of her head.
She thought about last night and how much she enjoyed the time she’d spent with Chase. He was easy to hang out with and easy on the eyes. Then her thoughts moved on to Seth. He was another one who was good looking, but he left her feeling unsettled. Chase made her feel at peace, Seth stirred up all kinds of emotions. She thought of the last time they were together, the starfish he gave her, his cool lips on hers. Just thinking of that made her heart flutter. She reached up to touch the starfish around her neck, but there was nothing hanging there. She suffered a moment of panic.
What could have happened to it? She was certain she had it on last night. She remembered reaching up and touching it when she started walking on the beach with Chase. Even though she didn’t believe in its protective powers, she still felt the comfort of it laying nestled in the hollow between her collar bones. She never took it off because Seth had tied it around her neck. It didn’t have a clasp. Where could it have gone? She couldn’t have lost it, could she?
Rinsing the shampoo out of her hair, she thought about the dream. She remembered the feeling of Ariana’s hands about her throat and the feeling of a noose tightening around her neck. She had a moment of terror as the memory wrapped about her. Then she heard the sound of laughter. Not the musical, lilting notes she had heard when she had first come to this house, but a deep, menacing laugh of triumph. Shaking herself, she listened harder, but only heard the shower pounding against the porcelain tub. She told herself to get in control and to stop letting her imagination run away with her.
Turning off the shower plunged the bathroom into silence except for the tiny dribble of the final remains of water in the pipes. Then she thought she heard the laughter again, only fainter and further away. Old pipes, she thought. Old houses and old pipes.
She dried herself off and wrapped the towel around her hair. Grabbing her robe, she snuggled herself in its warmth. Despite the restorative shower, she still felt drained. Using a towel, she wiped the steam from the mirror and stared at her reflection, slightly warped from the remaining moisture. Her face looked hollow, with dark circles bruising the skin under her eyes. She opened the bathroom door and started down the hall.
“Meow.” Reagan stopped in her tracks. “Meow,” came the plaintive cry of a cat. I didn’t know Willow had a cat, Reagan thought to herself. “Meow.” She listened, trying to track where the sound was coming from. “Meow.”
“Woof.” Now she could hear Wiley barking, but it sounded like he was outside.
She walked to her room, towel drying her hair on the way. Tossing the towel at the foot of her bed, she grabbed her brush and gently worked it through her wet hair as she absently walked to the window. “Woof.” Wiley barked again. She looked out the window and saw the dog looking up at her. His tail wasn’t wagging. In fact, it was held straight out and stiff. She squinted and looked at him closer. It looked like his hackles were up. “Woof, woof.” He barked again, looking at her and bouncing stiff-legged on his front paws.
“Meow.” There it was again.
“Woof.” Wiley dug at the ground frantically, stared at her and barking. He ran in circles.
“Meow.” Wiley must be worried about the cat. Reagan mused. It must be trapped somewhere, but where? Listening carefully, she absently placed her brush on the dresser and tried to follow the sound of the cat’s cries. “Meow.” It sounded like it was coming from above her. “Meow.” Yes, it was coming from above, from the fourth floor. Reagan moved to the door of her room, following the sound. Wiley was barking frantically. Poor Wiley, she thought, he sounds really worried.
As she walked into the hall, she heard a loud crash behind her. Her brush was lying on the floor near the window. She stared at it in disbelief. How did it get all the way across the room? She had just set it down on the dresser.
“Meow” came the cry again. Reagan moved toward the last flight of stairs that led to the upper floor. “Meeeeoooowww.” The cry of the cat sounded so pitiful. The poor thing must have gotten stuck up there somehow. Reagan mounted the stairs, rising closer to the door that shut off the upper floor of the house. “Yowl, meow.” The cat’s cries grew more insistent, and in the background, Reagan could hear Wiley going crazy outside.
She reached her hand toward the knob of the closed door. She started to turn it when the memory of her aunt telling her she was never to go on the fourth floor flooded her mind. It was as if a soft whisper warned her of her promise. I’m not going on the fourth floor, she told herself. I am just letting this poor, trapped beast out. With that she turned the knob and cracked the door open a foot. Wiley let out a loud, mournful howl as a huge black cat with a jagged white slash of fur on its side streaked from the other side of the door. It stopped, sat down on its haunches, stared up at Reagan and blinked. A cold chill shot through Reagan’s body as if she had been hit by lightning. The cat yawned and licked its front paw while holding Reagan’s gaze with its own yellow eyes. Reagan felt a trickle of cold sweat bead up along her spine. The cat opened its mouth in a hideous grin. Reagan was powerless to move, mesmerized by the cat’s stare. Reagan heard frantic toe nails on hardwood as Wiley came bounding up the stairs. The cat stood, arched its back and spat at Reagan just as Wiley reached the landing. The cat hissed at her one last time and ran hell-bent down the stairs. Wiley skidded on the landing, crashed sideways into the steps, turned and chased the cat back down the stairs.
“You’re welcome,” Reagan called after the disappearing feline. She turned back to the door, pushing it closed and was surprised at the fetid, damp, chilly air that poured through the opening. Decisively, she shut the door and went down the stairs to her room to finish getting ready for the day.
After straightening her room and making her bed, Reagan picked up her phone from the charger. She had missed a couple of texts. Olivia wanted to know how her date had gone, and Chase wanted to know if she wanted to come over to see how his mom made soap. She sent a quick text off to Olivia telling her it was wonderful, and she would catch up with her later. Then she sent a text to Chase and told him she would love to come, what time, and where.
She glanced at the time and was shocked it was so late. She never slept that late. She doubted that anyone would still be downstairs at breakfast. She tied her Chuck Taylors and trotted down the steps. She was right, there was no one around, but there were some fresh baked blueberry muffins on the sideboard and a few pieces of crispy bacon. Reagan munched on the bacon as she reached in the fridge to get a glass of milk. Her phone chirped with an incoming text. Chase responded with his address and that she should arrive as soon as possible. Reagan snagged three muffins and put them in a plastic bag, chugged her milk and left a note so her aunt would know where she went. She ran upstairs to get her keys and purse.
When she stepped into her room, she caught sight of her starfish necklace. It seemed like it was suspended in the air above her pillow against the headboard. What the hell? As she got closer, she saw that it was caught up on the carving of the near post of the bed. She reached out and plucked it from where it was caught. That’s weird, she thought, I’m sure it wasn’t there when I made the bed. Her aunt and Cora Rose would say that Adelaide had put it there. Oh well, who was she to argue? Either way, she was happy to have her necklace back. She settled it around her neck, tying a makeshift knot where the other had come untied. She felt a warmth fill her body as the starfish made contact with her flesh. Somewhere in the bowels of the house, the cat howled.
Reagan pun
ched the address that Chase gave her into her phone, allowing the GPS to take over. She put her car in reverse and started to back out the drive. Willow came out of the barn, Wiley sulking behind her. Her aunt raised her hand in a stop gesture, so Reagan put the car in park and stepped out of the car.
“Hey Willow, I left you a note. I’m heading over to Chase’s house. His mom is making some soap today, and I’m going to watch.”
“That’s fine. Give Emma my regards.”
“I assume that’s Chase’s mom,” said Reagan
“Yes, it is. Tell her I will call her in a couple of days to let her know when I’m headed to Baltimore.”
“Will do. I’ll see you later,” Willow waved her hand absently in reply. Reagan heard her aunt addressing the dog as she got into the car and put it in reverse.
“What’s gotten in to you today? Why are you all mopey and cranky?” Wiley barely wagged his tail. His ears slid down his head, and he looked miserable. Willow stopped walking and looked intently at the dog. She put her hand under his chin and raised his face, looking in his eyes. Then she looked after Reagan’s car as it pulled down the driveway. Willow walked back into the barn with a thoughtful look on her face.
Reagan listened to the turn by turn directions from her cell phone as she headed to Chase’s. She was a little apprehensive meeting his mom. She had only met a few of the adults in this strange community, and most of them were definitely odd. She had a feeling that a soap making herbalist would be no different. Fifteen minutes later, she pulled into the driveway of an old stone cottage nestled on the edge of a cranberry bog. A large sable and white collie ambled up to the car, greeting Reagan with a kind, trusting look.
The Starfish Talisman Page 11
