“I thought you were going out tonight.”
Taryn kicked her feet up in the air, making little circles with her toes. Was one leg longer than the other? Oh God! What was happening to her? Oh, never mind, she sighed with relief. Half her bottom was propped up on a pillow. “I did go out tonight. But I didn’t do my drinking there. I don’t drink and drive.”
“Well, that’s good,” Matt said, relief in his voice.
“Because that’s wrong.”
“Yes it is.”
“And dangerous,” she added.
“That’s right.”
“And it would be nice if you were here in my bed with me.”
“What?!” In her drunken state the squeak in his voice sent her into peals of laughter. She muffled them with her blanket, lest Delphina come back up to see what all the racket was again.
“I’m lonely. I didn’t realize how lonely I was until tonight. Did you know I haven’t slept with anyone since Andrew died?”
“No, I don’t believe it’s a topic that’s ever come up between us,” he sighed.
“That’s because you’re a prude. And I don’t mean sex. Because I’ve done that. I mean, I haven’t slept with anyone, like actually slept. I miss that. I think it’s why my nightmares are so bad. There’s people around me in motels but it’s not the same. It’s not like I can just go knock on their doors and ask them if I can get in bed with them,” she rambled. She decided to try to make another go of the Baileys and this time she made it all the way across the room to the bottle. Patting herself on the back for this, her triumph was short-lived when she couldn’t figure out how to pour the contents into her glass. Finally, she gave up and tilted the bottle back.
“I guess you could but it would be dangerous,” he agreed.
“And make me look slutty,” she nodded. “’Hey, would you please come and sleep with me?’”
“What?”
“No,” Taryn shook her head. “Not you. That’s what I’d have to say to them.”
“Oh.”
“Well, I meant that though. Would you come and sleep with me? Just crawl in bed with me for a little while? No funny business,” she said sternly. Then, on second thought, “Okay, maybe a little funny business.”
“This is probably a conversation we should have later,” Matt said drily. “When you know what you’re saying.”
“I’ll you know I have exactly what I’m saying,” she touted indignantly. “I mean, I’ll have you know I know exactly what I’m saying. Oh, you know what I mean. Are you turning me down?”
The Baileys was gone, her Jack was gone, and now she was rooting around the Chips Ahoy package looking for crumbs and stray chocolate pieces.
“Hey, now, I didn’t say that,” Matt admonished. “I just said we should talk–“
“Because I’m a very good snuggler. And I’m good at other things, too, you know,” she declared.
“I’m sure you are.”
“Aren’t you just a little bit curious?”
“Very; I am very curious.”
“Hmph.” With the last crumb gone she wadded up the package and tossed it across the room in the general direction of the garbage can. “Well, I guess I’ll go to sleep now. Good night.”
With that, she tossed her phone on her nightstand, stripped down to her bra and underwear, and slithered under the covers. She slept all night with her lamps and television on, but she didn’t wake up once.
Chapter 13
When Taryn hobbled down the stairs a little after noon with a queasy stomach and feeling more than a little fragile, she was pleasantly surprised to find Delphina in the kitchen, cooking what smelled like breakfast.
“I heard you walking around upstairs,” Delphina called over her shoulder. She was standing at the stove with sizzling sounds emanating from two different skillets. “I thought you might be hungry.”
“I’m starved, actually,” Taryn admitted, despite the warning rumble in her bowels. She’d spent the past hour in her tiny bathroom. “But you don’t have to do this. I can grab something on my way to the tavern.”
“I don’t mind,” Delphina sang. “It’s what I enjoy and I wasn’t doing anything else. Go find yourself a seat.”
Taryn sat down at the dining room table with its starched yellow tablecloth, matching plaid placemats, and salt and pepper shakers shaped like lighthouses. A plate of toast, apple butter and jelly on the side, was already waiting for her.
She’d managed to scarf down two pieces by the time Delphina brought the scrambled eggs, English muffin, sausage, and fried potatoes in. “Geeze,” she laughed. “You went to a lot of trouble.”
“No real trouble,” Delphina shrugged her small shoulders. “I had a difficult night myself. This kept me busy today and took my mind off things.”
“I’m not usually like that,” Taryn said after a few bites.
“Like what, dear?” Delphina was busying herself around the room with the pretense of sweeping and dusting but it appeared to Taryn as though she was simply going through the motions.
“Drunk.”
“Oh, that,” Delphina waved her hand in the air, her assortment of rings sparkling in the sunlight. “A little silliness from time to time is good for the soul.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I imagine you had a lot on your mind for you to think you needed to do it.”
Taryn nodded. “I guess I did. I guess I feel lonely.”
“It’s hard, isn’t it?” Delphina sighed. “Being a strong woman and then admitting that, as much as you’d like to, you really can’t do everything on your own.”
“Yes, it’s hard,” Taryn agreed. “I think I’m going to make some changes, though.”
She’d spent all morning, in between bouts of visiting the bathroom and lying back down on the bed to stare at Investigation Discovery (a marathon of missing people episodes) and had made an executive decision: She was going to call Jamie. She’d nearly forgotten about him but while cleaning out her jean pockets that morning his card fell out and she’d stared at the number for a long time. And why not call him? She could dig up more dirt, go horseback riding, and talk to someone. She was too embarrassed to call Matt, despite the fact he’d texted her three times that morning, and Daniel & Co. had their own things going on. Jamie was neutral. It was time she took another step in that direction anyway.
She called Jamie on the way to the tavern. If he was surprised to hear from her he didn’t show it. He did, however, sound happy which was a boost to her ego. She even laughed a few times on the phone, despite the fact her head and stomach were still soft. They agreed to meet on Friday. By the time she hung up the phone she was feeling quite a bit better so when she turned up the radio and heard “Glory Days” she cranked it up even louder and sang along in her off-key, flat voice. She would make this a good day. She had to. Enough of sitting around, feeling sorry for herself.
The sky was gloomy and slate-colored with the threat of rain by the time she reached the tavern. The breeze was still faint, though, and since there weren’t any sprinkles yet she set up her easel and got to work. She could always hightail it out of there in a hurry if it came down to it. She felt guilty, anyway, for getting such a late start.
“Sorry, dude,” she murmured to the canvas as she touched it with her brush. “I’ve been neglecting you.” And she was. She should’ve been a lot further along. She’d have to pull a few all-nighters and work in her room to get it completed on time. This playing Nancy Drew bit was getting in the way of her work. As a professional, she was embarrassed by this. She was always invested in her paintings, and in the houses and structures she worked with, but never to this extent. Now she was more concerned with solving a mystery (a mystery that might not even exist since she was the only one seeing anything) than doing her job. That had to stop. She needed to finish up, move on, and find something else. The tavern would go on without her. Or it wouldn’t. Either way, it shouldn’t be her concern.
Of course, it woul
d break her heart if it got torn down.
When the first big splatters of rain landed on her head she quickly threw a sheet of plastic over her paints and moved her canvas to the car, protecting it first before going back to collect the paints, along with her easel and brushes.
By the time she loaded the last of it in the trunk the rain was coming down in torrents. Her feet were wet and muddy, thanks to her sandals, and she could barely see through her dripping hair that hung in chunks around her face. She’d have to peel her jeans off; they were plastered to her body. It was a cold rain, too, and chilled her to the bone. She was looking forward to getting back to her room, drying off, and curling up in the bed and watching more trashy TV for the rest of the day. But she was also glad she’d dragged herself out and worked, even if it was only for an hour.
Taryn was all the way in the car with the engine on and her foot on the brake when she noticed the glittering in a downstairs window of the tavern. At first she thought it was a trick of the light, or maybe even a brief flash of lightning, but when it happened a second time she knew it wasn’t. It was a light, a faint one, and it was slowly moving back and forth. Squinting her eyes, she peered forward and tried to see clearly through the rain drops. Was it a flashlight? Was someone in there? She didn’t think so. There weren’t any cars around and unless someone had parked very far away and walked, which was possible, she didn’t know where they would’ve come from. She’d been there for at least an hour and hadn’t seen anyone coming or going.
Against what she knew was her better judgment, she turned the engine off, pocketed the keys, and trudged back out in the wet towards the tavern.
Fog was beginning to close in now, creating a barrier between the property and the highway. She could almost imagine she was isolated, shut off from the rest of the world. Inside the house, the only sound resonating through the walls was the splash of rain against the windows and what was left of the roof. It smelled damp, a different kind of scent than what she was used to there. Normally, the tavern carried a dry, dusty scent. She worried if something didn’t happen soon, the whole building was going to collapse. Then she remembered that if something didn’t happen soon the whole building was just going to be torn down anyway. A little rain wouldn’t make a difference.
The overcast skies made the house even darker than usual, but she’d brought her flashlight back with her. With the added light she was able to examine the multiple layers of wallpaper in the parlor (six, as far as she could count) and see the scuffs on the floors a little better (left over from boots a century before or from moving furniture ten years ago, she couldn’t be sure) but with the house devoid of furniture there wasn’t much to poke around in.
She tried reasoning with the walls as she walked around them. “You’re going to have to give me a little more to work with,” she sighed in Permelia’s room. “I’m kind of starting to think this is all in my head or you’re just haunting me. Maybe you ARE just a regular old, pardon the word dear, ghost and I’ve made this out to be much more than it is. But I feel like you want something. If you didn’t, then why do you keep bothering me?”
The house was silent. She took a few experimental shots with Miss Dixie, but the images came back ordinary. There may have been an orb in one of them, or perhaps it was just dust; she couldn’t be sure. There definitely wasn’t some ghostly image of a woman emerging from a wardrobe, bed, or any other piece of furniture no longer there.
“Can we make a deal then?” she continued as she started back down the stairs. “If you don’t need anything can you just back off a little bit? I wouldn’t mind sleeping or not feeling like someone or something was staring at me every few minutes. A girl’s gotta have some privacy, you–“
The words were barely out of her mouth when a force so powerful she’d have bruises later shoved her and sent her flying. She was only two stairs from the ground, but the floor reached out to her at such a dizzying speed she was sure she’d sink right through it. With a shriek she flipped Miss Dixie over her shoulder and braced for impact. When she hit with a “thud” her right forearm grazed the rough pine floors and her legs twisted at an awkward angle under her. She lay there for a second, feeling blood starting to ooze out of her arm, and gently stretched her legs to make sure nothing was broken or sprained. Since she could wiggle her toes, she assumed everything was okay. But, damn it, she was going to be in pain tomorrow.
“Now what the hell was that?” she muttered, attempting to scramble to her feet. She was afraid to look behind her, afraid the set of eyes she could feel would turn out to be real and attached to something hideous and unimaginable.
Slowly, the wall next to her began to shudder. It was gentle at first and then made a grumbling noise as though it hadn’t been fed in a very long time. On her hands and knees, she backed up to the wall behind her and felt her way to safety, ignoring the pain in her arm and legs. The bead board trembled and then, with what sounded like a long sigh of frustration, popped. The wall opened.
Only, it wasn’t a wall. It was a door.
The door was tiny, only about two feet high. There was no handle. It was carved so perfectly into the wall it was no wonder she’d missed it. Taryn covered her eyes with her scraped hands and held her breath, certain something would jump out at her or try to drag her in. She’d seen far too many horror movies that had done the very same. Unfortunately, she was too terrified to actually move and run, turning her into one of those big-breasted bimbos who are constantly running up the stairs when they should be running out the back door.
When a few seconds went by without any further action, however, she opened her fingers and peered through them. Aside from it being deathly quiet (she couldn’t even hear the rain anymore) she saw nothing menacing. She was simply sitting at the bottom of an old staircase, with a small door open in front of her that probably hadn’t been undone in years.
Still not completely at ease, she removed her flashlight and aimed its beam at the entrance. The door wasn’t open wide enough to see all the way inside so she stretched out her foot and gave it a kick, ready to spring up and run if anything (dead or otherwise) came out at her. It opened with a deliberate moan that made her jump a little, but when nothing else happened she released a sigh of relief.
With her flashlight she was able to see three of the walls. It wasn’t a big room, she calculated; maybe three feet by three feet at most. Just a storage room. It was dark and dusty, but empty. With slightly more courage now, she waddled towards it on a crouch and peered inside. There were a few ugly looking spiders and an old boot but the room was otherwise vacant. No dead bodies, no vagrant hiding out and ready to pounce on her, no pot of gold.
Taryn was disappointed.
Standing up and dusting her jeans off, she gave the little door a slight push and looked back up the stairs. On the stair she’d tripped on she saw a small stick. Maybe she’d tripped on it. And the vibration had caused the door to open. She was losing her mind. There wasn’t anything paranormal here at all.
Taryn’s phone made the “dun dun dun” of “Law and Order,” signifying a text from Matt. She’d been avoiding his calls and texts all day. Still embarrassed from her drunken phone call the night before, she still wasn’t ready to explain herself and was too uncomfortable to pretend like she hadn’t said anything at all. Matt wasn’t a drinker, except for the occasional glass of wine at supper, and he’d never known the thrill, and sometimes later mortification, of being drunk and letting your tongue run loose. Matt liked to be in control of his words and thoughts at all times. Intoxication was one of his worst fears. Taryn felt that was kind of a shame. Some of the fondest times she couldn’t remember involved alcohol.
Sinking into the bubble bath, though, and loosening up a bit after the dampness and disappointment of most of the day helped. She had to answer him back. He wouldn’t give up.
Slipping her hand out of the water, she dried it off and read what he wrote: “Me and Charlie Talkin.’”
With a laugh
bubbling in her throat, she laid the phone back down on a towel and closed her eyes, trying to think of an adequate response. When all else failed, they used songs to communicate with one another. This one, by Miranda Lambert, was about a boy and girl who met at a young age and started up a puppy love. She and Matt met when they were children; she didn’t know about treating their love like fireflies but they’d certainly caught enough together. It was just another reminder that their friendship went back a long ways. It was no good to ignore it or him.
Biting her lip, she picked her phone up and typed back: “Feed Jake.”
A few seconds later, the phone rang. Before she had the chance to say anything Matt snorted, “Either you’re comparing me to a dog or you’re putting an imaginary one above me.”
“I thought you liked that song. And the video was about two guys who were friends all their lives,” she pointed out.
“You know I didn’t have cable until I was a teenager.”
“Good point,” she conceded. “But still, it’s never wrong to bring up Pirates of the Mississippi.”
“So…you drunk called me last night and now you’re too embarrassed to talk to me, right?”
Chewing on her lip she stared at the tiles on the bathroom wall. Delphina, or someone, had taken the time to hand stamp all of them with purple irises. It was pretty. Made her miss having a place she could decorate. “Yes, I guess so. Sorry about that.”
“Don’t worry about it. You’ve said worse.”
It was true.
“Besides,” he said, seriously for him, “I enjoyed it.”
Well, that was different.
“I’ll have to do it again sometime. I aim to please,” she replied cheerfully.
“So do I, Taryn. You have no idea.”
Now it was her turn to blush. Moving right along…”I was at the tavern today. Something pushed me down the stairs. Or else I tripped. It’s hard to say. I thought something pushed me at first but then I found this stick…Anyway. A door opened to this little room, but it was empty.”
Griffith Tavern (Taryn's Camera Book 2) Page 13
