Jekyll Island
Book 5 in Taryn’s Camera
By
Rebecca Patrick-Howard
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“Death, thou art but another birth,
freeing the spirit from the
clogs of earth”
“there shall be no night there; and they need no candle, neither light of the sun; for the Lord God giveth them light: and they shall reign for ever and ever”
Contents
Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
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Copyright
Preface
The darkness closed in around her, thick and alive. There were things in the dark, no matter what Nanny and Papa said. She could hear them and feel them, just as plainly as she could hear her raspy breath and feel the coarse cotton of her nightgown against her skin, tender from her bath.
With tears sliding down her cheeks one big drop at a time she drew herself into a tight little ball, her arms wrapped securely around her knees, hugging them to her chest. Her damp hair fell in long curls that almost touched the floor. Why had she put up such a fuss when Nanny tried to comb her hair? Why hadn’t she just cried and let it be over?
She was a big girl, nine years old, but she yearned for her doll like a little baby. Her daddy had brought it back with him on a trip and since her mommy died it was her closest friend. But now Esmerelda was waiting for her on her bed, just as alone as she was.
She hoped she wasn’t scared.
Rocking back and forth now, she tried not to whimper, to let Nanny know that she was upset. I’ll be good, I’ll be good, she sang silently to herself, trying to block out the noises she was sure she could hear around her.
When something soft brushed against her cheek, she shrieked and a tiny amount of water flowed out of her. Ashamed at soiling herself, she mopped it up with the edge of her nightgown and then clutched her bony knees so hard her arms hurt.
She’d tried opening the door but it was locked, of course. Nanny had the key and she could see clear through the little hole to her bedroom on the other side. It was aglow from the lamp by her bedside, but the oil was burning out. If Nanny didn’t return soon, it would burn out and then it would be dark. The thought terrified her and she shook harder, willing herself not to pass water again.
To make the bad things go away she closed her eyes and imagined a beautiful, soft-spoken woman at her side. Maybe it was her mommy but it was hard to see her face. She had a hard time remembering her mommy’s face these days. The woman pulled her close, stroked her hair, and dried her cheeks. “I’m so sorry my darling,” she murmured, the warmness of her chasing away the cold of the tiny room. “There, there.”
She snuggled into the imaginary woman and sighed, tears of another kind gathering in her eyes. But then the small glow of light filtering through the keyhole vanished as the wick burnt out in her bedroom. Left in total blackness, she stood and thrashed against the heavy door, her small body barely making a sound. “Let me out,” she cried. “Please! Let me out!”
The darkness offered no mercy.
Chapter 1
Jekyll Island shimmered before her–a sparkling diamond in the afternoon sun.
Although she didn’t know it yet, Taryn was driving towards something that had been calling to her and waiting for most of her life.
Thirty-one-year-old Taryn had not been on a real vacation in years. Technically, she thought as she turned onto the causeway that would take her to the entrance gates, she wasn’t on one now either. It was a “working vacation.” But she was willing to overlook the “working” part and try to focus on the “vacation” aspect as much as she could.
Now, as she cruised over the tallest bridge she’d ever seen, she clutched the steering wheel until her knuckles were white (bridges scared her for no rational reason). At last, she allowed herself to feel the faintest dashes of excitement.
This is going to be good, she thought to herself, and just what I need.
Her heart pounded wildly in her chest and the flurry of nerves that led to self-doubt and always accompanied her at the start of every of job threatened to take over. She ignored these things and tried to focus on the view before her.
The sky had poured buckets down on her earlier and now the marshes spread out below her, a patchwork of brilliant greens and dazzling browns still fresh from the early summer rainstorm. The canals of water that snaked between the grassy patches of land flashed in the sunlight and Taryn felt herself softening.
“Someday I’m going to come to a place like this and paint for fun,” she promised herself aloud, “and not just to paint for work.”
Taryn hadn’t expected the level plains to be flourishing with such vibrant displays of color. After spending most of the past year amongst the rolling hills and dense forests of northern Georgia and central Kentucky, she’d thought she’d find the low country geography boring and uninspiring. However, with the shrimp boats dotting the river, the enormity of the lush vegetation, and the bright blue expanse of sky above her, she had to admit the scenery was anything but dreary.
She wasn’t one who normally enjoyed driving with the windows rolled down. She didn’t like her long red hair whipping her in the face, the sound of the other cars whizzing by, and the reek of exhaust fumes. But now she felt the occasion called for it.
Rolling them down as far as they would go, Taryn reveled in the warm salt air and sunshine that poured through the car. With nervous butterflies still coursing through her stomach, but with new excited anticipation, she flipped through the radio channels and found a classic country station. Turning Steve Earle’s “Copperhead Road” up as much as her ancient speakers would allow, she sailed onwards across the Sidney Lanier Bridge in total contentment.
With the sun in her eyes, the soft breeze drifting in around her, and the steady thump of the music Taryn was oblivious to the long, dark shadows that followed behind, reaching.
Ellen Russo was, by far, one of the most formidable women Taryn had ever met.
Taryn’s new boss (at least for the time being) stood on the steps of the Jekyll Island Club Hotel, clipboard in hand, with something akin to impatience flashing in her eyes. Her steel-gray hair was tucked into a prim bun and her Merle Norman makeup was almost professional looking, making her sixty-three years youthful.
Taryn was impressed by the hotel manager at once, not because of her no-nonsense appearance and attitude but because she wore a tailored business suit, complete with jacket, and seemed to be as fresh as a daisy. Taryn, on the other hand, wore a sleeveless top and cotton shorts and was sweating through b
oth. She cursed herself for not stopping and changing at the gas station she’d passed and just hoped the sweat wasn’t showing through her bottoms.
“Glad you arrived in one piece,” Ellen declared, although Taryn didn’t miss the fact that she made a subtle point of glancing at her wristwatch.
“The drive took longer than I expected,” Taryn apologized, shifting her weight from one foot to the other in nervousness. “I ran into some heavy traffic around Atlanta.”
“Everyone does,” Ellen agreed. “Amy, my assistant, isn’t here today and I just don’t have time to give you a tour of the hotel and historic sites. She’ll be here tomorrow in any case and will be available then. In the meantime, I’m sure you’re exhausted and want to freshen up.”
“Freshen up” was one way of putting it, Taryn cringed with an embarrassed smile. She knew she reeked. She didn’t travel well. No matter how well she started out on the journey, she always arrived with limp hair, bloated from road food, wrinkled, and smelly.
With a slight wave of her hand Ellen gestured to the valet stand at the top of the stairs. A young, eager-looking young man jogged over and offered a mega-watt grin.
“This is Steve. He’s going to help us travel to your lodgings. Unfortunately, we don’t have room for you at the hotel. Since this is our busiest season all our rooms are fully booked. We do own quite a few houses here on the island, though, and rent them out. I have you staying in a small one, but I still think you’ll be more comfortable there. It will give you room to spread out with all of your…supplies.”
Taryn nodded. She did have a lot of “supplies”–a plastic tub with her paints and brushes, her laptop, a portfolio case for her canvases, and her collapsible stool and easel. And, of course, her camera.
She didn’t mind the house, though. Although she was curious about staying in the gorgeous historic hotel that smacked of southern gentility in a moonlight and magnolias kind of way, she also enjoyed having her own space. Her apartment back in Nashville was cramped and dark, and the elevator and hallways always smelled like burnt cheese.
“Steve will drive your vehicle over and I’ll transport you with mine. That way I’ll be able to give you a mini tour on the way,” Ellen said in a flat, accentless voice.
Taryn winced, remembering the candy wrappers and fast food cartons littering her floorboards and passenger seat. Steve smiled at her and winked, though, and she relaxed. He was, after all, a valet. He’d probably seen worse.
Taryn soon found herself speeding down the sidewalk in a quiet golf cart with Ellen at the wheel. While Ellen rattled off a condensed version of the island’s history, Taryn was able to take in the tourists. They ranged from senior vacationers with huge cameras slung around their necks to bored teenagers poking on iPhones and frazzled parents chasing laughing toddlers.
The historic hotel’s grounds looked like a small village, with the multiple “cottages” (bigger than most modern McMansions) boasting names like “Chicota” and “Hollybourne.” There were thirty-three historic buildings in all. The hotel itself was on the National Register of Historic Places. Once upon a time, some of the richest men in the country had built those houses and vacationed on the island, using it as a hunting club and resort where they could be tucked away from the prying eyes of the public. Original members of the Jekyll Island Club included famous men such as J.P. Morgan, William Rockefeller, Joseph Pulitzer, Marshall Field, William Vanderbilt, and dozens more that Taryn didn’t recognize but were surely important and wealthy men of their time.
“The grounds are lovely, as you can see,” Ellen lectured as she turned onto a road and picked up speed. “We take great pride in them. I’m sure, given your line of work, you’ll appreciate all the history we have and can enjoy your time here when you’re not working.”
“Yes, I’m very excited about being here,” Taryn agreed.
As a landscape artist, Taryn’s clients hired her when they had houses or other structures that were in poor condition and were either going to be demolished or renovated. Taryn was not only skilled with a paintbrush in an artistic sense–her degrees in Historic Preservation and Art allowed her to reconstruct the often derelict buildings so that her clients could view them in their former glory. Taryn’s paintings were often the only representation they had of what their beloved structures had looked like when they were first erected, especially since the majority of them were built before the rise of the camera.
Delicate, gray Spanish moss balanced with ease above them as it stretched across the spindly tree branches, dangling down to gently brush the top of the golf cart as they hurried on their way. Taryn decided that everything looked better swathed in the ghostly tendrils. She itched to bring out her camera, Miss Dixie, and start taking photos right away.
Everything looked like a post card.
They zipped by a slow-moving horse and wagon carrying an Asian family who appeared as enthralled as she felt. She saw people of all ages, shapes, and sizes leisurely riding bikes down leafy sidewalks, small children wearing colorful helmets and struggling with cumbersome training wheels while parents cheered encouragement from their own bikes.
It was an amazingly peaceful setting and Taryn’s blood ran warm with pleasure.
When she and Ellen pulled up in front of a small, but well-maintained, brick ranch house she saw that Steve was already there with her car. He stood by the edge of the road, lighting up a cigarette and looking up at the sky, her keys jingling in his hand.
Taryn bounced out and took stock of her temporary home for the summer. The yard, though shadowed by a live oak and a couple of pine trees, was lush and full of color from the soft green of the grass to the pastels of the flowers that spilled from ceramic pots on the front porch. There were houses on either side, but neither were very close and both had fenced in backyards for added privacy. Although the house was only a few yards from the road, a thicket of trees in the back gave it the appearance of being nestled in a forest. Another golf cart drove by but the road was otherwise empty.
Taryn, worn out from apartment living, was thrilled at the idea of having a house again, even if it wasn’t really hers and it was just for a little while.
“You’ll have enough in here to get you through the first few nights, supply-wise,” Ellen intoned, handing Taryn the house key. “There should be enough dishwashing liquid, detergent, bathroom tissue, and the like.”
“Where’s the nearest supermarket?” Taryn asked. The island wasn’t very big and she hadn’t passed a store coming in.
“Well, there’s not one on the island. The gas station has a few odds and ends you might be able to use but most people travel to Brunswick. You’ll find your chain groceries there.”
Taryn was taken aback. Brunswick was a bit of a drive and it wasn’t like the island wasn’t developed. People lived there as well as visited. Surely it could’ve supported a supermarket?
Ellen must have read Taryn’s mind because she let loose her first peal of laughter. “I know it seems a little archaic, but we try to keep the island as unspoiled as we can. Don’t let some of the condos and new developments fool you. Only a small percentage of the island can be developed; the rest must be maintained as wilderness. So you won’t find many restaurants or shops here.”
“Well, that’s okay,” Taryn shrugged. “I’ve worked in all kinds of different places and I don’t mind the drive.” Actually, now that she thought about it, she thought it sounded kind of nice. Not quite roughing it but not as commercial as some of the vacation spots she’d seen.
“I’m going to send a golf cart for your disposal tomorrow but you also have a bicycle in the garage. Many people here prefer bike as a method of transport and our bike paths cover most of the island. They’re working on expanding the paths on the southern part now.”
Taryn groaned inwardly. It had been years since she’d last ridden a bike. She was sure she’d make a fool of herself trying to get on one now. But, as a kid she’d loved it and she could certainly use the exerci
se after all the fast food she’d consumed on the ride down. She’d give it a go.
“When you’re not working you’ll have plenty of spare time and you might want to check out our beaches. Our beaches are some of the best on the Atlantic,” Ellen boasted. “South Dunes is centrally located and has shower and restroom facilities. It has a dune ridge that’s more than twenty feet. Very impressive. Driftwood Beach is, by far, one of the most beautiful places in Georgia. And then there’s Glory Beach.”
“Where the movie was filmed?” Taryn offered.
Ellen nodded.
“Just please be careful of the turtles. It’s against the law to disturb their nests. You’ll also want to be wary of the fire ants. They’re faster than they look–step in a nest and they’ll be crawling up your legs in a matter of seconds. You’ll never forget their stings.”
“Fire ants and sea turtles,” Taryn echoed. “Got it.”
“And as long as you’re not on the golf course you shouldn’t have any trouble with the gators, although they can wander away from their normal water source at times.”
“Excuse me?” Taryn balked, eyes wide. “Gators? As in alligators?”
“Oh yes, we’re very proud of them. They’re not to be worried over,” Ellen assured her. “They’re more afraid of you than you are of them.”
Ha, Taryn shuddered. Wanna bet?
A few minutes later Taryn watched Steve and her new boss dart away in Ellen’s little golf cart, her immaculate hair not even moving in the breeze.
“Lucky wench,” Taryn muttered, shaking her head in mock jealousy.
Hands on her hips, she stood in front of the small house and smiled, nodding her head.
“Well,” she whispered. “Here goes. Home sweet home.”
Chapter 2
Jekyll Island, as a hotel and club, might have been developed as a playground and retreat for the very wealthy but the island’s history was much older.
Jekyll Island: A Paranormal Mystery (Taryn's Camera Book 5) Page 1
