In spite of the timid fear creeping up her spine, Taryn was riveted and more than a little jealous. Whoever had been there was having a jolly time of it. Taryn was almost certain she could make out the clinking of glasses, the scent of cigar smoke, and the sound of dancing feet. She’d never been to a party that sounded as much fun as this one. Most of the parties Taryn was invited to found her hanging out at the buffet or hidden in a corner, hoping someone would talk to her.
For a moment Taryn closed her eyes and allowed herself to forget the fact that they’d been dead for a long, long time and were no longer in that house celebrating. She imagined herself with them, in an old-fashioned party dress, standing in the middle of the room with a dashing stranger. She saw herself touching his upper arm and patting her hair in flirtation as her face blushed prettily from his flattery. She felt herself spinning around the room in a frenzy, dancing until her feet ached. Singing along with the tune and raising her glass up in the air when the others did, cheering and stomping her feet.
Oh, if only she could actually be there and see it.
When the music and laughter stopped Taryn was back on the grass, wet and cold. She was a drowned rat, her clothes and hair stuck to her body. The house was silent and sad, gazing at her with the same longing she felt.
Walking away with her head bent down from the rain, Taryn sighed with regret. Sometimes her “gift” was just cruel.
Carla was busy wiping down the kitchen cabinets when Taryn dripped her way through the front door. Feeling instantly guilty for dirtying up Carla’s clean floors, she all but stripped right there in the foyer, grabbing an afghan off the back of the couch and wrapping it around her chest as a makeshift robe.
“Hi Carla!” she cried, not wanting to scare her in case she had her earbuds in. “Just letting you know I’m in here!”
“Okay Taryn!” Carla called back. “I’m in the kitchen! Watch your step!”
Taryn placed Miss Dixie on the coffee table and removed the memory card, ready to insert it into the laptop. At the last second, however, she realized she couldn’t just walk around nearly naked with someone else in the house. Some people didn’t appreciate that. She laid the memory card down in a garish leaf-shaped dish next to her camera and then went on into the bedroom where she shrugged into a pair of yoga pants and a ratty T-shirt. After running a towel through her hair and slipping on some fluffy socks for her perpetually cold feet, Taryn headed to the kitchen where Carla had stopped mopping and was now washing down the refrigerator.
Carla was cleaning in time to the music, Cyndi Lauper’s “I Drove All Night,” and Taryn admired the way she sang along with the words with gusto, not caring that her flat and off-key voice filled the room and could be heard by others.
“Hey,” Taryn said, hating to interrupt her but really needing to pull out a drink.
“Oh, sorry,” Carla apologized as she turned down the song. “You need something?”
“Yeah, just a drink. I can come back in a minute though if you’re not finished.”
“Nope, all done here. I’ll move on to the living room.”
“Really sorry about the living room floors,” Taryn called out to the other room. She could hear Carla in there, moving furniture around and sweeping. “I tried to be careful.”
“No problem! I hadn’t cleaned them yet!”
When Taryn moved back to the living room Carla was dusting the coffee table, taking care around Taryn’s laptop and Miss Dixie. “Did you get rained out?” she asked.
“Yep.” Taryn flopped down in a chair and stretched her legs out over the arms. “Got a little bit done today, though, before the skies opened up. Hey!” Taryn leaned forward and studied Carla’s bottom half with interest.
“Yeah?” Startled, Carla stopped moving, her dust rag and polish paused mid-air. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, it’s fine. It’s just…are those Se7ven for All Mankind Jeans?” Taryn asked. Then consciously aware that she was staring at another woman’s bottom, she blushed and averted her eyes.
“Yes, they’re new,” Carla replied with pride, doing a slow turn in the middle of the room. She didn’t seem to mind showing them off a bit. “I just got them yesterday.”
“Man, I love those jeans. I have one pair my boyfriend bought me for Christmas three years ago. I’ve about worn them out,” Taryn sighed blissfully. “Those fit better than any jeans I’ve ever had.”
“I love them too,” Carla agreed. “I, um, had payday yesterday so I splurged.”
Taryn nodded her head in approval. “I don’t blame you. I mostly get mine at yard sales and thrift stores anymore. I haven’t been on a real shopping spree in years.”
Carla laughed. “Girlfriend, I know what you mean. It was a good payday for once. Some, um, overtime and stuff.”
Must’ve been some overtime, Taryn thought in amusement. She knew from personal experience that those jeans could cost anywhere from $150 to nearly $300. Still, Taryn couldn’t talk. Back in college when she got her first credit card the first thing she’d done was race to Burlington Coat Factory and put $500 worth of clothing in layaway for herself. All the other college students at her university were wearing nothing but what she deemed “young professional CEO” (which basically meant straight black attire–not color) and she’d stood out like a sore thumb in her pink, frilly Betsey Johnson dresses and red cowboy boots with vintage skirts and rhinestones. She’d still rather buy clothes she couldn’t afford than pay a bill.
“So have things gotten better since finding the snake?” Carla asked, breaking Taryn’s thoughts. She’d left the room for a moment and was back with a laundry basket now, busying herself with the folding of the pillow cases and towels.
“Here, let me help with that,” Taryn scolded her, leaping to her feet. She still wasn’t comfortable with someone else doing her housework while she sat there and watched. Grabbing a fluffy towel, Taryn began folding under Carla’s scrutiny. “Yeah, a lot better. Thanks.”
“I think I’d a died if it would’a been me that grabbed hold of that snake,” Carla swore. “Damn! I hate those things.”
“Me too,” Taryn agreed. “I don’t do snakes. Or Bees.” She’d started to add “or alligators” but then remembered that she hadn’t talked to anyone about that besides David and Matt. David had called her twice that morning to check on her, but she hadn’t returned his call yet. First it was because Matt was still there and then it was because she was trying to get stuff loaded up in the rain. The timing still didn’t feel right.
“Well, all your time here hasn’t been bad has it?” Carla asked, eyeing her carefully over a fitted sheet.
Taryn watched in fascination as the other woman quickly folded it like an expert and then put it aside.
“Huh,” Taryn said in complete admiration. “I’ve never actually known anyone who could do that, other than my middle school Home Ec. teacher.”
“I’ve been told it’s a talent,” Carla replied drily.
“To answer your question, most of my time here has been great.”
“No other problems?”
Taryn, taken aback, tried to make her face impassive. “Nope. So far so good.”
“Huh,” she grunted in response.
The dishwasher stopped then, the timer making both women jump. “I’ll get it,” Taryn said.
As she unloaded it and listened to Carla put the linens away her mind raced with possibilities. Did her housekeeper know more than she was saying? Or was she just turning into a paranoid freak? She remembered what Matt said, about not trusting anyone but she didn’t want to be that suspicious. She had to trust someone sometime, right?
By the time she had the last plate put away Carla was rolling the vacuum cleaner into the small hall closet.
“Alright,” she chirped as Taryn re-entered the living room. “All done for the day. Thanks for helping!”
“I appreciate everything you do here,” Taryn said warmly. It was on the tip of her tongue to invite her to stay an
d hang out or catch a movie with her later. She couldn’t very well complain about not having friends or being lonely if she didn’t make an effort, right? But the words just wouldn’t form on her tongue.
Instead, when Carla said her goodbyes and sailed out the door, Taryn stood in the center of the room and allowed her shoulders to slump in defeat. “Damn it,” she muttered. “Can’t I at least even try to make a friend?”
Oh well. At least she could work.
Sighing in resignation, Taryn reached down to pick up her laptop and memory card and head out to the sunporch where she could see her lush backyard yet still be protected from the rain.
Her laptop was still on the glass-topped table, a thin line of dust under it where Carla had refused to move the device and had, instead, cleaned around it. Miss Dixie was nestled up against it, a little battered and beaten but still comforting–an old friend. However, the leaf-shaped dish where Taryn was certain she’d placed her 8 GB memory card was empty.
The memory card, holding at least six-hundred photographs she’d taken on the island so far, was gone.
Chapter 17
“Are you absolutely sure you left it on the coffee table?”
“Oh for crying out loud Matt, I know where I put the blasted thing,” Taryn complained as she rushed around the bedroom, digging under piles of clothes and throwing things aside. She was trying to find her favorite army fatigue capris. They were alluding her at the present time and she wasn’t in the mood for their nonsense.
“It’s just that sometimes your memory isn’t as great as it used to be, not since the EDS has started to–“
“Well, we can’t blame everything on the EDS,” she snapped, cutting him off.
On all fours, she wiggled under the bed and reached out her hand towards a crumpled object just out of her reach.
Damn it, she muttered to herself.
Changing tactics, she turned around, slid her bottom half under the bed, and then felt for it with her toe. When the fabric touched her feet she clenched as hard as she could and then pulled herself back out.
“Ah ha!” she cried triumphantly, waving the capris in the air like a trophy. They were wrinkled but they would do.
“What are you doing?” Matt asked in amusement.
“Packing,” she answered. “Amy’s picking me up in half an hour.”
“Well, I won’t keep you,” Matt said, all business-like again. “I just wanted to call and tell you to check your email when you have time. I found something during my sleuthing that you might be interested in.”
“Oh yeah? What is it?”
Taryn put Matt on speaker while she quickly plaited her hair into two long braids and dashed on blush and lipstick before throwing them into her carry-on case. Since she’d only be gone for one night she was only taking one bag. He would’ve been proud of her if he could’ve seen her.
“Well, I’ve been thinking about that story that woman you met in the water told you. You know, the story about the secret meeting?”
Taryn nodded, even though he couldn’t see through the phone. “Yep. I know the one.”
“Well, it might not have jumpstarted the sinking of the Titanic or anything but apparently the rumor itself is true enough,” Matt said. “I’ve done a lot of reading about it since I got home yesterday evening. Didn’t even go to bed last night. I missed you.”
He said this last part shyly and Taryn blushed. Their goodbye always felt so rushed, and so sad. She wasn’t sure why, but each time they parted she always felt as though this time it was going to be the last, even when they made future plans as they were leaving.
“I missed you too,” she agreed. “It was hard to sleep last night.”
It had been, too. She’d tossed and turned until she’d finally just passed out rather than fallen asleep.
“So about this meeting…” he tried again.
“Yeah?”
“Well, I know you’re in a hurry to get packed and out there. I sent you some links and highlights. Just check them out. I think you’ll find them all interesting,” he concluded.
“So are you now thinking that maybe there was some sort of conspiracy on the island? That maybe William wasn’t guilty and he was just a red herring, sort of?”
A glance at the clock on the wall told her Amy would be there in ten minutes and Taryn wasn’t even dressed yet. With the phone still resting on the bathroom sink, she tugged the capris up around her waist and was startled to find that not only did they fasten easily, she had some extra finger room in the waistband. Normally they were so tight on her that she had to lay on the bed and do a little dance to pull them on. She really needed to do something about her nausea and vomiting–not that she minded losing a few pounds. After all, she was still a woman.
“I don’t know,” Matt hedged. “It may not have anything to do with your story at all. Perhaps just a coincidence. It’s worth looking into, though. You know who was in charge of hosting the big cloak and dagger scene?”
“No, who?”
“Georgiana’s father,” Matt answered smugly, pleased to supply her with information she hadn’t yet uncovered.
“Oh,” Taryn replied in a daze, leaning back against the tiles. “Well. That’s very interesting.”
“I thought you’d appreciate that.”
The doorbell rang just then and Taryn slipped her cotton T-shirt down over her head. “Sorry Matty but I gotta go,” she said. “I’ll call you when I get there or before if there’s a delay.”
“Okey dokey,” he sang. “Safe travels, sayonara, be well my queen, and I love you.”
“You too,” she threw in quickly and then stuck the phone in her pocket and grabbed her carry-on. It was going to be a long day.
“You have to pardon my driving,” Amy warned her. “My boyfriend says I drive like a crazy woman.”
Taryn, who white-knuckled her door handle, grimaced. “You’re fine,” she said through clenched teeth.
Oh dear God, she silently prayed, please let us make it to the airport alive. “I appreciate you giving me a ride up here,” Taryn said aloud instead.
“I normally only work half a day on Tuesdays so this worked out well for me,” Amy continued, her cap of blond hair blowing back from her face. She had the window of her Buick LeSabre all the way down, her tanned arm holding a cigarette and resting on the doorframe.
“My flight doesn’t get back until tomorrow night at about 11:00 pm,” she apologized. “If you want to I can stay at a hotel and then just ride back to the island with you the next morning.”
“It’s okay,” Amy shrugged. “I’ll pick you up and just stay with my boyfriend that night. He lives in Brunswick. I stay with him a lot anyway. We have some friends who rent out a warehouse space and we like to jam with them. You know punkgrass?”
Taryn nodded that she did but had very little to add. She didn’t know any of the groups, except for The Tillers, and unlike most musical genres it wasn’t something she was familiar with and felt comfortable discussing.
With Amy’s vintage capris, man’s western shirt, handmade necklace and earrings, and designer purse Taryn felt like she might be out of her league. In high school it had been the cheerleaders, rich girls, and football players who she’d had to compete with for popularity. As an adult, those seemed to be replaced by the hipsters. It was odd to her that these adults seemed to wear the same clothes she did, have similar musical tastes, were oftentimes artists such as herself, enjoyed old movies, and yet still seemed to live on an entirely different planet from her.
“So how did you wind up working at the hotel?” Taryn asked, hoping to take her mind off her nerves. Amy tailgated and then quickly passed the cars she rode on, paying no mind to whether she was passing them on the left or right as she erratically swerved all over her side of the interstate.
“I worked at a gift shop for awhile,” Amy shrugged. “The pay sucked and I wanted something better so when the assistant job came open I applied. I had good references.”
“Do you like it?”
Amy snorted. “I have a degree in Hospitality Management, which is more than I can say for my boss. I don’t dislike it, but it’s a pain in the ass working for her. And the pay is shitty.”
Taryn heard that a lot, regardless of company or position. It didn’t seem like anyone was getting paid enough anymore, whatever “enough” actually was.
“I’m sorry,” Taryn offered sympathetically.
“So what do you think about our resident ghosts?” Amy asked and then followed the question with an immediate, “Fucking asshole!”
Taryn jumped, startled, and then realized Amy was screaming at the car in front of them who had slowed down to a turtle-like 85mph. When Amy laid on her horn for several seconds and continued to rage obscenities Taryn winced and fell farther down into her seat, embarrassed. She didn’t mind a good curse word now and then (she, herself, was partial to “hell” and “damn it”) but this was overkill.
Once Amy moved around the offending vehicle and was able to lay back on the gas she relaxed. “Sorry. So yeah, the ghosts?”
Taryn didn’t exactly feel comfortable about opening up to the possibly insane woman beside her. Instead, she remained noncommittal. “Oh, they don’t seem to bother me.”
Amy managed to look disappointed. “Really? Because after I read about you online I thought you might be able to come down here and wipe them out.”
“I, uh…” Taryn stammered. “I’m not a ghostbuster or exorcist or anything like that.”
“I know,” Amy laughed, a thin, brittle sound that didn’t sound pleasant. “I just always figured that they wanted something. None of us have ever been able to figure out what that was.”
Well, Taryn thought, that was common enough ground for the both of them.
While she was there Taryn figured she might as well ask her about the meeting that was supposedly once held on the island. “Hey, do you know anything about the meeting held there a long time ago? The one about the federal reserve?”
Jekyll Island: A Paranormal Mystery (Taryn's Camera Book 5) Page 16
