Читать книгу Haunting at Remington House - Laura V. Keegan - Страница 10

Tom watched Joe disappear around the side of the house. Joe's quite an interesting fellow. I’m glad our paths crossed. Tom returned to the kitchen, his mind full of plans for the rest of the morning. His cell phone was upstairs, so he decided to put off making any calls for a while. He decided to make a list of everything he needed to get done. It was too easy to become distracted watching the ocean and forget everything else.

Rummaging around the drawers, he found a spiral notebook and a pen, poured himself another cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table. Outside the window, in the branches of one of the beech trees, a movement caught his eye. High on a limb was a black kitten, its tiny mouth open, its unheard sounds of distress clearly imagined. Opening the window, the mews were piercing. Tom ran out the back door and down the stairs to find Joe.

“Hey, Joe, I need your ladder. There’s a kitten stuck in a tree!” he hollered. Joe was in fact high up on a ladder, checking for faulty electrical connections at the back of the house. He clambered down, collapsed the sliding ladder to a manageable size and followed Tom around to the side of the house.

“The kitten’s halfway up the tree outside the kitchen window. It’s in a panic, doesn’t know how to get down.” The men braced the ladder, raising it to just below the limb where the kitten clung to the branch, yowling louder than seemed possible for such a tiny creature. Tom slowly ascended the ladder. Never having been that high on a ladder, he recognized how unstable it felt as it wobbled back and forth with every step. He hoped Joe was backing him up. He risked a quick look downward. Nope, Joe wasn’t holding the ladder.

Apparently savvy to the desperate look on Tom’s face, Joe quickly put his hands on the ladder sides for good measure.

He thinks I’m a wuss. Tom reached for the kitten, tucked it under his arm, and descended the ladder as fast as he dared. “Thanks, Joe. Rescue accomplished. Let’s take this little guy in the house.”

In the kitchen, the kitten scrambled out of Tom’s grip and scurried to hide under the table. Tom found a bowl, poured some milk into in, and lured the kitten from its hiding place. “I need to fatten you up.” As he drank, Tom petted his scrawny back. “Joe, more coffee before you go back to work?”

“Sure, don’t mind if I do. Take the chill out of my bones. Sit down, I'll get it.” Joe poured them both coffee. “I found that the main wire into the house had some breaks. Might be the reason the power was fluctuating last night. Wind was blowing the wires around. I’ll take care of it before I look any further.” Joe sipped his coffee, then continued, “Surprisingly, most of the old wiring into the house has been replaced. There’s a good chance that the interior wiring was replaced at the same time. You’ll be lucky if that’s the case. Like I said before, the previous owners, the Lindemans, did quite a bit of work on this place over the years. You may get lucky—might not be a lot wrong. I’ll finish checking all the outside connections, and then you can show me where you had the trouble last night. Might be a few bad switches, maybe even loose bulbs.”

Tom picked up the kitten, setting it in the center of the rag rug in front of the fireplace. The kitten took a quick bath, then curled into a little ball and closed its eyes. “Looks like I have my first houseguest. Kind of hope he sticks around. I could use the company,” Tom said. The men sat sipping their coffee. “I think I’m ready to nose around upstairs. Come on. Let’s take a quick look around. Then you can get back to the wiring.”

“Sure.” Joe followed Tom through the house to the front entryway and up the stairs to the second floor. At the top was a long hallway that ran the full length of the house. Joe, already familiar with the layout, took the lead. “The master bedroom’s this way, down the hall to the right,” Joe said. He opened the double doors into the room and stood aside. The smell of fresh paint and lemon oil wafted out into the hall. The suite was tastefully decorated. There was a fireplace built into the middle of the west wall. It was faced with chocolate-brown, polished marble swirled with black veins. The hearth was black marble. On the right side of the fireplace a door led to a large walk-in closet. Centered against the southern wall was a king-size, four-poster bed with nightstands on either side. A large walnut bureau and dresser were to the left of the bed. The drawer edges and frame of the mirror were intricately carved with numerous, odd symbols that were inlaid with tiny, black, polished stones. The east and south walls had large picture windows; double french doors led out onto to the balcony. Joe opened the drapes, morning sun streamed into the room.

“The view’s magnificent,” Tom said, again finding himself mesmerized by the ocean. In every direction could be seen the vast, seemingly endless Atlantic. He opened the double doors and stepped onto the balcony. It ran the entire length and width of the house on the east and south, with a glass-brick wall dividing the balcony from the rooms to the west. Joe joined Tom to admire the panoramic view. The air was brisk and cold, smelling pungently of damp earth and autumn decay. They made a hasty retreat back into the bedroom. While Tom looked around, Joe built a small fire to warm the room.

In front of the fireplace were a loveseat and an easy chair, both upholstered in navy-blue suede. A low, walnut coffee table sat in front of the loveseat. By the window in the northeast corner of the room was a small, round dining table and two straight-back chairs.

The walls were wallpapered in navy blue and white plaid. All the wood trim in the room had a fresh coat of midnight-blue paint. The room was carpeted in dark brown, tweed chenille—lush and velvety. To the left of the doorway was a built-in bookcase that took up the entire wall, its shelves filled with collections of poetry—most leather bound, old and well worn.

“Didn’t think there were that many books of poems in print,” Joe remarked. “Not my idea of good reading, but to each his own.”

Tom sighed, thinking, Elise would have loved these books. . . . Well, no sense in thinking about her likes or dislikes now. I’ll move the books to another room one of these days. They're not my idea of good reading either.

“Ready to check out the other rooms?” Joe asked, turning to exit the room.

To their right was the staircase leading up to the third-floor attic. A narrow open room, about ten feet wide, ran the length of the east wall with another set of double doors leading to the balcony. The only furnishings in the room were a high-backed rocking chair and a large, mahogany cabinet filled with a collection of fine porcelain vases and statues.

Joe found the switch that operated the interior light of the cabinet and clicked it on. “What? Look at this! This statue looks just like you! Check it out.” Joe moved aside so Tom could see the statue.

Tom stared at the porcelain figurine. The light shone brightly spotlighting the statuette, as well as a female figurine beside it. Tom had the sense that something unreal was taking place. He reached out to touch the statues—too quickly, too clumsily. His hand knocked one statue, then the other, sending them flying off the shelf where they shattered on the hard, wooden floor. “Damn it! I broke them both. Stupid of me!”

“Guess I’m not the only bull in a china shop!” Joe laughed, then disappeared, returning with a broom and dustpan. As he swept up the broken shards, he let out a soft whistle. “Did you see the face? That statue looked like you, didn’t it?”

“No! Not at all!” Tom replied a bit too quickly. He walked away and down the long hallway to the west. “Come on. Let’s look around, then I need to get on to other things. I still have to call someone about the phones.”

“Well, they’re good about taking care of the residents here. Probably send someone out right away,” Joe answered, following Tom.

There was a room down the hallway, to the east of the stairs, that had been converted into a library. Most of the west wall of the room was taken up by a massive brownstone fireplace with windows that had built-in window seats on both sides. The south wall was mostly windows with a door in the center opening out to the balcony. The two other walls were lined with bookcases. In front of the fireplace were two loveseats with a small, cherry wood, claw-foot table in between them and an overstuffed chair to the right. The loveseats and chair were upholstered in various shades of dark rose. A large desk and chair, also of cherry, were in front of the bookcase on the east wall. Tiffany table lamps were scattered throughout the room. Tom liked the room. It felt warm and comfortable.

“Sure are a lot of books in this house. Guess the Lindemans like to read,” Joe said, running his hand across the spines of a row of books.

“Seems that way. And that’s a good thing, I enjoy reading myself.” Tom walked across the hall. There were two large bedrooms on this, the north side of the house. A narrow hallway, leading to the narrow servant stairs, divided the two rooms. Both bedrooms were empty but would soon be filled with Tom’s own furniture. He'd left most of his furniture in Jamestown to be sold or given to various charities but was having some of it shipped via Coastal Vanlines. It would be arriving in the next few days.

They went down the hall and climbed the wide, steep stairway to the attic. There were two large rooms on the east side of the floor that had probably housed servants at one time. Now they served as storage for dusty old furniture and trunks. The rest of the attic was divided into many small rooms filled with more old furniture, boxes and trunks, some belonging to Tom and some to the previous owners. A narrow hallway separated two of the rooms, leading as they did in the floors below, to the servants' stairway, its door locked and unused. Except for the boxes delivered late yesterday afternoon, everything was coated with a thick layer of dust. “Been a long time since anyone was up here,” Tom said to Joe.

Looking out the window to the north, Tom saw another house about a half mile up the coast. Smoke spiraled out of the many chimneys. “Who lives there?”

“The Harrisons—William, his wife, Vivian, and their two boys, James and William Jr. The Harrisons have owned that property longer than anybody can remember. Probably one of the oldest family names around here. Richest, too. Made their fortune with imports. Family dates back to the late seventeen hundreds, so I’ve been told. Own one of the largest import businesses on this coast. Anyway, they have homes all over the states. That’s one of them. They’re usually here for Thanksgiving and stay till after the first of the year. They come and go in the spring and summer—typical vacation dwellers. Not some of my favorite people, kind of high and mighty, if you know what I mean. But they tip well. No complaint there.”

“Well, I hope they respect my privacy. At least for a while.”

“Don’t get your hopes up! As soon as Vivian gets wind you’re here, she’ll be socializing you up one side and down the other!” Joe laughed. “Not so with me though. I don't fit in their social world! I’ve driven Mr. and Mrs. for over five years. Neither one of them has ever spoken a civil word to me. Orders, that’s all I get from them. Take me here, take me there, pick up this, stop here and on and on. Very important people, yes sir!” Joe’s face flushed. He took a quick breath and brought himself in check. “Well! Enough gossiping. I better get back to the wiring. I plan to get into town and pick up a few switches before lunch. If you need anything from town, let me know. I’ll pick it up.” Embarrassed at having said so much, he walked off, not waiting for further comments from Tom.

Tom was disappointed—he’d hoped to have neighbors he could get to know, maybe spend some time with—but on his own terms. Oh, well. Time would tell. Maybe Joe had the wrong impression of the Harrisons. Tom went to his room and began a series of phone calls on his cell to take care of the phone-line hookup as well as catch up on a few business calls. When he was finished with those, he punched in his sister’s number. Tom drummed his fingers impatiently on the table, listening to the rings. One, two, three, four. . . . She didn’t answer.

Cassie was six years younger than Tom. She was married to Michael Wellington, who Tom thought was one of the finest men he had ever known. He'd worked for Tom as the district operations manager for the past seven years. They had one young daughter, Lizzie, who was eight.

Tom and Cassie had been close as kids but had drifted apart when he met and, two years later, married Elise. Cassie and Elise had not gotten along. When Elise died, Cassie reached out to him. Tom, angry and grief stricken, refused her help and wouldn’t allow her back into his life. That slowly changed when Cassie began visiting him in the private sanitarium.

Their discord over Elise had been damaging. It was painful and difficult to make amends. But they’d been close as kids, and they knew they needed each other now. Both seemed to be getting past the strong emotions that had driven them apart. Cassie was coming for Thanksgiving, along with her husband and daughter. Tom surprised himself. He actually looked forward to the noise and chaos he knew would descend on his house when they arrived.

Looking out the windows toward the ocean, Tom saw the winds were blowing in a huge squall. Witnessing the storm’s beginning, he sat mesmerized as the black clouds rolled across the darkening sky. Lightning flashed in electric zigzags from the clouds’ dark centers, striking downward into the tumultuous waves far out on the horizon. Even though the storm was still miles away, the sound of thunder boomed and shook the house. The storm was gaining strength and momentum. It wouldn’t be long before it reached shore.

Not hearing Joe come into the room, Tom jumped when Joe said his name. “Sorry to startle you, Tom. Quite a storm. It’s gonna get nasty real quick by the look of those clouds.” He pointed out the window. "Want me to close the shutters? The winds get incredibly strong here, it’s best to be prepared.”

“I’m sure you’re right, go ahead. But leave these bedroom shutters open. If it gets too bad, I’ll close them later. I like watching storms. As a kid I remember my mom franticly shouting, convinced that the lightning would strike us, even though we were inside. She’d beg me to get away from the windows. I never would though. I loved the sound of the rain pounding on the roof, the lightning flashing and lighting up the room, the thunder shaking the walls. Poor mom finally gave up trying to save me. She gathered up my sister and the pets and hid in the kitchen pantry for shelter from the ‘wrath of the heavens’ that threatened to strike us down!”

“Sounds like your mom was sensible to me.” Joe glanced out the window, flinched when a lightning bolt hit the water, sending spray high into the air. “I’ll leave these shutters open, but I’m gonna close down the rest of the house,” said Joe. “After I do that, I’m heading to town—before the rain gets too bad. If the storm doesn’t lighten up, I won’t be back till tomorrow. The ocean highway’s way too dangerous.”

“You don’t need to come back today, Joe. Don't worry about things here.”

“All right then. I have things I can take care of in town. Don’t wait too long to close the shutters, that wind can blow the windows clean out, I’ve seen it happen many times.”

“I’ll pay attention, don’t worry.” Tom’s phone rang. “Hi, Nate,” he said. They talked for about fifteen minutes while Joe checked windows and secured shutters. Tom wandered downstairs looking for Joe, who was coming in the front door.

“Got the place secured. Anything else you want me to do before I go?” Joe asked, slipping his arms into the sleeves of his parka.

“No, I can manage. I have a lot to take care of this afternoon. I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess.”

“I should be here by nine. I’ll finish checking the wiring and look around the basement. Have a list of what you need from town?” Tom pulled a folded paper from his pocket and handed it to Joe. With a backward wave, Joe was gone, the door slamming with a resounding crash in a strong gust of wind.