Читать книгу Haunting at Remington House - Laura V. Keegan - Страница 19

Tom woke with a start. From upstairs came the sound of floorboards creaking. He turned the music off and listened. There! Again! He heard the faint, though distinct sound of someone walking in the room overhead. The telephone rang nearly giving him a heart attack. He glanced at the clock; it was two o’clock. “Hello?” He whispered into the mouthpiece, holding his free hand over his racing heart. “Nate? Hello?”

The phone went dead. Tom placed the receiver back on the hook and sat on the edge of the sofa slapping his cheeks, trying to wake himself up. Maybe I was dreaming. The phone rang. “Hello?” Silence. “Who is this?” he yelled into the receiver. No one answered. The phone went dead. He slammed it down. Wiggins, who had been asleep on the end of the couch, lifted his head, his ears stood straight up, his feline body tensed, ready for flight if necessary.

Overhead, the sound of footsteps echoed through the still house. Wiggins hissed and backed up against the arm of the couch. “What the hell? What's going on? Is there someone up there?” Tom yelled. “Is someone here?”

The house echoed undisturbed silence. Tom grabbed the poker from beside the fireplace, wishing he had his .45 instead. As quietly as possible, he crossed the room. Standing at the bottom of the stairs he listened, all senses fine-tuned to detect the smallest deviance of sound. Silence. The shrill ring of the telephone broke the quiet. He ran back into the living room and stared at the phone. It rang over and over before he finally picked up the receiver. He held it to his ear saying nothing.

“Hello. Is anyone there?” It was Nate. “Tom, sorry to call so late. You told me to call no matter what time it was. Did I wake you?”

“No, I’ve been waiting for your call. Did you call earlier?”

“No. You sound out of breath. Is everything all right?”

“Yeah,” Tom lied. “So what’s going on with Harold?”

“Nothing good. Harold's been arrested. The police came while I was talking to you earlier. I got back from the police station a few minutes ago. It doesn’t look good for Harold at all. He’s in serious trouble. Worse than I ever imagined was possible. Damn him! He’s my brother, and I love him, but this time, he’s gone too far. I don’t know what to do.” Tom could hear Nate choking back tears, pushed well beyond his endurance.

“Nate, take a deep breath and tell me what this is about,” Tom said.

“Harold killed someone! They arrested him for murder.” Nate’s voice cracked. “I don’t know what to believe. Harold swears it was self defense, drug deal gone bad, but I don’t know.” Nate sounded as if he were on the verge of hysteria.

Tom needed to calm him down. “Nate, stop it! Listen to me. You know Harold better than anyone. Do you really believe he’s capable of murder? From everything I know about him, I don’t think so. Get hold of yourself and calm down. You’re no good to Harold—or yourself—in the state you’re in right now. You need a clear head. Why don’t you try to get some sleep? I’ll call John Atwood first thing in the morning. We’ll get this figured out.”

“Thanks, Tom. You’re right. I’m beyond tired. I hope you’re right about Harold, but I don’t know this time. Harold’s holding something back. He’s genuinely scared.”

“I’m sure anyone would react that way. Now get some sleep. I’ll talk to you in the morning.” Tom, his hands absently petting the kitten, thought about what Nate was going through. Damned Harold was always getting into trouble and expecting Nate to bail him out. As much as he hated to help Harold, Tom owed it to Nate to do all he could to help. Tom fell asleep on the couch and awakened at dawn. . . .