Читать книгу Haunting at Remington House - Laura V. Keegan - Страница 21

Tom awakened to the boisterous songs of birds welcoming the first rosy glow of dawn. The sun broke through thick clouds that hung like gray cloaks across the horizon. The ocean was angry today; huge whitecaps were visible as far as he could see. Waves broke on the shore sending spray high into the air. Tom sat in the living room by the terrace window drinking coffee, feeling small and insignificant. In the distance a group of six or seven fishing boats bobbed like toys in the choppy water.

Still troubled about Harold, the phone calls last night and the dream about Elise, Tom sat, his cup of coffee cold and forgotten, gazing out across the sea. Mesmerized by the turbulence and violence of the ocean, he let his mind drift, tried to think of nothing at all. It worked for a while—he let the thunderous pounding of the ocean lull and distract him until he heard Joe’s car pull up and stop in front of the house. Glancing at his watch, he realized he’d been sitting there for an hour. “Morning, Joe,” he called through the open window.

“Morning, Tom. I brought some groceries. Have you eaten yet?”

“No. How about you?”

“Nope.”

Tom helped Joe with the boxes. While Joe cooked scrambled eggs and bacon, Tom fed Wiggins, put the groceries away and made toast. The two men sat in silence, Joe because he was starved and seemed unable to think of anything but food, Tom lost in thought about Harold. And more importantly, he was trying to distinguish between what was reality and what was imagined. His dream last night had seemed so real, so vivid. He swore he’d smelled the faint, lingering scent of lavender when he awoke. The task of separating the real from the imagined so disturbed him that he completely forgot about Joe sitting across the table from him. Tom replayed the late-night calls and his dream—had it been a dream?—of someone—Elise?—pacing the floor in his room.

Joe scraped the last of the egg from his plate. The noise startled Tom. He jerked his head toward the sound, struggled to focus. He realized Joe was talking to him. “Sorry, Joe, I’m distracted this morning. Remember me telling you about Nate’s brother? I talked to Nate late last night, and Harold’s in serious trouble.”

“Sorry to hear that. Anything I can do?”

“No. Thanks. I told Nate I’d call my attorney for him. John should be in the office by now. I better give him a call. Back in a few minutes.” He stood up.

“I’ll clean up in here, and then I better get started on the wiring,” Joe said, a frown on his face as he watched Tom leave the kitchen. The kitchen door swooshed as it swung closed. “I think there’s a lot more to Tom’s distant behavior than that business with Harvey—or whatever his name is,” he said under his breath.

In the study, Tom talked with his attorney for the second time that morning. John Atwood had just called him back with some information. “Tom, I talked to Jim Wood, an associate in our office. He agreed to get in touch with Nate this morning. Good chance he’ll be willing to take Harold’s case. I’ll keep you posted. He’s a very competent criminal attorney, Tom—Harold will be in good hands. Don’t worry. Damn, my other phone’s ringing, and I have a meeting to get to. I’ll call you later. Bye.”

Tom called Nate to tell him the news but got no answer. He left a voice mail telling Nate to call him when he could.

“Tom!” Joe called from the front doorway.

“What is it, Joe?”

“There’s a van pulling up the road. You expecting any deliveries today?”

“Damn it. What day is today?”

“Thursday.”

“Yeah. Must be my furniture.”

“Looks like there’s plenty of guys on the truck to unload it, at least,” Joe added as he walked down the front porch steps.

Tom gave instructions to the crew about where to put everything, then left an exasperated Joe to supervise the unloading. Tom went back to the kitchen to escape the hubbub. There was a gentle tapping at the back door. It was Jimmy, with a grin stretching from ear to ear, on his freckled face.

“Come in, Jimmy. You look like the cat that swallowed the canary. What’s up?”

“Hi, Mr. Gardner. Joe told me to come around to the back door.” He took his jacket off, threw it over the back of a kitchen chair. “They were unloading a piano out front. Wow! Is it yours?”

“Well, technically yes. It belonged to my wife, so now it’s mine. Is that what you were grinning about? Looks like I found someone to play it. You do play, right?”

“Not yet! But I’ve always wanted to learn. Do you think you could teach me? Do you know how to play?” He didn’t wait for Tom’s reply, “Mother won’t let me near her piano. She’s afraid I’ll scratch it or something.”

Tom laughed. Jimmy ignored him and went on to explain, “Once, when I was little, I put a tiny, little scratch on her precious piano. She says she can’t trust me with her damn, oops, darn old piano. It’s an heirloom, she says, and she doesn’t want me to go near it. How am I supposed to learn to play the stupid thing if she won’t let me near it? Mothers! How do you figure them?”

“Jimmy, my boy, women—mothers—are a phenomenon not meant to be understood by mere men. In my forty years, I have not been able to figure out even one of them. Once, I thought maybe I could, but well . . . never mind that. So, you’d like to learn to play the piano, huh? I’m a little bit rusty myself, be good for me to brush up. I’d be happy to teach you.”

“All right! Thanks. Can we keep it a secret, though? I want to be real good before anyone finds out. I don’t want anyone making fun of me. Okay?”

“It’s a deal. How about starting tomorrow afternoon? There’s too much going on today.”

“Okay, cool! Oh! I almost forgot why I came over. Mother wants to know if you’ll come to dinner tonight?”

“I don’t know. I’m not so sure I’m ready to meet your whole family quite yet. It’s been a long time since I’ve gone out socially, Jimmy. I know you don’t understand what I’m talking about, but—it might not be a good idea for me to come.”

“It’ll only be Mother, Billy and me. Dad’s still in . . . hmm, well I'm not sure where he is right now. Maybe New York. Anyway, Mother’s not as bad as I make her sound. She likes everything to be just right, that's all. Please come?” Jimmy flushed, his cheeks glowed as red as his hair. His freckles all but disappeared.

Tom reluctantly agreed. He found it hard say no to this kid! Jimmy promised to meet him on the beach a little before seven. When Jimmy had gone, Tom went looking for Joe.

The crew had almost finished unloading the furniture. Tom followed Joe to the second floor to see how things were going. It was comforting to have some of his own belongings in the house. “Everything’s looking great.” The crew had arranged the furniture in one of the bedrooms. “Works well. Let’s go see the other room.”

The bedroom furniture had been brought up but not arranged in the room across from the master bedroom. Joe and Tom began moving the furniture into place. Soon two of the crew came in and helped with the heavier pieces. All that was left to be done was to unload a dozen crates containing personal papers, books and etc. While the crew put them in the library, Tom went to his room to call Nate, who still hadn't returned his call. There was no answer. He no sooner hung up the phone when it rang.

“Tom,” John Atwood’s voice came through the line. “John here. I wanted to let you know Jim Wood has given the thumbs up for handling Harold’s case. I just got off the phone with him. He’s already been to the police station where they’re holding Harold. He hasn’t been charged yet. Jim doesn’t feel that the DA has much of a case. But he’s on it. Not a man to waste any time. Good man.” Tom could hear him drumming is pen on his desk. “I haven’t been able to reach Nate. Any idea where he might be?”

“I’ve been trying to reach him all morning myself, John. Doesn’t make sense. If he wasn’t at the police station, he should be home. I’d better call one of the neighbors and have them go by the house, make sure everything’s okay. I’m getting a little worried. I’ll let you go. Call you as soon as I hear anything,” Tom said.

“Likewise. Goodbye.”

As soon as Tom hung up, he called Clint Travis, one of the neighbors who lived down the street from his Jamestown home. He agreed to go right over. After telling him where he kept a spare key, they hung up. Tom hated waiting, found it excruciatingly difficult. He felt helpless as he sat and waited to hear back from Mr. Travis. What could possibly be wrong now? He had no choice, though but to wait it out. There was a knock at the door.

“Sorry to bother you, Tom. The moving crew’s about finished. Is there anything else you want them to do before they go? They put all the crates into the library. Did you want any of them hauled up to the attic?” Joe asked, peering around the edge of the door.

“No. They're fine. I’d like to go through them later. Unless you can think of something more, send the men on their way.” Tom pulled several bills from his wallet and told Joe to give the money to the crew.

As he crossed the room to take the cash, Joe stopped. “What the hell happened? There’s glass all over the carpet. Let me get the guys paid, then I'll clean it up. Back in a minute.”

Feeling a shard of glass splinter under his foot, Tom stepped back. Fragments of broken crystal glistened in the sunlight. He was on his hands and knees picking up the larger pieces of glass when Joe came into the room carrying the vacuum.

“Movers must’ve come in here. I told them to stay out of your room. Thought I was keeping my eyes on them most of the time, too. Damn. Probably one of the guys being nosey. Any idea what they broke? A vase or something?”

“Maybe. Not sure”

“Better look around and make sure nothing's missing, don't you think?”

“What? Missing? No. Not that I see, Joe. Don’t worry about it. It’s certainly not your fault.” Tom looked at an empty space on the bookshelf. He remembered now. In the back of his mind, Tom recalled the sound of shattering glass. When had he heard breaking glass? He knew. He paled, his brow knitted in worry. But that had been a dream. Hadn’t it? Tom brought his hand to his face, massaged his temple. Now he knew what the glass was from. It was a perfume bottle. His hands smelled of lavender. He quickly wiped them on his jeans.

A sense of dread spread its icy fingers around his heart. Cold shivers ran up his spine as he tried to remember last night's dream. Surely it had been only that, a nightmare that was still haunting him in his waking hours. Damn, enough of this! A clumsy, nosey mover had been in here. He accidently knocked a bottle off the shelf. That was the end of it. Not even worth the time it took to report it. Let it go. The telephone rang.

“Hello?”

“Tom, this is Clint Travis. I have some bad news,” he said, his voice tense with concern.

“What’s wrong, Clint?”

“Your damn fool friend took two sleeping pills last night. This morning he was disoriented and ended up falling. He’s been lying at the bottom of the stairs fading in and out of consciousness for hours. I called 911. They just took him to St. Andrew’s. It looked to me like he broke his leg, but I can’t be certain. Damn good thing you had me check on him. He was breathing okay and managed to talk a little. I’ll head over to the hospital if you want me to. Make sure he gets admitted and everything. Make sure they treat him right.”

“That’d be great. Thanks, Clint. You’re a good man. I’ll get in touch with his sister, Rosa. She lives close by; it won’t take her long to get to St. Andrews. Thanks again. I’ll call you later.”

Joe watched Tom. “Bad news?”

“Yeah, Nate fell down the stairs, might have broken his leg. My neighbor just called to let me know. He thinks he’ll be okay but still . . . I need to call Nate’s sister. I’ll be down in a minute. I'll grab a couple of beers and meet you on the front porch.” Tom sat on the top step and called Rosa. “Rosa, this is Tom Gardner.”

“Tom? For heaven’s sake, I certainly didn’t expect to hear from you. How are you? Enjoying the sea air?”

“I’m doing all right, thanks. I’m calling with some bad news about Nate.” Tom heard the quick intake of breath over the phone line as Rosa reacted. “Don’t be too alarmed. I’m sure he’s going to be okay. He fell down the stairs at my Jamestown house and may have broken his leg. A neighbor, Clint Travis, went to St. Andrews to follow up. I know you’ll want to get over there right away.”

“I thought Nate was with you in Ravenswood. What’s he doing here?”

Nate apparently hadn’t told Rosa the trouble Harold was in. “Nate had some things to wrap up for me. And he was dealing with a serious issue with Harold. I know how you feel about Harold, but for Nate’s sake, hear me out.” Tom explained what he knew about Harold’s arrest and that his attorney, John Atwood, and an associate of his were handling the legal ramifications. “Hopefully Harold will be released soon, possibly without charges being filed.”

“That stupid, idiot of a man. He’ll never change. Right now I could care less about Harold. Nate is the one I’m worried about. I need to get to the hospital. Thank you for calling, Tom.” The phone went dead before Tom could say goodbye.

Tom called John Atwood next, filling him in on Nate’s accident.

John said, “What a disaster. Don’t worry; I’ll take care of everything. I’ll call Rosa later and let her know what’s going on with Harold. Nate sure as hell doesn’t need to deal with him for a while.”

“Such a relief to know you’re on this, John. I know you have everything under control. I can’t thank you enough.”

“Don’t give it a second thought. Besides, you’ll get my bill soon enough,” John laughed, then said goodbye.

Joe was on the front porch testing the strength of the railings. Tom brought a couple of beers and a bag of potato chips. He handed a bottle to Joe, popped the cap off his and enjoyed the blast of bitter bubbles assaulting his tongue.

“Things are being handled. Wish I was in Jamestown to help out, but John is immensely capable. I couldn’t ask for a more dependable attorney. I’m very lucky.”

“Yeah, you have lots of people watching out for you all right. You are a lucky man! You have it all. Family, friends, education, money. Then there’s me!” Joe laughed.

“I don’t know about that. You seem pretty together, Joe. Very often I feel like I’m the one who missed the boat,” Tom said, his face set in a stern, unblinking stare. “Having it all isn’t enough. It guarantees nothing!” He took a drink of his beer, looked out across the property that was now his. “Enough of my whining! Let’s get some of the crates from upstairs and take them to the study. I want to sort through most of the boxes before my sister, Cassie, gets here. I need to get things settled, get some order in the house. Give me a hand bringing them down, and then you can get on with what you were doing.”

Going through the boxes that contained personal papers was a snap. Nate had already put everything in order. When he was finished, Tom carried the boxes to the attic and stacked them in a small room overlooking the forested property to the west. That was what he’d needed—busy work. Good for his soul.

There were several boxes stacked in one of the other rooms. Tom carried them down the two flights of stairs to the study. Before he had a chance to open them, his cell phone rang. “Tom, it’s Vivian Harrison. How are you?” Not waiting for an answer she went on, “I’m calling to remind you about dinner this evening. Come over about seven. Please don’t go to a lot of fuss either; we’re going to be casual tonight.”

“Thanks, I’m looking forward to seeing you and the boys,” Tom lied.

“Oh, Tom, is Joe Tilson there by chance? I wondered if you would have him pick up my cousin at the train station. The train comes in at four. I told Sara that Joe would be there. Thanks a million, dear. See you tonight,” she spoke quickly without taking a breath.

“I’ll be there. I’ll make sure Joe’s at the station. See you . . . tonight.” Tom finished his sentence though Vivian had already hung up.

Tom found Joe on a ladder at the back of the house replacing a small transformer. “Is that what’s causing the problems with the power?”

“Hard to tell for sure, but it’s definitely in need of replacing. Need some more help moving boxes? I’ll be done here in about ten minutes.”

“No. But Vivian called and wanted to see if you’d go into town this afternoon and pick her cousin up. Told her you would—was that okay?”

“You bet. That would be Sara Lawson. She’s a great lady. She’s a lot of fun, very nice—not at all like Vivian. Attractive, too. I hope you get to meet her soon.”

“I’ve been invited to dinner, so I guess tonight’s the night. I’m not exactly looking forward to it, but Jimmy wanted me to come. I couldn’t refuse.”

“You seem to really like the boy.”

“I do. He reminds me a lot of myself when I was a kid. Reminds me what it was like to look forward to life—no worries, just living in the moment. What I wouldn’t give to be a kid again. Anyway . . . being around Jimmy reminds me of the carefree times.”

Joe reached into his tool pouch and pulled out a screwdriver. “You don’t sound very optimistic. You should be glad you have this great house. And lots of plans for it—not to mention the means to carry them out. What I wouldn’t give to have . . .” He looked down at Tom. “Oh, shit, me and my big mouth.”

“Don’t worry about it. You don’t have to watch what you say around me. I brought a lot of baggage with me; there’s no reason you should have to deal with it.”

Joe nodded as he put a final screw to secure the transformer to the back wall of the house. “Sure, I kind of figured as much. Anytime you want to talk, let me know.”

“I will. Thanks. I’m going to go through some more of the boxes. I’d like to get them sorted and put away this afternoon.”