Читать книгу Haunting at Remington House - Laura V. Keegan - Страница 24

Tom, unshaven, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, was talking on the phone with John Atwood when Joe arrived the next morning. Tom nodded and waved to Joe as he passed by on his way to the kitchen. John relayed the news to Tom about Nate’s brother, Harold, and about Nate. “The judge released Harold yesterday afternoon without pressing charges—at least not at this time. Jim Wood, Harold’s attorney, took him to the hospital to see Nate. Rosa was there visiting. She reluctantly agreed to let Harold go home with her for a few days, until other living arrangements can be made.”

“Hope he doesn’t drive Rosa crazy. But he’s better off staying with her for a while,” Tom said. “She’ll make him toe the line.”

“We shall see. It sounds as if Harold is more obstinate than usual. His dark side seems to have a fairly strong presence. I hope he gets some help. For now, he’s off the streets at least.” Tom could hear John drumming his pen on the desk as he talked. “Now the news about Nate. The fracture and resulting wound from the bone tearing through the flesh will keep him hospitalized for at least a more few days. The doctor is worried about infection. Nate will likely be out of commission for weeks. He might need to stay with Rosa, too. Or, if it’s okay with you, Tom, he could stay on at your Jamestown house—we could hire an in-home nurse to take care of him.”

“I think we better leave that up to Nate. I’ll do whatever he wants,” Tom said. Out his window he watched a gaggle of snow geese fly to the north. He jumped when a raven flew at him, turning before it hit the window glass. It flew in a large circle, then come back to land on the porch railing. Cawing and flapping its wings, it took another dive at the window, then flew away.

“Still there, Tom?”

“Yeah, sorry. Just watching a crazy bird. Keep me posted about Nate . . . and Harold.”

“More bad news?” Joe asked when Tom hung up the phone. Tom told him what was going on in Jamestown. Joe expressed his sympathy and left when Tom answered another phone call. He returned in a few minutes with a tray of coffee and plate of fresh donuts. They sat quietly at the small dining table watching the rain as it fell in endless torrents. It was a cold, gray day; the entire horizon was filled with dark clouds.

“How was your dinner last night?” Joe asked trying to lighten the heavy mood.

“Hmm? Oh, last night? Well, the food was excellent, the booze plentiful, Sara was charming, Jimmy was a trooper and Billy was a brat. . . . And then there was Vivian! Thanks for asking. All in all, a crappy introduction back into the social scene for me. Not quite the night I envisioned. I’m glad I kept it foremost in my mind that the kids and Sara were there, or I would have gotten completely smashed.

“And might I add, I’m generally not one to get loaded as an escape. A waste of good booze, to be sure.” Tom got up and paced in front of the window. “It seemed like I spent most of the night, between Vivian and Billy, watching my back. Vivian spent most of the evening alternately insulting me, then trying to impress me, always making sure I paid no attention to anyone else. I think she's afraid I might be higher up on the social ladder than she is. Billy is just a brat looking for trouble—at anyone’s expense. He tried his best to get a rise out of me.”

Joe laughed. “Sounds like a fun night. Wish I’d been there. And to think I spent my evening playing pool with the guys.”

“It might sound funny now, but trust me, last night was not fun. Next dinner at the Harrison’s, I’ll make sure you get invited, too. Misery deserves company.”

Joe cleared his throat. “Not my scene. I’ll pass. I’m not much for fancy dinners. I’m the quiet dinner-at-the-cafe type.”

“I’m serious, Joe. Why should I have all the fun? After all, this is your town. If I have any other social invitations, I’ll take you as my guest. You’ll see how the other side lives, learn the value of years of proper etiquette learning which fork to use for which dinner course. Critical and invaluable stuff. More importantly, you’ll see why I hate it. Then you can help me convince my sister, Cassie, that my reintroduction into society is not the right direction to go. Give me a cold beer and a pool table any day. Now that sounds like a good time.”

Joe added, “It is. We have a great time in town at the 8 Ball. A bunch of us guys meet there Friday nights. Glad to have you join us any time.”

The two were quiet for a while as they watched the storm, then Tom said, “Don’t get me wrong. Wealth definitely has its advantages, but it sure doesn't have much to do with making a person happy.”

“Yeah, well I wouldn’t mind a bit giving it a try. Been struggling my whole life.” The sun broke through the heavy clouds, the choppy waves lit up with mirrored reflections of light. “Oh, well, things aren’t too bad. I’m not complaining.” Joe stood up. “Storms moving out, looks like there’s a break in the rain. I better get up on the roof and check for loose shingles. Wouldn’t want any water leaking in the house—that wind was incredibly strong last night, and I don’t know how long this roof’s been on.”

“Mind if I give you a hand? I’d like to get out of the house for a while. I’m feeling cooped up.”

“Make sure you have shoes with a good grip to the soles. The roof will be slick after this rain. Have you been on a roof before?” Joe grinned at Tom as he wrenched the rain-swollen back door open.

“Yeah, sure have,” Tom lied. “Be right back, I need to change shoes.”

There was a light, brisk wind blowing, but the sun quickly warmed the air as it burned through the clouds. Climbing the ladder, Tom smiled to himself anticipating what he hoped would end up being a morning of hard labor. Even though he’d had little sleep last night, he wasn’t physically tired, and he craved rigorous physical activity. Looking around the roof they found several areas where roof tiles had lifted from the hard-driving winds and pounding rain.

“I’ll be right back; you want to wait up here?” Joe hollered as he backed around the top of the ladder to start down. “I need a few things from the shed.”

Tom teetered on the steep slope of the roof, then was angry with himself for showing his clumsiness to Joe. “Yeah, go on.” Tom regained his balance and cautiously walked around the roof to a vantage point next to one of the chimneys where he could see for miles in all directions. To the east was the Atlantic, its swells shimmering in the brilliant sun. To the north, high atop the bluff, the Harrison estate rose—austere and proper, easily evident as the residence of someone wealthy and in the upper echelon of society.

Thick woods covered the landscape between his property and the Harrison’s. Though the trees were nearly bare now, in the summer they would be masses of green against the azure of the coastal sky, their boughs home to birds and wildlife, a cacophony of orchestrated melodies carried for miles across the ocean on the gentle breezes of summer. Looking far to the west was the town of Ravenswood, a town of perhaps five thousand year-round residents, the majority of whom lived in an area about three miles square. From this distance, the town seemed small and insignificant compared to the expanse of the Atlantic to the east.

Tom realized he wanted to find out more about Ravenswood. About all he knew was that it was founded in the late 1800’s as a mill town. It was populated with workers, their families and the businesses necessary to keep the town alive. He wondered if the mills were still operating. Tourism kept the economy alive in the summer, but how did the town survive the rest of the year? He’d have to ask Joe. See if there was anything he could do to help out. He might look into starting, or maybe investing in, a business in town.

“You look a million miles away, Tom. Guess you didn’t hear me hollering. Here, grab this.” Joe hoisted a wooden handled, canvas bag filled with roofing supplies up over the edge and onto the roof. “Awesome view. The last owners thought it would be ideal to build a lookout up here. I had to ruin their plans. Anything other than a solidly built structure would be pounded mercilessly by the rain and wind—wouldn’t stand up for more than a season or two.” Joe climbed onto the roof, pulling a small roll of tarpaper he had attached to a rope. Tom helped him leverage it on to the roof. “Set it down right over there. It won’t roll off if you set it so it’s vertical.”

The men worked for hours. Joe alternated between whistling and humming, Tom concentrated on nothing but the work at hand. Old roof tiles were pulled off and new pieces of tarpaper laid. When the heavy black paper was down, Joe brought up a bundle of roofing tiles, and they covered the areas where wind and rain had shredded the roof. An effortless camaraderie, built of sweat and honest work, formed a bond between the men.

When they finished, they remained on the roof, looking out over the ocean. Yet another storm could be seen on the far horizon. Joe pointed to the roiling black clouds. “It looks like it’s gonna be another fierce one. This time of year, seems like we get one storm after another. The roof’s in good shape now, shouldn’t have to do any more repairs this season. I’ll keep an eye on it, though.”

They gathered up their tools and descended the ladder. “I’m starved. You ready to go in and have some lunch?” Tom asked.

While they ate fried chicken, salad and biscuits Joe brought from the deli that morning, Tom brought up the subject of Thanksgiving. “My sister and her family will be here next week. They’ll be staying for at least two weeks. Mary’s going to help on and off, but I need to find someone to cook and do some light cleaning while Cassie’s here. Do you know anyone who might be interested?”

“Lots of people looking for extra work this time of year. How many people are you looking for?”

“Maybe three to get the house cleaned and in order. There are more boxes that need to be unpacked and all the bedrooms need to be made up, that kind of thing this week. After that, then someone to cook and pick up while Cassie and her family are here.”

“I know a real nice woman who used to cook for the Brunsons—they own one of the textile mills. I know Nellie is looking for work—I ran into her the other day. She ran a temporary maid service last year for the summer residents so she has great credentials. She’s a fantastic cook, too. I’ll give her a call now.” Joe called her and started making all the necessary arrangements while Tom sat idly by enjoying the view out the window. The clouds, pushed by the strong winds, rolled in heading for the coast.

“All set. Nellie’s good to go. She’ll be here in the morning.”

“Thanks, Joe. About next week—do you have any plans for Thanksgiving dinner? Care to join us? There’ll be plenty of good food and conversation.”

“Yeah, I’d like that. Thanks. Since I broke it off with my lady, I seldom have dinner plans. It’d be a good change for me. And—I’m anxious to meet your family.”

“Good,” Tom said. “Think you’ll hit it off with my sister, she’s amazing.”

Jimmy and Sara knocked on the back door as Tom was finishing loading the dishes into the dishwasher. Jimmy was anxious to start his piano lesson, and they went right to work. Tom found a book of simple songs, and another of scales, for him to start practicing on. While Jimmy worked through the exercises, Tom and Sara sat on the sofa and listened. Jimmy played quite well, managing to play several songs all the way through with few mistakes. Obviously he’d had at least a few lessons in the past. He was very serious as he concentrated on the proper placement of his fingers, chewing his bottom lip when he came to a difficult part. After a few minutes he forgot all about Sara and Tom. They quietly got up and went into the kitchen to make some iced tea, leaving Jimmy to practice scales from a book that had belonged to Tom and Cassie when they were kids.

“So, how did you and Jimmy manage to escape Vivian?” Tom asked.

“Pure luck. William’s new car was delivered today. She and Billy went into Ravenswood for the afternoon. I told her Jimmy and I had plans to collect seashells. I think she was relieved not to have to entertain Jimmy or me today. So here we are.”

“Want a tour of the house?” Tom asked. After showing her the main floor, with which she was duly impressed, they went upstairs. The library was still filled with packing crates Tom had forgotten about, but the two bedrooms on the north were in fairly good order. Sara was enthralled with the view of the ocean from the balcony.

“I never met the people who lived here before you,” Sara said. “Do you know anything about them?”

“No. No one’s told me anything about them. I never thought to ask, though. I found a few pictures of them on the shelf in the living room. They seemed odd, something strange about their eyes—cold and . . . I can’t explain it. Gave me the creeps.” Tom smiled. “But they seem to have taken excellent care of the house and property. That’s a positive!”

Sara returned his smile, then said, “Vivian talked about them once in a while. Apparently she tried to get them to come for dinner on several occasions. They had some high-society connections, so she was eager to get to know them. They told Viv they seldom left the house. The brother was too ill.”

“Yeah, he certainly looked it in the pictures I found.”

“The second or third time they refused her offer, Vivian took it as a personal insult and didn’t ask them again. She said she assumed that they felt socially superior, and if that was the case, they were not welcome in her home. I was always curious about the couple, probably because they were so reclusive and because I never got to meet them. I actually only saw the two of them once. They were getting into Joe’s taxi at the train station, back from a trip out of the city. Joe was one of the few people who ever spent time with them. I’m sure he told you he worked for them on and off.”

“Joe said he worked on the house. He didn’t seem to know much about them personally. I got the impression he was on a work-only basis with the Lindemans. No social interaction,” Tom said.

“Did you know that they died here—in this house?”

“What? No!” Tom was visibly upset, is brow furrowed, his brown eyes narrowed and focused on Sara. “What happened?”

“Apparently it was a murder-suicide. It was kept very quiet. Mannie, Vivian’s cook, was our only source of information. I don’t know that she’s a particularly reliable source. But she’s the best we had! Anyway, she heard the story from the sheriff’s sister, so we have to assume it’s at least partly true. It seems that Helen shot her brother, then several days later, shot herself. They found both of their bodies in the attic. Helen left a suicide note explaining her brother, Gabriel, was in unbearable pain from his cancer. He begged her to end his suffering. After much agonizing, she did. And then, unable to forgive herself, she took her own life.” Sara stared at Tom, her violet eyes guarded.

“Not what I wanted to hear happened in my house. Damn! I didn’t know anything about it until now.”

Sara twisted a chestnut-brown curl around her index finger. “Sorry to be the one to break the news to you. If it’s even true. Personally, I prefer to ignore Mannie’s account and take a more romantic view of their deaths.”

“How can anyone take a romantic view of a murder?” Tom asked, surprised that she would say such a thing.

Sara smiled and continued, “I like to think they weren’t brother and sister at all but lovers who were separated for years. Then one day fate stepped in and their paths crossed. For reasons that shall remain a mystery, perhaps because of their families or maybe because one of them was married, they were never able to be together. Finally, after years of separation, they knew they could no longer be apart.”

“You have quite an imagination, Sara!” Tom laughed softly.

Ignoring him, Sara continued, “They moved to this small town, to this isolated house, so they could live the rest of their lives in peace, away from the rest of the world that had treated them so unfairly. Then, when the man became ill, unable to bear the thought of being torn apart again, they ended their lives.” Sara looked at Tom, watching to see how he would react to her tale, “Well?”

Tom was uncomfortable. This talk of death was disquieting, especially knowing they died right here in his house. Sara watched him intently waiting for his response. He answered, “I agree your version is the more preferable. Two lovers, beaten once again by fate, laugh in her face and secure their own eternity together. And why not? Didn’t they have the right after the lonely years spent apart—never knowing if the other was dead or alive, or happy or living in turmoil? Or— maybe Helen Lindeman did murder him. Perhaps because she realized that she loved him more than he loved her. Perhaps she even laughed when she pulled . . . ”

“Tom! Don’t. Stop!” Sara exclaimed, reaching out and grabbing his hand. “You’re ruining my romantic story. You’re as bad as Mannie. Let’s go back downstairs and see how Jimmy is doing.” She dropped Tom’s hand, started to turn away.

“Sara, wait. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I lashed out like that. I didn’t mean to offend you. I . . . I don’t know what I was thinking. Forget what I said.” What the hell is wrong with me? What possessed me to go on such a cruel tirade?

Sara was standing at the bottom of the attic stairs. Tom let his hand rest on her shoulder. She smelled of delicate roses and sea air. Turning her to face him, Tom gently kissed her. She felt small and vulnerable in his arms, as if she might break if he held her too tightly, as if she might easily be destroyed if she could but guess his horrid sin. Selfishly he held on to her and felt comfort and solace. Quite possibly he thought he felt the beginning pangs of love and passion for this woman. “Sara,” he whispered into the soft silkiness of her hair.

Did she feel the same? She hasn’t pulled away from him. Her kiss was as passionate as his. Wasn’t it? Or would he open his eyes and find he’d only imagined she felt as he did—only inane assumptions of a man crazed, possibly even mad, from guilt? A man haunted and tormented by the agony of unrequited love? But—if he was imagining that moment, it was better than the hell he’d been living, and he didn’t mind.

Sara spoke his name softly, her voice floating on the air. Tom inhaled the delicate scent of her perfume, felt her arms around him. As he opened his eyes and looked into her violet eyes, she smiled. This is real. Tom smiled back.

“Sara? Mr. Gardner? Are you up there?” Jimmy called from the bottom of the stairs.

“Yes. Tom was showing me around the house. Come on up,” Sara shouted. Reluctantly, Tom released her as Jimmy bounded up the stairs and down the hall.

“I’ve been looking all over for you. Thought maybe you went down to the beach or something. Anyhow, were you listening to me? How did you think I played that last song?”

“You’re a natural, kid.” Tom playfully ruffled the boy’s unruly, red hair. “In fact, you did so well, I think by Christmas you’ll probably be able to make your debut. That is, if you promise to come over and practice as often as you can. What do you think about that, champ?”

Jimmy beamed. “You bet I will. I’ll figure out something to tell Mother. She’s always glad to have me out from under foot anyway. And Billy’s friend Alan is coming next week, so nobody will even notice if I’m not around. I promise I won’t get in your way. I’ll stay in the living room and practice. Okay?”

“I don’t mind your being around one bit. My sister and her family will be here next week. I have a feeling they’ll be very happy to have you here. In fact, my niece, Lizzie, will be thrilled to have someone to play with, even if it has to be a boy.” Tom winked at Jimmy. “Come on, let’s go down to the kitchen and have something to drink. I think there are chocolate chip cookies, too.”

While Jimmy ran ahead, Sara and Tom stood together for a moment, not wanting to end their time alone. Tom held her for a few moments and whispered, “I don’t want you to go, Sara. Won’t you stay with me today?”

She pulled away, taking his hand in hers. “I don’t want to go either, Tom, but I have to. Don’t look disappointed. Now that Vivian has a car, she’ll be gone a great deal of the time . . . if William will let her drive his car! She’s not the safest driver! Somehow we’ll make time to be together—just the two of us—as often as we can.”

It was raining again when Sara and Jimmy left. Joe was leaving and offered to drive them home on his way to town. Tom watched somberly as they drove off. Sara, what have I gotten you into?