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A Thousand Yesteryears
A Point Pleasant Novel
By Mae Clair KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
Copyright © 2015 Mae Clair
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-60183-780-6
CHAPTER 1
June, 1982 Point Pleasant, West Virginia
Eve Parrish stared through the windshield of her Toyota Corolla at the two-story house her aunt had bequeathed to her in her will. A house she remembered fondly from childhood, it had been in her family for four generations, just like the old hotel in downtown Point Pleasant.
Tightening her grip on the steering wheel of the parked car, she vowed to worry about the hotel later. One problem at a time.
At twenty-seven, it was staggering to find herself the sole owner of her family's homestead and the Parrish Hotel. She'd inherited the latter after her father died, and Eve's mother had signed her ownership of the property over to Aunt Rosie. Not long afterward, her mother had uprooted them, determined to put the tragedy of the Silver Bridge in the past. It had always been Aunt Rosie who came to visit Eve and her mom in Pennsylvania.
But Aunt Rosie was gone.
Why couldn't she have told them about the cancer? Eve would have done something, anything to help. Insisted she get treatment.
"She didn't want treatment," Adam Barnett, Rosie's lawyer had explained as he'd passed her the keys for the hotel and the house earlier that day. "She went quickly, which is how she wanted it."
Eve swiped a tear from her cheek. Aunt Rosie had planned to marry in the summer of '68, but the Silver Bridge altered those plans. Shaken by the tragedy, Eve's aunt had called off her engagement to Roger Layton and never married. Was that why she'd allowed herself to go so quickly once diagnosed with breast cancer? Did she think no one loved her?
A spasm of guilt twisted Eve's stomach. Her small apartment was only six hours away in Harrisburg, but her mom had drilled a steady dislike of Point Pleasant into her head from the time they moved away. It was the place where her father had met his end in the icy waters of the Ohio River only weeks before Christmas and a hotspot for bizarre Mothman and UFO sightings. Was it any wonder her mother had insisted on burying the town in their past?
Right or wrong, Eve hadn't returned in fifteen years. She barely recognized the sparse streets now, so changed from the thriving river community she remembered. She'd been glad to see the Crowne Theater still in operation, but saddened to know G. C. Murphy's had closed its doors. How she, Maggie, and Sarah had loved their soda fountain.
Taking a deep breath, she popped the door on the Corolla and stepped onto the street. Aunt Rosie's house — the same house in which her father and his sister had grown up — was located several miles from downtown Point Pleasant. Every bit as imposing as she remembered, the large two story was offset by a covered porch and a towering chestnut tree in the front yard. Her father had once hung a tire from the lowest branch at Aunt Rosie's behest so Eve and her friends would have a swing when they visited.
Reluctantly, Eve glanced to the house next door. Not quite as large, the cheerful colonial looked in far better condition than the imposing structure Eve had inherited. The paint appeared fresh, the shrubs neatly trimmed. Colorful blooms had already sprouted in the flowerbeds, and a pot of pansies welcomed guests to the front porch.
She'd spent countless afternoons playing in Maggie's home. Countless Friday night sleepovers when they'd stayed up late eating Mrs. Flynn's peanut butter cookies and giggling about boys. She'd never told her friend about the crush she'd had on Caden, but Maggie had known. Best friends always did. Unlike his sister, Caden had survived that fatal night on the Silver Bridge.
With an inhale of determination, Eve hooked her purse onto her shoulder. She would leave her overnight bag and suitcase in the car for the time being. She'd packed light, hoping to finalize plans for the house and hotel within two weeks. Hopefully, Adam Barnett could recommend a real estate company capable of handling residential and commercial sales.
He'd warned her about the break-in. "Nothing taken, it appears. Just vandalism. It happens sometimes when a house sits empty. Probably teenagers looking for a thrill. I had all of the damaged items removed and disposed of as you requested."
The key turned easily in the lock. According to Mr. Barnett, the vandals had gained entrance through the screened porch in the rear, and then busted the kitchen door. Both doors would require reinforcing. With any luck, the rest of the damage would be minimal.
As she stepped inside, a swarm of memories assaulted her. The house smelled stale, closed up for too long, but a trace of Aunt Rosie's signature scent lingered beneath the mustiness. A light bouquet that whispered of spring flowers and clover. On the heels of having visited her aunt's grave at the cemetery, the fragrance brought tears to Eve's eyes. Hugging her arms close to her chest, she blinked them away.
Mr. Barnett had made sure all of the utilities were working, but it was stuffy in the house. She'd have to set the ceiling fans to circulate the air. At least no one had covered Aunt Rosie's pretty furniture with those dreadful white sheets people used when closing an estate.
Her aunt had kept most of the furniture Eve remembered from childhood. The gold and crystal lamps on the end tables were new, but the heavy-footed couch and easy chairs upholstered in crimson brocade were as she remembered, if faded from time. Black walnut tables and thick butternut drapes covered with climbing grapevines accentuated the décor. Surprisingly, there was little damage to the room.
Tracing her fingers along a chair rail, she headed for the dining room. Whoever bought the old monstrosity would have to crave a home with character. It certainly had that. From its wide windowsills to arched openings and massive moldings, it echoed the detailing of a different time.
In the kitchen, she found the door leading to the screened porch reinforced with plywood to prevent further break-ins. The upstairs fared worse. The room her talented aunt had employed as a dark room had been completely ransacked. Mr. Barnett had been hesitant to volunteer the information but said there were chemical spills, and many of her aunt's beloved photos had been found torn and littered on the floor. Looking at the damage, Eve felt a slow burn of anger that someone would destroy her aunt's work. They had no right! As if in mockery of the act, the vandals had used black spray paint to leave a large squiggle on the wall like a brand. Stupid, stupid kids.
Two of the bedrooms had barely been touched, but the last — her aunt's room — had suffered nearly as badly as the dark room. The contents had been dumped from the dresser and closet. At least Mr. Barnett had seen to it that her aunt's lovely clothing had been piled on the bed for her to sort through and replace. Someone had obviously overturned the bureau — the mirror was shattered — and the bedspread had been ripped off and thrown on the floor. This time when the tears welled, she couldn't stop them. It wasn't fair. Her aunt had been taken prematurely at forty-nine by an ugly disease, and this is how her memory was honored? Lifting a soft terry robe from the bed, she inhaled her aunt's scent and pressed the fabric to her cheek.
"I'm sorry, Aunt Rosie. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when you needed me."
Eve jerked reflexively when a sharp pounding interrupted her thoughts. Given the vandalism she'd witnessed, her heart lurched frightfully, sending a flutter through her stomach. It took a few seconds before she placed the sound as someone banging on the front door. Mr. Barnett had indicated someone from the sheriff's office would likely stop by to talk to her about the damage. She hadn't expected them so soon, but was eager to learn the details of the report. Tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ears, she hurried down the steps, then yanked open the door.
"Why hello there." The petite woman standing on her front porch offered a friendly smile.
"I ..." Eve mentally stumbled, her mind doing cartwheels. Something about the woman was familiar. The appearance was off — there was gray in the woman's hair that hadn't been there before, and her eyes looked watery, not bright like Eve remembered — but the inflection of her voice was the same. She swallowed hard. "Mrs. Flynn?"
"I saw your car. Maggie said you were coming."
"Excuse me?"
Her dead friend's mother smiled indulgently and patted her hand. "It's all right. I realize things are different now." Turning, she roamed to the edge of the covered porch and rested her hands lightly on the railing as she gazed over the front yard. "Maggie has waited a long time for you, Eve."
Flummoxed by her unexpected arrival and the strange comments, Eve trailed after her. "Mrs. Flynn? I ... don't understand what you mean." Surely, her best friend's mother wasn't discussing Maggie as if she were still alive. Perhaps the woman was ill. Her odd behavior made the whole scenario seem like a dream.
A car passed in front of the house, sending a flutter of leaves into the yard on a puff of air. The breeze smelled of honeysuckle and exhaust, and a clingy kiss of sunlight warmed Eve's face. She couldn't be dreaming.
"Did you know they didn't find her body until June of '68?"
Eve bit her lip, uncertain how to respond. When her mother had uprooted them the spring after the bridge collapse, the bodies of three victims were still missing. She'd later learned that Maggie's remains had been located during the summer, but there was no talk of returning for the funeral. Her mother wouldn't hear of it.
"I'm so sorry." At least her father's body had been discovered in the debris pile on the Ohio side of the river, allowing him the dignity of a proper burial. Not Maggie. For nearly six months, her remains had been battered and misshapen by the cold currents of the river. If the knowledge ripped at Eve's heart, how much more the heart of her friend's mother?
"Would you ... would you like to come inside?"
"No thank you, dear." Mrs. Flynn turned to face her. "I just wanted to welcome you back. Maggie asked me to."
Oh, God. The woman was certifiably crazy.
She might have contemplated the thought further but for the arrival of a police car in front of Aunt Rosie's house. Mrs. Flynn shook her head at the sight, then quietly left the porch without so much as a goodbye. She was halfway across the yard when the man in the car stepped onto the street.
"Mom," he called.
Mom?
Eve felt her eyebrows launch into her bangs as she watched the man dart around the rear of his car to greet Mrs. Flynn on the grass. They exchanged a few soft words before the woman continued her path back to her home and the man jogged toward the porch. As he hustled up the steps, Eve got the shock of her life.
"Ryan?"
"Hey, you remembered." Maggie's brother grinned and extended his hand.
When she slid her fingers into his, he yanked her close, hugging her tightly. In no time, she found herself laughing breathlessly.
"It's so good to see you, Ryan." She hugged him back, delighted by the warmth his unexpected presence brought. "Mr. Barnett never said you worked for the sheriff's department."
"Yep. A sergeant." He tapped the badge pinned to his neatly pressed uniform, then held her at arm's length, his smile igniting a sparkle in his blue eyes.
It was hard to believe the skinny thirteen-year-old she remembered had matured into such a tall, broad-shouldered man. His black hair, no longer curly but wavy, lay tousled over his brow, his grin as infectious as always.
"God, it's good to see you after all these years." Ryan seemed reluctant to release her. "I ran into Adam Barnett at the bank, and he told me he'd given you the keys. I can't believe you're really here."
"I can't either." She hugged him again, then laughed. "You got so tall."
"And you got so ..." He paused and wiggled his eyebrows, molding his hands in the shape of an hourglass. "Curvy."
She swatted his arm. "You always were a trouble-maker. Do you want to come in for a while? The house is a wreck, but —"
"Actually, that's why I'm here. I wanted to go over the vandalism report with you." He sobered abruptly and stepped away. "And I'm sorry about my mother. I hope she didn't say anything to upset you."
"No, I ..." How did she explain the odd conversation? She'd only been in Point Pleasant a short while. The last thing she wanted to do was offend a childhood friend by pointing out that his mother was off her rocker.
Ryan shook his head, clearly conscious of what may have been said. "Sometimes she gets confused and gets caught up in the past."
Eve let the remark slide without comment. "I was just going to get my bags out of my car." She steered the conversation elsewhere. "Maybe you could give me a hand?"
"Sure."
Together, they trudged to her Corolla. Ryan grabbed her suitcase and overnight bag while Eve snatched a jacket from the backseat along with a few boxed goods she'd brought for the trip. Later, she'd hit the grocery store and stock up on perishable items. At least the refrigerator was in working order.
In the house, Ryan carried her luggage upstairs while she detoured to the kitchen with her small parcel of crackers, instant rice, and peanut butter. She wished she had something to offer him, but the best she could manage was peanut butter and crackers. Mentally, she bumped the grocery store higher on her to-do list.
"I put everything in the spare bedroom for you," Ryan announced, entering the kitchen. "I guess you saw Rosie's room is a mess."
Eve added her box of instant rice to the nearest cupboard, nudging aside several cans of Campbell's soup left behind by Aunt Rosie. A vivid memory flashed through her mind as she recalled her aunt feeding her tomato soup and a grilled cheese for lunch on a brisk autumn day.
"Her dark room, too." Eve shut the cupboard and turned, bracing her back against the counter. "The vandals hit the upstairs hard. Do you have any idea who would have done such a thing?"
"Afraid not." Ryan motioned her toward the dining room. "Let's sit down."
At the dining room table, he withdrew a folded sheaf of papers from his breast pocket. "I thought you should have a copy of the vandalism report."
Eve eyed the papers he handed her. It was standard stuff — date, time, damage done. "Who reported it?"
"No one. I still live next door with my mom. It's um ... complicated." He cleared his throat awkwardly. "After Rosie died, I kept an eye on the place. Several days after her death, I was walking around the house when I noticed the door on the screened porch had been busted. I guess the vandals chose it because it was hidden from the street. Easy entry."
"Did they take anything?"
"Not that I could tell, but Rosie isn't here to answer that question. I should have said it before, Eve, but you have my sympathies." He covered her hand with his where it rested on the table.
She managed a wan smile and nodded a thank you. It was good to see him again, a familiar face that made the shock of returning to her childhood home less traumatic. Even if he was grown, no longer the thirteen-year-old boy she remembered, he was still the brother of her one-time best friend.
"So you think it was just kids out for some fun?" She winced, unable to comprehend how anyone could view destroying the home of the recently deceased as entertaining.
He hesitated. "It looks that way."
"Is there something you're not telling me?"
"Nothing of importance." He patted her hand again and stood, then paced a short distance away. "What are you going to do with the place?"
The million-dollar question. "Sell it, of course." It hurt to say, as if she was turning her back on Aunt Rosie and all her aunt held dear. "Vandalism aside, the home needs work to make it desirable. I'm no expert, but it looks like it could use a new roof and several of the rooms should be repainted. If I want to put it on the market, I'm going to have to fix it up first." It was a sobering thought. "I don't suppose you could recommend someone?"
He surprised her with a quick answer. "Do you remember Caden?"
"Your brother?" Her heart lurched again. How could she forget her childhood crush?
"He has a contracting business. Home remodeling, repairs. That sort of thing."
"It sounds ideal." For some reason she hadn't considered encountering him when she'd returned to Point Pleasant. "Do you have a phone number for him? I'd like to talk to him about taking on the repairs."
"How about if I have him stop by tomorrow? Will that work?"
"Perfect." She was planning on addressing the hotel tomorrow, something that would probably take most of the day. "Do you think he can stop early? Around nine? I was planning on visiting the hotel later."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from A Thousand Yesteryears by Mae Clair. Copyright © 2015 Mae Clair. Excerpted by permission of KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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