A Thousand Yesteryears (8 page)

It all came back to the bridge and the catastrophe that devastated Point Pleasant. The town had been broken, and although it had gallantly pieced together its tattered community spirit, the golden heydays of the past would never be seen again.

Nor would Aunt Rosie.

Somehow, Eve managed to choke down most of her lunch, but it settled like lead in her stomach. When the meal was through, she and Katie parted company, she with a kinder impression of the other girl. She hoped Katie felt the same.

Returning to her office, she immersed herself in files and ledger books, learning everything she could about the hotel’s past and present operations. Many of the records and saved correspondence dated back to the time of her parents and grandparents. The sight of the old documents made her feel like she’d awakened slumbering ghosts. One folder in particular drew her attention. Dated by month, it was marked
December 1967.

The month the Silver Bridge fell.

She transferred it to the desk and sat staring at it for some time. If she looked inside, would she find anything to indicate life had come to a screeching halt in Point Pleasant? That her world had imploded, leaving her at the mercy of an uncertain and disjointed future?

It made no sense to look at past reports when she should be concentrating on the present state of the hotel in order to determine its future. And hers.

Still, she couldn’t ignore the folder. Setting it aside, she placed it with her purse, intending to study it when she had more time. She’d take it home and look through it tonight, something to keep her occupied through the long evening hours. She needed a break from sorting through the mess left by the vandals.

The remainder of the afternoon passed quickly, and shortly after three o’clock, she was drawn to the lobby by the sound of laughter. Katie stepped from behind the reception counter as a young boy with curly brown hair burst through the door and rushed to hug her.

“Hi, Mom.” He grinned as he looked at his mother. “No homework tonight. Can we walk along the river and then watch
Happy Days
?”

“After dinner.” Katie caught sight of Eve at the same time the boy did. “Sam, say hello to Ms. Parrish.”

He had pine green eyes like his mother and an infectious grin that immediately warmed Eve’s heart. “Are you Mom’s new boss?”

She flushed. “I—”

“I told him you were coming,” Katie explained, “and that he had to behave if he wanted to hang out in the lobby until I’m done with work.”

“I do homework if I have it,” Sam volunteered. “When I’m done, I read or do puzzles.” He displayed a Batman comic as proof. “No homework tonight ’cause school’s almost out. Just a few more days, and I’ve got the whole summer.”

“I remember how that felt.” Summer was fun and freedom. Swimming in the river on hot afternoons, eating sun-sweetened watermelon and downing cold lemonade on the grassy banks. In the evenings, she, Sarah, and Maggie chased fireflies and told ghost stories, watching as bats launched from the trees behind Aunt Rosie’s house. “It’s nice to meet you, Sam. You can call me Eve.”

“Mom says I should call you Ms. Parrish.”

“Oh. Well, you should do what your mom says.” It felt odd to be the boss and the grown-up. The last time she’d stood within the walls of the Parrish Hotel, she’d been twelve years old.

“
Mom, Sarah and I just want to walk down the street.”

“Don’t be long,” her mother had called from behind the reception counter. “Your father will be back from Gallipolis soon. I have chicken at home for dinner.”

Katie seemed to recognize she’d focused on something else and quietly suggested Sam settle in the lobby with his comic book. After some more small talk, Eve retreated to her office.

She thought about her job back in Harrisburg—a secretarial position with a state agency that afforded her four weeks of vacation a year, two of which she was presently using. It simply wasn’t practical for her to remain in Point Pleasant. Even her father and Aunt Rosie would understand that.

Resolved, she picked up the phone and dialed Adam Barnett’s number. The sooner she started the ball rolling, the sooner she could wrap things up and head home. His secretary put her through, and he answered within seconds.

“Hello, Mr. Barnett? This is Eve Parrish. I thought about what you said regarding the hotel, and I’d like you to put out some feelers for a prospective buyer. I believe you mentioned you had some inquiries.”

“Why, yes, Miss Parrish.” He sounded delighted to hear from her, even more by the subject. “Only one, actually, but I believe the party is sincere. He knew I represented Rosalind’s estate and approached me some time ago. I told him you were undecided with your plans.”

“That hasn’t changed.” She continued to waffle over the decision, unable to make up her mind and break ties to a town that had brought her nothing but grief. “But I’m not averse to entertaining offers. I’m planning on contacting James Dixon of River Real Estate about selling, but wanted to give your contact an opportunity.”

“I can work with Mr. Dixon. Perhaps you’d like me to make a discreet inquiry of the potential buyer and have him offer a figure? I’ll handle the settlement, and Mr. Dixon can handle the contract. No signs, no advertising, no marketing.”

She bit her lip, worried she was making a mistake. “Why don’t you run it past your buyer and see what he’s willing to offer. Please keep everything confidential, especially until I have a chance to speak with Mr. Dixon. I don’t want word spreading I’m going to sell the hotel.”

“Naturally.”

After she hung up, Eve debated the wisdom of what she’d done. It was just an old hotel, not flesh and blood. It shouldn’t bother her to sign on the dotted line, wash her hands of the structure, and tuck the proceeds into her bank account. But she had people counting on her for employment. People like Katie and Nancy and the other employees she’d met that afternoon. At the very least, whatever her decision, she would look out for them.

* * * *

When four o’clock rolled around, Katie and Sam left. A short time later, Eve packed up her folder and headed for her car. Main Street was mostly deserted when she stepped outside, the lack of vehicles the norm with traffic diverted to the new Silver Memorial Bridge at the opposite end of town. The strange quiet preyed on her nerves, an eerie sensation that prickled her skin like the shroud hanging over a ghost town. It was strange to see the streets empty, yet hear the hum of passing cars a few blocks away. With that simple rerouting of traffic, the world had elected to pass by Main Street, relegating it to a shadow of another age. An antiquity.

Eve slid into the car and set the folder on the passenger seat. She was in the process of inserting her key into the ignition when she spied a slip of paper pinned beneath her windshield wiper. Opening the door, she reached to the front of the vehicle, pulled the note free, and sank back into her seat.

Typed in the center of the page was a single sentence that sent a chill cascading down her spine.
You should leave before you get hurt.

With shaking fingers, Eve dialed the number on the business card, relieved to hear a masculine “hello” after the third ring. “Caden, this is Eve Parrish. I’d like you to repair the back door on my property. How soon do you think you can do it?”

Maybe she was being paranoid, but the note had left her shaken. There’d been no one about on the deserted street, but she imagined the author lurking behind a building waiting to see her reaction. Frightened, she’d rushed inside the hotel to her office, fished Caden’s business card from her purse, and quickly dialed.

“I already started it,” he said.

“You did?” She wasn’t sure if she should be cross or grateful. “When?”

The man, annoyingly short on words, exhaled a perturbed breath. “I told you earlier I would take care of it today.”

“But I didn’t agree.”

Silence.

She twined the phone cord in her hand and paced from the desk to the window. “How did you get in?”

He uttered a soft grunt. “Through the screened porch. It’s not secure, remember? Neither is the kitchen door. I’ve already got most of the work done. I just came home to grab a few tools before heading back to finish. Do you want it completed or not?”

“Yes. Of course.” Isn’t that why she was calling? So what if he’d started the job without her approval? The important element now was that he finished. “And…I’d like to talk to you.” He seemed to have firm ideas about the vandalism and Aunt Rosie. Ryan had brushed it off as kids, but Caden had denoted it as something sinister. In light of the note, she wanted to know more. “Have you had dinner?”

He paused as though surprised by the question. “I was going to grab a cheeseburger from McDonalds.”

A typical male food staple. Though he couldn’t see her, she rolled her eyes. “Don’t bother. I’ll grab something from the café for both of us. I’d like to talk with you about Aunt Rosie. Do you have time?”

He hesitated again, the silence filled with marked reluctance. She sensed it had little to do with the idea of them having dinner together and more to do with the past. Aunt Rosie was part of that, as was Maggie.

His answer came slowly. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Great.” She chose to overlook his uncertainty. “I’ll meet you at the house. Just give me time to order something from the café.”

Feeling slightly better she wouldn’t be walking into the mammoth two-story alone, and anxious to show him the note, Eve detoured toward the River Café and flagged down the cook. There were definitely perks to being the owner.

* * * *

Caden had to admit the batter-fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans were far better fare than the standard fast food he’d planned on eating. The company was considerably better than the drone of his TV, far prettier, too.

Eve had arrived at the house as he was installing the double bolt lock he’d purchased for her new back door. She’d dumped a manila file folder and a bag marked
River Café
on the kitchen counter, then crossed to examine his handiwork. He’d expected her to complain he’d moved ahead with repairing the door but knew something had changed since they’d parted company that morning.

Now, seated at the dining room table eating fried chicken off Rosie’s casual china, Eve clearly had more on her mind than the remnants of the dinner still on her plate. Her conversation was casual and light, but her manner tense. He’d brought a cold six-pack along as his contribution to the meal, but she’d insisted on pouring the beer into a fancy glass. Hers anyway. He drank his from the can.

Taking a swig, he watched her across the table. It was hard equating her with the coltish girl who’d been his sister’s best friend. “So why the change?”

Absently, Eve poked her fork at the mound of mashed potatoes on her plate. “I was thinking about what you said. About Aunt Rosie and how the damage to the house didn’t seem like routine vandalism.”

He suspected there was more to it, but remained silent, biding his time.

“You seemed so sure.” She set the fork down, creased the napkin she’d folded over her lap, then met his gaze. “I wasn’t here for the last fifteen years, Caden. I saw Aunt Rosie on the occasional holiday when she drove to Pennsylvania. I wasn’t even here for her funeral.”

He wondered about that, but didn’t have the audacity to ask. If it had been his aunt… “You knew her better than I did,” she said, breaking his concentration. “When I saw her or we talked on the phone, it was trivial. How business was going at the hotel, whether or not I was seeing someone, or what was happening on
Falcon Crest
. I guess I lost touch with the important things in her life.”

He wouldn’t mind having the inside track on whether or not she was seeing someone. “What do you want to know?”

She wet her lips. “Earlier today you said whoever ransacked the house was either looking for something or did it in a fit of rage.”

“In my opinion.” Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut, but cop instincts died hard. There were times, infrequent as they were, that he almost missed the job.

She leaned forward, her gaze steady. In the amber light of the overhead chandelier her eyes were flecked with gold. “You said Aunt Rosie had enemies.”

“I said
maybe
she had enemies.” He shouldn’t have been so bold.

“Do you know anyone who’d want to hurt her or her memory?”

“No.” That was the downside of it. He took another swig of beer, set the can on the table, and rotated it in his hand. The Parrish name was deeply rooted in Point Pleasant history. How could he explain gut intuition? That ever since the bridge collapse, he wasn’t so quick to discount a prickle of misgiving when it played on his nerves. If he’d paid more attention to that feeling fifteen years ago, his sister would still be alive.

“People respected Rosie,” he said at last, “but she kept to herself. She was friendly, even generous, but there was something secretive about her.”

Eve frowned. “I don’t follow.”

“She wasn’t someone you could get close to.” It was a survival trait he’d adopted himself, a means to keep others at bay. When you carried a sin or secret in your past, it was a safety measure to stay sane. Perhaps he’d recognized the habit in Rosie because it was one he favored himself. He understood secrets, and he understood guilt. “Rosie was friendly on the surface, but she kept people at arm’s length when it came to anything personal.”

“She seemed pretty close to Katie Lynch. At least, that was the impression I got after talking to Katie.”

He thought he heard a hint of jealousy in Eve’s voice. Katie was a girl full of surprises, so different from her sister, Wendy. He was sorry he’d treated Wendy like most other guys who’d grown up with her, hoping to cop a feel beneath the railroad bridge or in the back of his car. He’d never gotten further than second base, but that was his hesitation more than hers.

“Katie told me Aunt Rosie was delirious toward the end and kept repeating how sorry she was for something she’d done,” Eve continued, unaware of his thoughts. “She prayed God would forgive her. She kept mumbling about gray vines.”