Jekyll Island: A Paranormal Mystery (Taryn's Camera Book 5) (3 page)

With
houses on either side of her and several chain hotels nearby, Taryn hadn’t expected the night to be so still. After slathering her legs with bug spray she pulled on her sweatshirt, grabbed a drink, and went out to the back patio to study the night sky and call Matt. He didn’t answer so she left a quick message and then sat down on a chair, her aching legs stretched out in front of her.

There were
things
in the night but they didn’t scare her. (Maybe the snakes and alligators scared her, but she wasn’t going to think about those.)

One of Taryn’s biggest secrets, and most embarrassing facts about herself, was that she was terrified of the dark. There was no rational explanation for her fear. But while it was true that the dark petrified her, it was only the artificial dark–the dark caused by turning out a light. She didn’t mind the night sky, the darkness caused by
nature
.

Her backyard looked into the small woodland but thanks to the glare of the porch light she could only see to the edge of the patio. The world beyond was obscured by blackness, like a curtain had been dropped down to cut her off from the outside.

When her phone rang, she recoiled.

“Hey, I’ve been texting you. You okay?” It was Matt and he didn’t sound happy.

“Sorry,” she replied sheepishly. “I got here, met the manager, ate, and then took myself on a tour. I
just
finished unpacking, I swear.”

She could feel Matt’s sigh of relief rather than hear it.

“When I didn’t hear from you I was afraid something bad happened, that you’d gotten sick somewhere along the way,” he complained. “The last time you called me, you were in Atlanta.”

“You mean the seventh layer of traffic hell,” she corrected him and they laughed together.

“So, tell me all about it. What’s it like?”

Taryn spent the next few minutes trying to describe what she’d seen so far. Matt listened attentively, asking all the right questions. When she was finished he said, “I might have to take a little vacation up there. I looked at the map and it’s just a few hours away.”

Maybe she was feeling exhausted and sentimental but the thought of her and Matt walking on the beach at sunset, sharing a pizza, and enjoying themselves on an island sounded wonderful and she suddenly wanted it desperately. They hadn’t been on a vacation together yet, not as a couple anyway. They’d been on tons growing up. 

“Oh, try if you can,” she said. “I’d like that.”

“Really?” Matt sounded pleased. “You would?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because I’m usually the one showing up unannounced and weaseling in on your jobs,” he confessed. “I’m not always sure you like that.”

Well, it was true. He
did
have a habit of just showing up, especially when he thought she was in trouble. Which, granted, had been a lot lately.

“I don’t know,” she laughed. “I think I’m starting to depend on it now.” She wasn’t sure she liked that. Taryn had always been independent, even when she and Andrew lived together. And especially after Andrew died. She was trying to learn how to let go, though, and lean on Matt more.

Matt was now trying to explain to her something that had to do with his job at NASA. It was a complicated story but his even baritone was soothing so she leaned back and closed her eyes, trying to follow what he said.

And then something changed.

As long as she’d been sitting on the patio the air had been heavy with the early summer heat. The warmth had encircled her, loosening her muscles and washing over her like a blanket. The heady scent of the earth’s natural musk from the trees, ocean, marsh, and lush vegetation had settled over her and reminded her of everything she loved about nature. She’d found it comforting.

Now, however, she caught a trace of something else–something potent and unpleasant. At the same time the scent hit her nose it reached her eyes and she found them watering, overflowing so that tears streaked down her cheeks and dripped on her jeans. As she wiped the water away with the sleeve of her sweatshirt she could feel her throat starting to tighten.

The air around her was suddenly full of thick, dirty smoke and as Taryn coughed violently into the phone she began to panic.

“You okay?” Matt asked with concern as she hacked and gasped, trying to hold the phone away from her mouth.

“Ye-yeah,” she sputtered, momentarily able to catch her breath, but then gagged as the bitter poison slid down her throat and up her nose. “Smoke.”

“Ew. Someone’s smoking?” (If there was one thing Matt couldn’t stand, it was cigarette smoke.)

“No,” she heaved. It was getting worse by the second. “Fire. Fire smoke.”

“Is the house okay?”

Taryn jumped up, waving her hand frantically in front of her face to push the fumes away. She was startled to see from her watery eyes that there was nothing there. The ugly cloud was gone but the odor lingered. She quickly turned and studied the house, half expecting to see it going up in flames.

It was fine.

“House okay,” she stammered, retching in spite of the control she tried to maintain. Bile rose up but then slid back down again, mixing with the smoke and creating a vicious cycle.

It wasn’t
just
the stench of the smoke now, though. As though someone had abruptly doused her with gasoline and flicked a match on her, her entire body was engulfed in an imaginary inferno as she felt the fever spread from the roots of her hair all the way down to her toes. With her skin on fire, burning from flames she couldn’t see, she let out a blood curdling scream.

“Aakk!” Taryn cried, slapping at her skin and doing a panicky little dance on the patio stones. She thought she would surely die from the heat and the pain. She swatted at her head, her stomach, and at her legs–a hysterical woman doing a frenzied dance to music only she could hear.

Tossing her phone on the chair she tore off her sweatshirt, ripping it up the back in the process, and flung it out into the yard, leaving her standing in the open wearing nothing but her bra. Sweat rolled down her scorching arms and back, soaking her shorts. The heat was unbearable, blistering her skin and making her wail in agony. She went for her bottoms then and tried tugging them off as well but was blinded by the pain and couldn’t get her fingers to function on the zipper.

“Taryn? Taryn!” Matt’s muffled voice rose from the chair but she ignored it, panicked as she danced around and tried to rid herself of whatever was attacking her.

Then, as swiftly as it began, it all stopped.

The air around her cleared, her skin cooled rapidly, and she was left standing in her yard, half naked and wild-eyed.

Taryn, still hyperventilating, bent over at her waist and tried to gather her thoughts. “Breathe,” she instructed herself. “Breathe.”

In a trance-like state she walked back to the chair and picked up the phone. She could still hear Matt hollering at his end but he sounded very far away.

“It’s gone,” she whispered, her throat still raw. “The smoke is gone. But my whole body. It was on fire.”

“Could it be the EDS?” Matt asked, his voice shaky but always quick to find the logical explanation when there was one. “Sometimes it’s hard to regulate your body temperature.”

Taryn nodded dully and walked out into the grass to gather her torn garments. Maybe she’d had a type of seizure or something. Didn’t people sometimes smell smoke when that happened? And maybe it
was
a medical thing. The EDS caused all kinds of weird stuff. She was still learning about it herself.

“I’m okay,” she whispered again. “Let me call you back in a little while. I need to get another drink and lay down.”

But, as she let herself back into the house, she couldn’t forget the last thing she saw before it had all come to a screeching halt: a wall of flames, towering over her, and drawing nearer at a dizzying speed.

“
I hope you enjoyed your first night on the island
,” Ellen Russo said.

Taryn was sitting in Ellen’s office, a spacious room furnished with Art Deco style furniture. Once again, despite the crushing heat, Ellen sat before her looking cool as a cucumber.

“Yes, it was fine,” Taryn smiled, trying to hide the shakiness she still felt at remembering the previous night. “The house is very nice. I’ll enjoy staying there, I’m sure.”

“Good. Well, I’m afraid I don’t have a lot of time so I thought I’d give you a quick rundown of the hotel and then drive you to the locations you’ll be working at. Amy was meant to be here but had to take the day off.”

Taryn thought she noticed a note of impatience in Ellen’s voice and she wasn’t surprised. Ellen herself hadn’t hired her; rather, the board of directors had. Out of all the cottages that were still standing, all but two had been renovated and were either open for tours or for meetings and accommodations. The last two cottages, Ivy House and Adena Cottage, would be renovated in the fall. Taryn would be working with the architect to come up with renderings.

She had a feeling that Ellen, like many people, probably considered Taryn’s part of the project an unnecessary expense. After all, architects were paid to come up with sketches to show the big picture. What could Taryn possibly have to add to that?

Taryn may have suffered from nerves and the occasional annoying habit of wanting to please people too much, but she was confident in her abilities. She knew that what
she
offered was something more. She didn’t just sketch or paint landscapes–she brought the buildings to life by recreating details and features that had been lost through the years. She showed what the structure would’ve looked like in its prime, when it was full of life and new. And, more than that, she captured the souls of the objects she painted until they were no longer
objects
at all.

Taryn was the closest thing they had to a vintage photograph which, incidentally, didn’t really exist of the two cottages before their ruin.

Ellen and Taryn began their walk through the hotel first, with Ellen pointing out sights and details that were of both architectural and historical significance.

In the Riverfront Lobby Ellen paused. “The lobby bar here is something that everyone just
loves
,” she remarked drily. “However, it’s not original to the hotel. It was created as a set for a movie that was filmed here awhile back.”

Taryn nodded and looked around. She’d seen
The Legend of Baggar Vance
and had liked it. And she could understand why people would like the lobby bar, regardless of its authenticity. With its fine wood finishing, old-fashioned bar top and stools, and chipper bartender in suit and tie she felt like she’d stepped back into the 1920’s.

“This here is the Grand Dining Room,” Ellen gestured proudly a few minutes later. “Meals are served here throughout the day, as well as a formal tea. There are three fireplaces we keep lit during the winter months, a pianist who comes in during the dinner meal, and impeccable service.”

Taryn admired the large room with its beautiful crystal chandelier, grand piano covered in a display of roses, and delicate place settings on each table. Although a hostess stood at attention, there were only two tables inside with guests.

“It gets busier in the evenings,” Ellen remarked. “And during special events, of course.”

A long walkway took them past a courtyard, a deli with walls covered in movie posters of films shot there on location, and a ballroom. To Taryn’s disappointment the ballroom was simply a large room with tables set up for a meeting. She was hoping for marble floors, an orchestra pit, and chandeliers everywhere. It did, however open to a nice courtyard.

“Well, we decorate it very well for events. It doesn’t look like the same place then,” Ellen laughed when Taryn questioned her. “You should see our New Year’s Eve and Christmas parties.”

Back in the golf cart with Ellen again, Taryn took a moment to admire the exterior of the hotel. The stark white paint set against the bright blue sky, expansive porch filled with rocking chairs, and strikingly curved walls made it look so much more glamorous than the nondescript interstate hotels she was used to seeing. The two wings spread out gloriously amongst the stunning oaks draped with their Spanish moss, and the imposing turret rose proudly into the sky, a symbol of wealth and prestige for those staying in the impressive Presidential Suite below it.

There was even a croquet court on the front lawn.

It was a short ride to the first cottage and Taryn took the time to appreciate the breeze. She’d have to learn to deal with the heat if she was going to work outside all summer. She’d also have to do something with her hair. Previously washed and styled, now it rested in limp curls against her wet neck and back.

Their first stop was Ivy House.

Ivy House was around 3,000 square feet, making the word “cottage” ironic. Construction began in the mid nineteenth century, making it one of the oldest cottages. It had once been a stately imposing structure but it had fallen into disrepair in the 1940’s and had only been touched once since.

“We
did
try to renovate it two years ago,” Ellen explained as they pulled up to it. Yellow tape surrounded the house, an attempt to keep trespassers out.

Taryn beheld the old cottage with sorrow. Built in a Queen Ann Style, it was as prissy as a wedding cake and boasted a charming turret. But one entire side had caved in, making it look like a giant had given it a good kick. It was difficult to tell what the original paint had been, although Taryn assumed it would’ve been colorful. Now it was a dull gray, bleached by the sun and salt air. The steps to the porch were overgrown with weeds, the floorboards caved in, and all the windows either road mapped with spider cracks or missing altogether.

Taryn, who believed houses had memories and some sort of soul, was saddened at the sight.

“What happened?” she asked, resisting the urge to whip out Miss Dixie and start working right then and there.

“Well, workers went in and began installing support beams in the parlor and…”

Ellen’s voice trailed off, a bright pink blush coloring her cheeks.

“Yes?”

“Do you believe in ghosts, Miss Magill?” she asked curtly.

“I do,” Taryn said. No reason to be coy about it. Besides, if they’d Googled her at all they would know what she’d been involved in. She’d developed a bit of a web presence after Windwood Farm.

“There are many locations on this island that are allegedly haunted. I am an educated woman but I don’t shrink against the idea of there being something out there bigger than us. This,” she gestured to the cottage, “is one of them. Workers spent three days in the house and it was nothing but chaos. Paint cans flew around the room, heavy footsteps could be heard tramping around upstairs when nobody was able to access it, and the men heard so much female laughter ringing through the walls that they said it was hard to hear each other talk. At last, the upstairs caved in on them. Injured two people. Nobody ever went back.”

“What do you think it is? Or, whom, I should ask?”

Ellen pursed her lips. “The house was originally built by Steryl Lewis, a railroad magnate. His daughters inherited it upon his death and continued to live here until 1935. Apparently, before the eldest died, she informed everyone on the island that no matter what they did to it, it would be
hers
.”

“I guess she doesn’t like anyone touching it then,” Taryn mused.

“Well, she best get over it because we have the money to fix it and we’re going to,” Ellen snapped.

As if in response, a shard of glass fell out of one of the upstairs windows and broke into a million tiny pieces on the ground not far from the women’s feet. Taryn jumped back in surprise but Ellen just frowned and shook her head. “Oh, snap out of it Louisa,” she barked. “We’re not going to bother you.
Yet
.”

Taryn looked at Ellen in growing admiration.

Adena Cottage, constructed in 1899, was in much worse shape. Although a photograph of it from 1953 did exist, it was only a partial view. And, regrettably, a tropical storm had almost ruined it completely three years later.

Taryn would have her work cut out for her with it.

“Are there any ghosts here?” she asked as they stood on the lawn and studied it. It looked peaceful enough, but you just never really knew.

“Not that we are aware of,” Ellen answered. “We’ve never had any trouble with this one.”

Back at the hotel Ellen had bottled water brought up for them while they went over the final paperwork. Once Taryn had signed all the contracts Ellen rose to her feet. “If there is anything you need, please let me know.”

“Actually, I was going to ask about supplies. Groceries, paints, stuff like that,” Taryn said. “Where do I need to go?”

“You’ll find most of what you need in Brunswick, although if you need something specific you might have to travel down to Jacksonville,” Ellen replied. “To be honest, however, if you’re looking for good dining options I’d head over to St. Simon’s Island.”

“How long does it take to get there?”

Ellen laughed. “Well, not very long if you have a boat. Since you have a car, about half an hour if there’s traffic. Two miles by sea, fifteen by land.”