Unhallowed Ground (3 page)

Caroline wrinkled her nose. She was a petite blonde, cute and winsome, even when she made a face. She’d dated Pete Albright back in the day.

“We were horrible. But he could be pretty macho, so I kind of think he deserved it. And as for you, well, you’re just crazy for living there. That house is spooky.”

“I’ve slept in the house, and it’s just fine. And I applaud Mrs. Douglas. She couldn’t begin to afford to fix it up, but she kept it from the wrecking ball. I say good for her.” Sarah shrugged. “Although I do wish she’d fixed at least a few things.”

Caroline smiled. “Hey, you wanted history. Not me—not to live with, anyway. Don’t get me wrong, I like history fine or I wouldn’t be working here,” she was quick to say. Not that she really had much choice. The Heritage House was a private museum, owned and
operated by her parents. They had come to St. Augustine the year before she was born, embracing everything about the city and quickly making it their home. They were delighted to boast that St. Augustine was the oldest continually inhabited European-based community in the country, founded by the Spaniards in 1565, long before the English stepped foot in Jamestown and even longer before the
Mayflower
sailed across the sea. They were history buffs, and they hadn’t started up their business to get rich; they simply loved what they did. Caroline’s father, Harry, wrote history textbooks, and that endeavor, not the museum, was what supported them.

“Give me plumbing and electric that work any day. And a roof that doesn’t leak,” Caroline told her.

“I hear you,” Sarah admitted. “But the house is magnificent. And in a year’s time, I’ll have it all set up as a bed-and-breakfast, and I’ll run a collectibles and antiques business out of it, as well. You’ll see,” Sarah assured her.

Caroline laughed. “We should both live so long.”

“Hey!”

“Sorry. You’ll get it done. I just don’t envy you the process. I grew up in the middle of constant renovations, remember? Every bad storm that came through, we were in the dark for weeks. No closets—they all had wardrobes back then. No whirlpool tubs.” Caroline frowned. “And I’m not sure you should be staying there alone. It’s too big. With everything that’s going on, I don’t think it’s safe.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I meant to show you the paper right away. I get sidetracked too easily.”

“What happened?”

“Another missing woman. This one a local.”

“Oh, no,” Sarah said, reaching for the paper.

“A student from the community college,” Caroline said. “She lived at home, but she went out a couple of night ago with a group of kids for a bonfire on the beach out on Anastasia Island…and didn’t come back. There’s her picture,” Caroline said, tapping the paper.

“That’s horrible,” Sarah said softly. The picture was of a young woman, pretty and blond. It was her high school graduation photo. She had bright eyes full of hope, and long shining hair beneath her cap.

“Scary, huh?” Caroline said. “She looks a lot like the girl who disappeared last year, the one who was on vacation from D.C.”

“That girl disappeared from Jacksonville,” Sarah said. But she stared at the picture. The girls really had been similar in appearance. The big bright eyes, the long blond hair. Serial killers often picked a certain physical type, and if there was a serial killer working somewhere in the area, he had obviously chosen his. Pretty blondes with large eyes. She looked at Caroline, who was still studying the paper. “They don’t know that the other girl ever even came this far. Jacksonville is a big city, and with traffic these days, an hour away.”

“What? Serial killers don’t have cars?” Caroline asked her.

“I know, I know. But look on the bright side. Maybe this girl will turn up,” Sarah said. “Thing is, you can’t
obsess, or you’d never leave your house. You just have to be smart and careful.”

Caroline shook her head. “I’m not worried about me. I’m the world’s biggest coward. I wouldn’t live in your spooky old house alone for all the tea in China. I’m worried about
you.
Nothing scares you, and I think some things should.”

“Not true, trust me. I have a healthy respect for being careful. I lock my doors, and I got friendly with my neighbors right off the bat,” Sarah protested.

Caroline sniffed. “Oh, right. To the left, the pregnant teenager whose husband is in the service. And to the right, the octogenarian. They’ll be a big help in a pinch.”

“Brenda Cole isn’t a teenager, she’s twenty-one. And Mr. Healey is not an octogenarian, he’s only in his seventies—and he has a dog.”

“A teacup Yorkie!” Caroline said.

“One vicious teacup Yorkie, I’ll have you know. He barks like a son of a bitch,” Sarah assured her, then laughed. “Which he is, of course. But seriously, I’m okay, honestly. I have a baseball bat, I
will
have an alarm system, and I can dial 911 faster than a speeding bullet.”

“Just be careful,” Caroline warned her.

“Yes, ma’am, I promise.”

“Okay. Hey, want to have dinner?”

“I can’t. I have to get home. Gary is at the house.”

“And he’s going to work all night?” Caroline asked.

“Until dark. He’s trying to finish tracing all the pipes today. I have a leak in one wall. So I’m going to head home and call up for pizza delivery.”

“Stop for a six-pack on the way home, too,” Caroline warned. “Make Gary happy. He’s the best. He’s nice, and he can do anything. Funny how all that works out, huh? Gary was such a shop geek in high school, and now he’s doing great. Pete Albright was a star, and I hear he’s working in a fast food restaurant up in Atlanta. Go figure.” She yawned. “Anyway, I’m meeting Will with Renee and Barry. You should grab Gary and go with us.” When Sarah started to reply, Caroline waved a hand dismissively. “Never mind. I know, the house comes first. Anyway, let’s go get changed.”

“Will, huh?” Renee Otten and Barry Travis were fellow docents who had struck up a romance, and Will Perkins was Sarah’s second cousin. Their mothers had been close, so he was almost like a brother to her, practically a fraternal twin, since they were both the same age, born a day apart, and shared the same coloring. And lately he and Caroline had become quite the item.

“He’ll be disappointed that you’re not coming. You haven’t been home that long,” Caroline said, turning on the reproach.

Sarah laughed. “I’ve been here six months. And Will and I see plenty of each other. In fact, he has threatened to move in once the place is done.” While she had attended Florida State—not all that far away in Tallahassee—for her bachelor’s degree, she had gone to Virginia for grad school, and then taken a job with an Arlington historical research and tour agency. But when Caroline’s parents had needed another docent, especially one with her knowledge of local history and lore, she had decided it was time to come back. Virginia was
beautiful, and she would always love it, but nothing could compare to the city in which she had been born and raised.

“Fine, be that way. In the meantime, I’m changing into something cute and cool and sure to wow them over at Hunky Harry’s.”

“Honey, all you have to do is walk into Hunky Harry’s to wow everyone,” Sarah assured her. “Trust me, you’re ‘wow’ material even in what you’re wearing now.”

The lectures they gave covered topics ranging from the coming of the first Spaniards to British rule, American rule, the Confederacy, Henry Flagler and the railroad, Prohibition and beyond, and they had different outfits to wear for each. Today they were focused on the Seminole Wars and the Civil War. So today they weren’t dressed in silk and satin as would befit a pair of Southern belles.

Today they wore homespun cotton skirts and prim shirts that buttoned chastely to the neck. They were middle-class women of the era, those who churned butter and milked cows. And still, Caroline looked adorable. Sarah had yet to see a style from any era that Caroline didn’t wear well.

“Why, Miss McKinley, you do go on,” Caroline said with a mock simper. “And my, my, but if you aren’t just a plate of buttered grits yourself.”

“Yeah, yeah, Missy-yourself, let’s just change and get out of here,” Sarah said as they left the lecture hall. Barry Travis, in breeches and a homespun cotton shirt, was also heading toward the door marked Cast Members
Only. He was a tall, handsome man of thirty, with longish brown hair that worked well in historical context.

“I hope you two can get changed quickly, because I’m starving. Renee is ushering the last of the book buyers out the front door, and we are officially closed,” he said cheerfully.

“Sarah’s not coming,” Caroline informed him.

“Can’t,” Sarah said. “My house needs me.” She smiled to acknowledge that even she knew how silly that sounded.

“You know,” he said, studying her and shaking his head, “you could have bought a nice new condo.”

“There will be other nights,” she said.

“What if the world ends tomorrow?” Barry demanded.

“My house will be one day closer to done, and Gary won’t hate me,” Sarah said.

“I give up,” Barry said. “We’ll miss you as we dine on succulent burgers—oh, wait. You didn’t suddenly become a vegetarian, did you?” he asked her.

“She’s a fish-a-tarian, I believe,” Caroline.

“Pescatarian,” Barry said.

“Whatever,” Caroline agreed.

“Doesn’t matter. You can torture me with thoughts of food and I won’t care. Besides, I’m not sure anything at Hunky Harry’s is actually succulent. Anyway, have a great time, and drink a beer for me.”

“It’s a good thing Harry didn’t hear you say that. And it’s not true—the food there is good,” Barry protested.

“Yes, you’re right. The food is very good, especially the fish. But I can’t go. Not tonight,” Sarah said.

She hurried into the women’s locker room and quickly changed. Caroline had been right about one thing: she should stop and pick up a six-pack. Maybe a twelve-pack. Gary had a few employees working overtime right along with him.

She managed to escape without getting into further conversation, because when Caroline came in, she headed straight for the showers. Was she primping so hard for Will? Maybe. The two of them had always liked one another, but Sarah had never seen any signs that their relationship was anything beyond friendship. Then again, who knew? They said that friends made the best spouses. She certainly didn’t know.

She’d fallen in love once, and it had been a brief and poignant affair. Clay Jenner had been a soldier. They’d met in Newport News, and had quickly discovered they both loved Buddy Holly, Peggy Lee, lounge music and historic ships. They’d spent a few months laughing, talking, listening to music and exploring historic sites. Then he’d been deployed. He’d been wonderfully romantic, going down on one knee when the cherry blossoms had been exploding all over the park, and he’d offered her the diamond she now wore on a chain.

He hadn’t come home. That had been three years ago now, and although she would probably never get over the pain of losing him, she had accepted that he wasn’t coming back. He had gone into the military for the schooling and the benefits, but, as he had told her, he’d signed the paper swearing that he would obey his superior officers and defend his country. It would have been nice if he could have served out his time
somewhere safe, like Germany, but it hadn’t happened that way.

He had been killed in a sniper attack. A bullet straight through the brain. He had probably never known what had hit him.

For that she was grateful. As her dad had told her once, every man and woman would die. An easy death was something that meant even though God might take a man early, he loved him enough to keep him from suffering.

Now she was glad to be home, where there were no memories of Clay, and glad to have moved into her house.

She didn’t drive to work anymore; her house and the museum were in the area that was referred to as Old Town. After stopping for a twelve-pack and walking another four blocks through enclaves of tourist-centric businesses, she was thinking that a six-pack would have been fine.

She was almost at the walk that led up to her house when she saw him. The man she had noticed during her lecture.

While many buildings in Old Town sat right up near the sidewalk, there was actually a stretch of lawn in front of her place, along with a front walk and driveway—they’d needed a place for the cars and hearses to go. The man was only on the sidewalk, but he was right at the start of the coquina shell walk that led to her front porch. And he was staring at the house.

He must have sensed that she was watching him, because he turned, looked at her gravely, then smiled as she walked toward him, eyeing him carefully.

“Well, hello. It’s Ms. McKinley, right?” he said. “Excellent lecture—thank you.”

She nodded, staring at him warily. “Can I…help you?”

“I was admiring the house,” he said.

She wasn’t sure if she should say that it was hers or not. People had a tendency to be friendly in St. Augustine. In fact, there were dozens of B&Bs in the city, most of them homes that were open to strangers. In fact, she couldn’t wait for her own house to be one of them.

But at the moment, she apparently had a bigger-city attitude going. And the first rule was never let a stranger know where you live.