A Thousand Yesteryears (25 page)

“Would you have told me?”

“It’s not something I like to talk about.” Taking her hand, he softened his voice. “Look, Eve…what happened with Hank might have soured me on carrying a gun, but it hasn’t made me any less aware of predators. You need to tell me about the crow and how it got there.”

He’d avoided answering her question. Maybe it was cop instinct that kept him focused, or maybe he really wasn’t sure. Either way, sitting in the hall with a party taking place a few feet away didn’t seem the appropriate time to pick at his reasoning or the past.

“I found it the day you and Ryan came for dinner.” Drawing a breath, she forced herself to retreat to that sunny afternoon, then relayed the whole story—how she’d found it outside, talked to Doreen Sue, then finally, how she and Katie had stowed it in the trash bag. “Katie wanted me to tell you that night, but I wanted you and Ryan focused on Wendy. Honestly, Caden—after that, I just forgot. I didn’t even remember to bury the poor thing.”

“I took care of that. It wasn’t worth sending to the lab, but I’ll check the area where you found it. Eve.” He drew her hand into his lap, then lightly tracked his thumb over her knuckles. “Don’t you see this is the next step? Whoever is trying to scare you away, for whatever reason, wasn’t successful with the notes they left on your car. The guy is getting desperate, so he’s upped the ante. Who knows what he’ll do next.”

“Well, I’m not leaving.” She stiffened her back, sitting straighter. “I’m staying permanently. I made that decision tonight. I’m going to move into Aunt Rosie’s house and run the Parrish Hotel just as she would have wanted. As my father would have wanted. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Seriously?” The grim line of his mouth morphed into a slowly spreading smile. “You’re going to stay—live—in Point Pleasant?”

She smiled right along with him. “Yes. It will take me a while to wrap up the loose ends with my job in Harrisburg, my apartment, and belongings, but I have no plans on reversing the decision. The hardest part will be breaking the news to my mother.”

“Eve, that’s great. Uh…not about your mother, but that you’ll be staying.” He cleared his throat and shifted awkwardly. “I probably haven’t said it, but I care about you.”

Her heartbeat quickened. The interlude with Roger aside, it was turning out to be a perfect night. “I care about you, too. Every time I thought about saying goodbye, I felt sick.” Her fingers tightened around his hand. “Looks like you’re going to be stuck with me.”

“You won’t get any complaints.” Hooking his arm around her neck, Caden pulled her closer. His lips moved over hers in a soft kiss, sending a pleasant tingle down her spine. Before she could contemplate the delicious sensation, he drew back and stroked a finger over her cheek. “What time will you be done here?”

“Why?”

“Because I’ll hang around, or I’ll come back when you’re through.”

“Why?” she persisted.

“Eve, just about everyone in town knows Roger is having a party tonight. If someone wanted to catch you leaving the hotel, tonight’s the perfect chance. I’d feel better if I was here when you left. I’ll follow you home.”

The man was being silly, but there was no use pointing out the obvious. His expression more than made it clear arguing would be a waste of time. Like it or not, she was stuck with her overly protective, ex-sheriff’s-sergeant boyfriend. There were certainly worse ways to end a night.

“All right.” She glanced at her watch. “Let me check with Katie. The dinner service is over, so there’s not much left to do. If she’s fine handling things on her own, I’ll leave now. Give me ten minutes, and I’ll meet you in my office.”

“Done.” He gave her a quick kiss and stood. A goofy grin spread over his face. “Damn, I’m glad you’re staying.”

A feeling of warmth washed over her. “Me, too.”

There was no question she’d made the right decision.

* * * *

Roger tossed down another shot of Scotch and leaned against the bar, watching his friends, associates, and family members party on the dance floor. Somehow, Lillian had convinced Jeremy to join her, but the kid had two left feet. What an awkward bird. Not that his wife was much better, but at least she wasn’t making a spectacle of herself. No, his perfect wife was too proper for that. She frequently reminded him they had an image to uphold. Her family came from old money—banking money—and had helped put Point Pleasant on the map. She might look like an eighteenth-century spinster, but underneath the woman was a shrewd cookie.

She’d supported him, recognizing the potential of a lucrative investment when he’d suggested they make an offer on the Parrish Hotel through Adam Barnett. Too bad the deal hadn’t seen the light of day. Now he’d have to tell her it was a no-go. Not that he really wanted the old monstrosity, anyway.

Years ago, it had ranked high on his radar, but that was before he’d landed Lillian and her father’s bank. It still wouldn’t have hurt to tuck the hotel into his portfolio, but his main reason for making the offer had been to get rid of the girl. If Eve sold the place, she’d leave town without any need for him to resort to his “Reaper” persona.

Damn. He hated when things didn’t go his way.

Motioning for the bartender, he nodded toward his empty glass.

“Sure thing, Mr. Layton.” The man hopped to the task, splashing a finger of Scotch into the crystal.

Mr. Layton.
He liked the respect the name implied, enjoying the recognition that came from being someone of note. Feeling generous, he dropped a few dollars on the bar as tip, then downed the shot.

Happy Birthday to me.

The liquid burned his throat, but the sting made him feel alive. He had a slight buzz going and would probably be drunk before the night was over if he kept the current pace. Hell, he deserved the luxury. Another year older and all that crap. Yesterday at the TNT, he’d been ready to shit himself, certain he wouldn’t live to breathe another second.

The rational part of his mind insisted he hadn’t seen the Mothman, but the part that functioned on survival instinct knew differently. He still remembered the red-haired woman’s scream, a horrified shriek that had sent him diving for the ground. He’d burrowed among the bulrushes, trying to appear as small as possible, knowing something demonic loomed behind him. The woman and her husband hadn’t spied him, but he’d feared “the thing” had.

Shit, he’d even whimpered. What a pathetic pansy-ass.

The monster’s shadow had crossed over him as it flew past, dark and cold as a patch of black ice. A loud droning exploded in his head, somersaulting his gut into his throat. Terrified, he’d squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his hands to his ears, fearful of heaving his lunch.

He couldn’t be sure how long he’d lain curled up like a spineless wimp. After a while, he became conscious of the sound of his breath, a harsh rasp that replaced the buzzing in his head. Other sounds followed…insects nearby, the call of a bird, the rake of the breeze through the rushes. Drenched in sweat, he’d crawled unsteadily to his knees.

The Mothman, the nosey tourist couple, and even their car were gone.

Earlier today, he’d seen the photo the woman had snapped splashed across the front page of the local paper. Fortunately, the focus had been on the monster and how the couple had managed to escape. No mention of his missing money clip. According to the woman,
The thing chased us from the TNT, then veered off
.
George said it didn’t want us there, but I got the feeling it was trying to protect us from something. It could have killed us if it wanted to.

Stupid bimbo. What did some touristy broad know about a bird-creature? The only thing she and her dim-witted husband had needed protecting from was him.

Had the monster known he was there? That he’d intended to kill them?

He shuddered.

It didn’t matter. All he cared about was the money clip and the possibility of it being tied to him or, worse, Amos’s murder.

He’d scoured the area thoroughly after recovering from his fright, but hadn’t been able to find the damn thing. The woman must have pocketed the clip or dropped it. Hopefully, it was gone for good and the meddlers would leave soon, too. Even if the couple wanted to hang around, they probably had jobs waiting and wouldn’t be able to linger indefinitely. If worst came to worst, he’d have to dream up an incentive to move them along.

Thinking about it, Roger cracked his knuckles.

“Hey, Roger.” Stan Brogan, a colleague from the bank, joined him at the bar. “Some party. Why aren’t you on the dance floor with Lillian?”

Roger motioned the bartender to pour another Scotch. “I’m enjoying the view from here.”

“Yeah, great party.” Brogan requested a bottle of Miller, then propped an elbow against the bar while he waited. “Of course, I wouldn’t expect anything less from you and Lillian. You two always go for the brass ring.” The bartender delivered his bottle, and he raised it in a toast. “Cheers, Roger.”

“Cheers.” Roger downed his Scotch. “So what do you think about this Mothman thing?” It wouldn’t hurt to get another opinion on the sighting, maybe even learn a thing or two about the redhead and her money-grubbing husband. “What was the name of the couple who saw The Bird?”

Brogan grunted and scratched a chewed fingernail across his chin as if the question required excessive thought. No wonder. Habitual nail-biters overanalyzed everything. “Whitmore.”

Lately, Lillian had picked up the nail-chewing habit, too. Strange that he hadn’t realized the frequency until now. She couldn’t have grown frazzled from planning a simple party, so why the sudden nervous tick? “They still around town?”

“Last I heard.” Brogan took a pull on his Miller. “I think they’re enjoying the attention, though I heard they were scared shitless by what happened. Can’t say I blame them.” He downed the rest of his Miller then shoved the bottle on the bar. Violet Breeze launched into the first punchy chords of “Eye of the Tiger” and he happily bobbed his head to the beat.

What a jerk.

“I don’t think they’ll be going back to the TNT anytime soon,” Brogan continued, pitching his voice to carry over the guitar riffs. “I bet they’ll hang around until everyone quits buying them free meals and beer. Tomorrow, something else will come along to snag everyone’s attention, and they’ll be yesterday’s news. I already heard a rumor the cops dug up a set of bones in the woods near the old Flynn house.”

“Huh?” Roger swiveled around as if he’d been slapped in the face. The loud crash of bass and drums was nothing compared to the roar of blood in his ears. “What’s that?” His fingers cramped on his shot glass.

“Hey, can I get another Miller, here?” Brogan waved to the bartender, indicating his empty. Loosening his tie, he bobbed his head some more, clearly planning to cut loose.

“Stan.”

“Yeah. What?” The beer arrived, and he dropped a dollar tip on the bar. “Hey, did you see that new blond teller anywhere?” Turning, he surveyed the dance floor, looking every bit the married man whose wife had gone out of town. “I thought this would be a good chance to say hello outside of work. You did invite her, right?”

“Stan, what about the bones?”

“Bones? Oh, that.” A long pull on the Miller had Roger wanting to strangle the guy. How freaking long did it take to answer a simple question?

Brogan dragged a hand across his mouth, wiping up overspill from his beer. “I heard someone say Ryan Flynn found a grave in the woods near that old behemoth property at the end of town. You know—the one where his grandmother used to live. The cops are supposed to be exhuming the remains, but it could just be talk. Can’t even remember who told me about it.”

Roger clenched his jaw, the slight buzz he’d enjoyed earlier completely obliterated. The damn world was unraveling. It wasn’t possible Flynn had found her bones. Not now. Not after all this time.

Part of him wanted to strangle the annoying little pipsqueak standing beside him, bopping his head to the music, drinking
his
damn beer. But the other part, used to playacting in public, put on a silky smile and clapped the bastard on the back. “Probably more hogwash like the Mothman. You enjoy yourself, Stan. I’m going to mingle with some of my other guests.”

“Sure thing, Roger.”

Yeah. Sure thing. What the idiot didn’t realize—there wasn’t a single person in the room Roger wouldn’t willingly sacrifice to save his own ass.

“Okay. I’m ready.” Eve pulled her office door closed and stepped into the hotel lobby. She wasn’t entirely sold on the necessity of Caden escorting her home but seeing him gazing out the front windows, hands in the pockets of his jeans, sent an unexpected jolt through her heart. With his back turned, she could almost imagine him the eighteen-year-old boy who’d caught her fancy when she was an impressionable preteen. “Katie said she’ll stay until the party ends. Just in case there are any loose ends, or Roger or Lillian need something.”

Caden turned to face her. “Yeah, she told me her mom is watching Sam tonight.” He extended his hand. When she stepped nearer, closing her fingers around his, he tugged her close and kissed her.

When she could talk again, she smiled. “What was that for?”

“Because I know you think I’m being overprotective. Thanks for humoring me.”

“Is that what I’m doing?”

“Are you forgetting I was a cop? I can read between the lines.” The observation was accompanied by a measured glance. “And by the way, Roger left a while ago. He cut through here on the way to his car while you were in your office.”

“Really?” He didn’t seem the type to leave his own party when it was in full swing—too egotistical—but maybe he was miffed because she’d turned him down about the hotel.

“Pardon me.” The sound of a woman’s voice meshed with the pat-pat of approaching footfalls. “Eve, can I talk to you a minute?”

Somewhat reluctantly, she stepped from Caden’s embrace, turning to find Glenda Whitmore behind her. Looking awkward for having interrupted a private moment, the woman tightened her fingers around the strap of a brown and yellow handbag hooked over her shoulder. “I’m sorry to bother you. I just wanted to say how much George and I enjoyed staying here.”