Jekyll Island: A Paranormal Mystery (Taryn's Camera Book 5) (2 page)

Jekyll Island, as a hotel and club, might have been developed as a playground and retreat
for the very wealthy but the island’s history was much older.

While the island was technically a tourist destination for anyone these days, and nobody had to arrive by boat anymore, it still wasn’t cheap. Taryn discovered this upon trying to find something for dinner.

Although all the restaurants sounded good and she planned on trying each and every one at some point because eating was kind of her hobby, most of the menus boasted prices she’d consider a good night out back in Nashville.

Then again, Taryn
was
cheap.

She was starting to fear she’d need to stick to the gas station Dairy Queen if she wanted to dine out until she found the pizza place across from the beach. Sure, it was tucked in behind a mini-golf course and doubled as a golf cart rental center but the inside was old-world charming.

And it smelled heavenly.

“You waiting for someone?” the server, a skinny woman with bifocals, asked once Taryn climbed up on a barstool.

“Nope, just me,” Taryn grinned. “I’m all alone.”

“Getting a break from the family?” the server smiled sympathetically and handed her a menu. “I don’t blame you.”

Taryn started to explain that she didn’t
have
a family but that sounded depressing. Instead, she returned the smile and scanned the menu. It didn’t seem likely that she would eat an entire pizza by herself but it
had
been known to happen on occasion.

Matt started buzzing and setting her phone ablaze with text messages almost the minute her drink arrived. Taryn sighed and chewed on her lip. She needed to give him the contact information for where she was staying and let him know she’d arrived safely but she was also tired and didn’t really feel like talking to anyone yet. Conversations with Matt were never short ones. She’d call him back when she returned to the house. 

“Sorry dude,” she said to the phone, setting it to “silent.” “I’ll call you back, I promise.”

Her server raised an eyebrow as she walked by with a pitcher of water.

“It’s the husband,” Taryn explained wryly.

“Ha,” the server called over her shoulder. “Leave a man alone with the kids for an hour and he doesn’t know what to do. Ignore him and let
him
figure it out!”

Matt, of course, was not Taryn’s husband. Sometimes “dating” even felt like too strong of a term for what they had going on. Their relationship was complicated.

Taryn had known Matt since they were children, for more than twenty years. As her best friend, and sometimes
only
friend, through the years he was the most constant thing she’d ever had in her life. Taryn’s parents were both dead. Her grandmother, who she considered responsible for raising her, was gone as well. Her only other living relative, her Aunt Sarah, had died a year ago. Taryn hadn’t seen her aunt in years and the guilt of not knowing she was even sick before her passing still ate at her.

Matt was all she had left.

For the majority of the time they’d known each other they’d simply been friends. Close friends, but just friends. That had changed in the past year and both were still trying to find their footing. Some days Taryn wasn’t always sure the change was for the better. Their physical attraction to one another was astounding; Taryn had had no idea they’d be so wildly attracted to each other once they got over the initial awkwardness. And they were still best friends. Yet, there were times when she felt like something was missing. Or, that something
else
was there, overshadowing them.

Perhaps it was the ghosts.

There was no doubt that things had changed for Taryn in the past year. Seeing dead people would do that to a woman. Her beloved camera, Miss Dixie, had always been her partner in crime on her job sites. She used her photography as a way to get to know the buildings she painted, to get bring out their fine details and explore them. And while she’d always had a good imagination when it came to envisioning the past, Miss Dixie had helped bring the structures to life for her–something she could use in her work for her clients. But now Miss Dixie was revealing the past in other ways.

She was
showing
it to her.

When Taryn saw the first pictures she’d taken back at Windwood Farm in Kentucky, the vacant rooms suddenly filled with furniture from the past and the figure that shouldn’t have been there, she’d been terrified yet intrigued.

At first she’d thought it was a fluke, just a one-time thing. After all, she’d had other jobs after Windwood and nothing had happened. When it occurred again at Griffith Tavern in Indiana, however, and intensified when Matt accompanied her to a job site in northern Georgia, she knew it was here to stay.

And as much as she wanted to believe it, Taryn also knew that it wasn’t Miss Dixie making it happen. Her camera was just the conduit. Now Taryn felt a presence almost everywhere she went. Echoes, fleeting images passing from the corner of her eyes, faint whispers…the dreams.

Taryn was surrounded by the dead who wanted to make themselves known to her. And, for whatever reason, not only was she seeing
them
, she was seeing their teacups and ottomans as well.

“That pizza good honey?” her server asked her with a wink.

Taryn nodded, her mouth full. She was already on her third piece. There might not be any leftovers to take back to the house.

While she attacked her pizza margherita with passion, Taryn flipped through a couple of books about the island she’d ordered online. The Jekyll Island Club Hotel represented a period she was fascinated with–the turn of the century. After the Civil War and before the stock market crash, the classes were still divided and the rich were frivolous and carefree. The men who made the money were inventive and sometimes scrupulous, the women savvy and headstrong. Even by today’s standards they’d spent a ton of money on houses, clothes, and accessories. The Jekyll Island Club was a place to let loose, have fun, and flaunt their wealth to each other. It had been a tremendously gay time, and something that couldn’t possibly last.

It hadn’t.

“
Darlin
, you
sure
you don’t need a box?”

Taryn was still smiling at the look of shock on her server’s face when she’d realized that Taryn didn’t have anything left to put into a box.

Now, back in her car and with her belly full, she decided to get to know her surroundings. She liked to jump into things headfirst and didn’t believe in settling in when she first arrived. She wanted to hit the ground running.

Besides, she was still a little revved up after the agonizingly long drive.

“Georgia,” she muttered as she turned onto the road, “why you gotta be so dang
long
and flat?”

Still, the ride down hadn’t been as difficult on her as she, or her doctors, had worried. Taryn hadn’t had the official diagnosis of Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome for even a year yet, but since it was a genetic condition she’d been born with it and suffered the symptoms all her life without knowing what they meant. The connective tissue disorder that caused her unstable joints to dislocate and sublux on a regular basis also caused her an immense about of pain. Her specialist had been afraid that sitting in the car for so long and doing the driving on her own would set her back. Any little thing could make her worse. She was also afraid of this but, so far, just felt tired. The excitement of being on the island, of starting a new job, overrode any weakness or pain.

Back in her car, Taryn took herself for a drive around the island, trying to see as much as she could from her car. She’d have plenty of time to get out in the golf cart or on the bike later, if she wanted. (And she
wanted
. A lot.)

George Strait sang about his exes living in Texas on the radio and she had a to-go cup full of Pepsi resting between her knees. It was still daylight and she’d received her second wind.

To her right, the twinkling Atlantic spread out before her, a vastness that both thrilled and terrified her. Taryn had a love-hate relationship with water. She wasn’t so good in or on it. She loved watching it from the shore, though. It was one of the few times she felt like there was something bigger than herself out there in the universe.

The other times were when she saw the ghosts.

“Let’s start with the big daddy of sights,” she mumbled as she tried glancing down at her map and watching for cyclists and pedestrians at the same time.

Although there wasn’t a sign for Driftwood Beach, the beach that boasted stark wreckages of trees and limbs that rose from the sand in skeletal monuments, she knew when she got there because of the amount of cars that were pulled over to the side of the road. She’d hoped she could catch a glimpse of the spectacle from her car but, alas, a thick grove of trees was in her way.

“Well. Damn.” She’d have to save that for another day. Second wind or not, she didn’t feel like going for a hike.

After passing a campground and RV park that looked pretty happening (Christmas tree lights strung through the trees, loud music pumping through the air, and the smell of charcoal) she rounded the corner and the so-called “tabby house” (officially known as the Horton House) came into view.

“Okay now, that’s what I’m talking about,” she sang, grinning as she drew upon it. If there was one thing that got her blood pumping, it was old houses. And this one was
old
.

Constructed of tabby in 1742, it was the oldest structure on the island and one of the oldest houses in the state of Georgia. For Taryn, it was a reminder that the Jekyll Island Club Hotel might be what the island became famous for, but its history was a lot more varied. The house may have lacked a roof, walls, and floors but it
had
been standing since the 18
th
century.

She pulled over to the side of the road and studied it for a moment, appreciating the way the early evening
light shone through
the windows and danced upon the lawn. It had wonderful shadows now and she knew it would take terrific pictures.

“Mental note: return to Horton House,” she reminded herself as she turned back onto the road again.

And then, after a few more minutes of driving with the river on her right this time, she was back around to the hotel again– the “historic village.” Since she was planning on returning the next day for the official tour, she kept going.

“Plenty of time to get to know it…”

After passing through a breadth of road that didn’t contain anything other than trees on both sides and a bike trail, she reached the water park. Taryn could see the tall water slides from the car and smiled. If she ever had a family she hoped she’d be the kind of parent who would round up the kids and take them to a place like that for the day. She envied the sunburnt and exhausted looking moms and dads she saw walking to their cars, carrying beach bags and screaming toddlers. Despite their tiredness and the heat they all looked so…
happy
.

The south end of the island was wilder, much less developed than the rest. She knew there were beaches nearby, like the one where the movie “Glory” was filmed, but she couldn’t see them. Still, it was peaceful driving along the little road, windows rolled down and the hot summer sun warming her bare legs. As the lone car, she had the place to herself.

“This is going to be a good job, and a good place to stay,” she said aloud. She could
feel
it.

The shadow that followed her flickered.