The Eternal Ones (41 page)

“Did you hear what I just told you?” Beau barked.

 

“WHY DID YOU make a deal with him?” Haven asked once Rosier was gone. “We’ve got to get those recordings to the newspaper. We have to expose the OS.”

“There are no recordings,” Beau whispered. “The computer was destroyed in the fire.”

“And the membership list?”

“I just made up that part. But I did find one thing after you fell.” Beau reached into his back pocket and pulled out the folded piece of paper that Iain had given Haven only moments before she’d jumped.

Haven opened it up and found a picture of a couple embracing, surrounded by tall grass that hid them from view. It was the print Iain had bought her in Rome.

Suddenly, the desire to see Iain nearly dragged her out of bed, broken leg and all. She had to hold him, kiss him, apologize a thousand times for the things she had done. He had continued to love her while her faith in him had been shaken. That was all the proof she needed that Iain Morrow was whom Constance had meant for her to find.

“Where’s Iain?” Haven asked Beau. She tried to keep the question casual despite the emotions that were raging inside of her. “Did you tell him about the computer?”

“Umm.” Beau couldn’t look up from his hands.

“What?” Haven demanded. “Is Iain hurt? Is he in this hospital?”

“Umm,” Beau repeated. “Haven, I really hate to have to tell you this. Iain never made it out of the fire.”

The renovated Snively house peered down at Snope City like a diva in a fancy new gown. Its second story was even grander than it had been before the fire, with two fairy-tale turrets instead of one. The paint was a fresh, blinding white, and the crimson azaleas that circled the building were still in full bloom. Imogene’s contractors had worked wonders in the three months that Haven had been gone.

As Beau’s truck began the climb up the hill to her grandmother’s house, Haven smoothed her skirt and flexed her right leg. Maybe they should have waited longer to travel, she thought. Her leg had been free of its cast for a couple of days, and it still felt stiff and unfamiliar. But Beau had to report to Vanderbilt soon, and Haven had no reason to complain. She knew how unjust it was that her body could mend itself in a few months while Iain’s would never recover at all.

 

THE DAY SHE’D been discharged from the hospital, Haven had returned to the mews house. There was nothing more than a black hole where the building had once been. The neighboring dwellings, however, had scarcely been touched. It looked as though the house had been rooted out with surgical precision, like a tumor or a rotten tooth.

Haven had stayed for over an hour, standing in the lane and staring at the ruins—accepting the searing pain in her broken leg as a punishment for her starring role in Iain’s death. It was her lack of trust, her faithlessness that had killed him. If Haven had only believed Iain’s story, they would never have returned to the mews house. Haven closed her eyes, but she couldn’t feel Iain’s presence among the charred chunks of wood and plaster. She feared the cycle had finally been broken—that this time around she’d lost him for good.

 

THE NEXT MORNING, Beau drove her to Iain’s funeral, but they didn’t go inside. Instead, they sat outside Grace Church and watched Iain’s rich relatives console one another with prim kisses and pats on the back. Police had corralled a hundred young women behind blue barriers, where they screamed and moaned for someone they’d never known. Haven’s eyes remained dry. The pain and guilt were far too intense for tears.

A blonde in a sleeveless black dress and sunglasses crossed the street in front of Beau’s truck. When her head turned in their direction, Haven saw her do a double take and hurry over to the passenger window.

“I read about it in the paper,” Frances Whitman told Haven. “It happened again, didn’t it?”

Haven simply nodded.

“I’m very, very sorry, Constance,” Frances said. “Maybe next time—”

Haven stopped her. “There might not be a next time,” she said.

 

FOR THE FIRST WEEK after the funeral, Beau and Haven stayed at the Windemere Hotel. Haven never left the room. She spent most of the day staring down at the street below. Once in a while, Haven would imagine she’d spotted a gray man lurking in the crowd. But then the man would greet a child fondly or hand a dollar bill to a homeless person, and Haven would exhale with relief. Adam Rosier appeared to be keeping his promise. And according to the local news, Padma Singh had disappeared. The police suspected foul play.

Later, on one of her few trips to the other side of the street, Haven was cornered by a man in a suit. With her savings running low, she and Beau were living on energy bars and coffee from the deli across from the Windemere. The man found her in the soda aisle and greeted her by name. Haven was about to bean him with her crutches when he handed her his card. He worked for a law firm in Midtown, and he’d been looking for her. Haven Moore had inherited the Morrow family fortune.

 

MAE MOORE RAN out of the house at the first sound of a truck making its way up the long, steep driveway. Before Beau could turn off the engine, she opened Haven’s door and scooped her daughter out of the passenger seat and into a hug.

“You’re so skinny,” she said, holding Haven back to take a look at her. “You look like you haven’t eaten anything in months.”

“That’s why I brought her down here,” Beau said. “I figured you’d be the perfect person to fatten her up.”

“You want to come in, Beau?” Mae asked him. “I just made some chicken.”

“No, thank you, ma’am,” Beau said. “I’m looking forward to seeing my dad again.”

“He must be awfully proud of you,” Mae beamed. “Going to Vanderbilt on a scholarship and all. I guess he’s going to have to learn how to make do without you.”

Beau gave Haven a secret smile. Only the two of them knew that Haven would be the one footing the Vanderbilt bill—with the money she’d inherited from Iain. It seemed fitting, Haven thought. They were related, after all.

“Oh, I suspect my dad will manage pretty well,” Beau said, starting the engine up. He seemed eager to get away. “Haven, I’ll stop by the house tomorrow. Good luck.”

Haven couldn’t help but grin when she followed Beau’s eyes to the front door where a little old lady stood in a prim flowered dress buttoned all the way to her chin. To Haven’s surprise, she seemed nervous. Dr. Tidmore’s unexplained disappearance had clearly shaken her.

“Hello, Imogene. Like what you’ve done to the house.” The dusty air had cleared, and the dark antiques had been replaced by furniture more suited to the twenty-first century.

“Good thing I always kept up on those insurance payments,” her grandmother said. “You can have the same room if you want it. I was going to turn it into a hobby center, but your mama was convinced you’d be coming back.”

“Don’t worry, Imogene,” Haven told her. “I may be back, but I’m not staying for long. You’ll have your hobby center before you know it.”

Haven left her grandmother in the foyer and took the stairs two at a time. On the second floor, at the end of the hall, her bedroom door stood open. The new furniture was stunning—dark mahogany wood accented by rich blue fabrics. She pulled her Rome print out of her handbag and propped it up on the desk.

“I forgot to tell you, Haven.” Mae Moore was standing in the doorway. “Some girl stopped by the house before you got here. I wrote her name down in the living room.”

“Leah Frizzell?”

“That’s the one. I told her you were on your way to Snope City, and she invited you up to her church tomorrow. She said you two could hike down to the falls afterward. Of course, your grandmother would like it if you’d come to church with us in the morning. The new preacher’s giving his first sermon.”

“You’ve
got
to be kidding me.”

“Well, I told her it was a long shot, but I said I’d give it a try,” Mae Moore said. “So what do you think? Do you like your new room?”

“You did a good job picking everything out,” Haven told her. “The room’s beautiful.”

“I didn’t do a thing,” Mae confessed. “You know I don’t have any talent for decorating. Your grandmother chose everything in here herself.”

“But I thought she said she wanted to turn it into a hobby center.”

“Now you don’t believe that, do you?” Mae chuckled. “When did Imogene Snively ever have a hobby other than getting her hair done? She did this for
you
. She cares about you, Haven.”

“Humph,” Haven said to disguise the fact that she felt a little touched. “She’s sure got a funny way of showing it.”

“Well,” Mae said in a hushed voice, “don’t quote me, but I suspect she’s just a little bit jealous. You know she was only about a year older than you are when she had me, don’t you?”

“Sure,” Haven said. “But didn’t most people have kids a lot earlier back then?”

“I don’t think Imogene has ever considered herself ‘most people,’ do you?”

Haven laughed.

“She was supposed to go off to college,” Mae continued. “She didn’t think accidentally getting pregnant could change all that. But your grandfather found out and conspired with her parents to keep her in Snope City. They locked her in one of the rooms here until she agreed to marry Jimmy Snively. I don’t think she ever got over it.”

“Grandpa held Imogene prisoner until she married him?” It all sounded a little too familiar. “Why didn’t she go to the police?”

“Snope City was different back then. Families could get away with that kind of thing. Your grandmother’s parents thought she was wild, so they decided to break her. And they did.” Mae paused to straighten a tiny wrinkle in the bedspread. “Mama’s always been the kind of lady that needed a lot of fire and passion in her life. She didn’t get it from love, so she found it in the church. But I think there are certain times when she gets a bit jealous. Like when I met Ernest—or when you were about to go off to school.”

Tears began to well in Haven’s eyes at the mention of her father’s name. She needed to find a way to tell her mother what she had learned. She’d thought about it the whole drive home, but she hadn’t found a solution. “What’s that?” she asked instead, pointing to a large cardboard box that was sitting under the window.

“That? Oh, that’s what was left after the disaster. The fire department wouldn’t let me back into the house, so I snuck in early one morning after they’d moved all the furniture out and picked up anything that could be saved.”

“Was it the day I left for New York?” Haven asked.

“Yes, I suppose it was. Why do you ask?”

“I think I saw you.” Haven smiled.

“Well, thank goodness nobody else did! And here I was thinking I’d been so discreet.” Mae Moore hauled the cardboard box to the center of the room and opened the top. The acrid smell of smoke rose from within. “I tried airing this stuff out, but it didn’t do any good.”

Haven peeked inside, half afraid to be confronted by the last remaining mementos of her first seventeen years. There were various knickknacks—Haven’s favorite hair clip from the fourth grade, a homemade Christmas ornament, a bow from a dress she’d sewn when she was twelve. Haven picked out a small photo album, many of its plastic sheets melted together by the heat of the fire. She reached inside one of the sleeves and pulled out a folded sheet of wrapping paper and a picture of her mother and father posing in Imogene’s yard with their brand-new daughter. Haven opened the paper and found her father’s handwriting.

 

 

HAVEN STARED at the sheet of paper as her heart broke once more.

“It gets easier,” Mae Moore tried to assure her. “It’s best to keep yourself occupied for a little while.”

“Mama, I’ve got something to tell you,” Haven said. “I can’t give you any proof that what I say is true. I can’t even tell you how I found out.”

“This is sounding pretty ominous, Haven!” Mae Moore joked nervously.

“Daddy never had an affair with Veronica Cabe.”

“Now, Haven . . .” her mother started.

“No, hear me out,” Haven insisted. “Veronica Cabe was brought to Snope City to tempt him. It didn’t work. He loved you so much that he barely even knew that woman
existed
.”

Mae Moore couldn’t seem to figure out whether she should be shocked, offended, or both. “What are you
talking
about?
Who
brought Veronica here? How do you know all of this?”