The Space Between (11 page)

Before long Isaac was standing at the counter in the clerk's office of the courthouse. There was very little space on the other side, but a doorway led into a larger back room that looked to be full of books and binders. A small service bell sat on the counter. Though there was no sign instructing him to do so, he tapped the button lightly to ring the bell. He heard movement coming from the room and a small, bookish woman not much older than him soon appeared. She was just tall enough to place her arms on the counter, staring at him through her thick glasses with a mixed look of welcome, boredom, and curiosity. He supposed she must not see much excitement in this office; he was the only visitor here and the place was dead silent otherwise.

"May I help you?"

"I'm looking to get information on some property I recently inherited down on Mt. Zion Trail."

"The old Willoughby place?"

Isaac's head drew back from the woman for a moment, her accurate guess catching him off guard. "That's right? How'd you know?"

She smiled and Isaac thought he could see the playful young child she'd once been. "There's really only one place out there. What would you like to know?"

Isaac paused, trying to get his thoughts back in order. He couldn't let every little unexpected occurrence get the best of him.

"I'd like to find out who owned it before me."

The woman gave him a strange look. "Don't you know who you inherited it from?"

"Not really. It was left to a trust and the attorneys handling it are being pretty tight-lipped."

Another strange look, as if he'd just told her he'd like a side of fries with that.

"I can only get you a history of deeds and transferences up until about 1964. Anything after that and you'll have to go to the county courthouse in Manchester. That's when they started centralizing all the records."

Isaac nodded and the woman stepped back into the room for several minutes. She returned with a large binder and opened it on the counter in front of him. She pointed to an old document slipped inside a clear plastic sleeve.

"Right here is the purchase of the land from William Wharton by
Obediah
Willoughby." She looked out over her glasses at Isaac, lowering her voice as if conveying a secret. "I think it was
Obediah's
father that founded the old mill."

Isaac nodded, eager for her to continue. She related the facts as her finger moved down the page.

"Right here's the date. Here's where the plat is filed. I can get that for you, but if you want a copy it will take about a week. I have to send it out because of the size."

His eyes scanned the page, looking for anything that might provide a clue to his inheritance. There was a lot of old legal jargon that, even if it had been written yesterday, didn't make much sense to him. He finished the page and was about to give up when a number caught his eye in the first paragraph.

"This," he said, pointing to a line near the top of the page. "Am I reading this correctly? The sale was for fifty-five acres?"

The woman spun the book around and read the paragraph quietly before spinning it right side-up for Isaac. "Yes, sir. That's what it says."

"Isn't the Willoughby place only forty-eight acres?"

"Not according to this. But like I said, anything that happened after 1964 will be recorded at county. This is the only record I'm showing in the grantee index we have. If the land was divided up, then it was after that year." She tapped her fingers on the page and bit her lower lip as she thought. "There might be something available in probate, if the property were willed to someone else. But you'd definitely have to go to county for all of that. They finished transferring those records a few years ago."

Isaac scanned the page again just to be sure, but found nothing else he thought would help. When he sensed the woman behind the counter was becoming impatient, he closed the binder and smiled. He looked up and could see that she actually didn't appear impatient at all, but was studying him closely.

"Thanks for your help. I guess I'll have to make a trip out to Manchester."

He turned to leave and she spoke.

"Aren't you Isaac Owens?"

Isaac put on the grin that the video directors loved and turned back around. "You caught me."

"I knew it," she squealed, clapping her hands together. "I heard you were in town. My daughter and I just love your music."

"Thank you..."

"Janice."

"Thank you, Janice. It's always good to know people enjoy what I do."

She reached under the counter and pulled out a yellow legal pad and pen. "Do you mind?" she asked, pushing them across the counter toward him. "For my daughter, I mean."

"My pleasure," Isaac said, and stepped forward. "What's her name?"

"Who? Oh! It's Amanda," she laughed, covering her mouth with one hand.

"To Janice and Amanda," Isaac said as he wrote. "With best wishes and gratitude." He signed under the inscription and slid the pad and pen back to Janice, who was blushing a deep red.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Owens."

"'Isaac' is fine," he said and gave a friendly wave as he turned to leave.

She spoke again and he reminded himself that every fan counted.

"Isaac?" She waited for him to turn around again before continuing. "Listen, if you need me to see what I can find out for you from county, I can call in a few favors."

"Yeah? I mean, it's nothing you'd get in trouble for, is it?"

"Oh, no!" she laughed. "It's all public information. I just thought it could save you some time and trouble."

"I'd really appreciate that, Janice."

The woman blushed again. "It would be my pleasure. Just come back in about two or three days. I should have something by then, if there is anything to be had."

Isaac's smile was bigger and more sincere this time. He waved to Janice and left the office feeling a bit more optimistic than even a few minutes ago. He hoped his luck would hold out as he looked for Harold.

§

Albert had been sitting alone at the diner when Isaac arrived. After a quick lunch and some pleasant conversation, Isaac nonchalantly asked why Harold wasn't planted on a stool that particular afternoon. It seemed a mystery, though Albert admitted he and his old friend never planned to meet; the diner was just where they usually had lunch and caught up on each other's day. It happened on occasion that one didn't show and, though it was unusual, it was nothing to worry about.

Isaac finished his lunch and topped off his visit with a slice of apple pie and some coffee. On the way back he stopped for a few more groceries. His lunch sat heavy and warm in his stomach. Even with the caffeine pumping through his body, he began to feel sleepy. His mind was on Elizabeth and the journal, and he was surprised to find himself anxious to get back to the house, like a young man anticipating the next date with his sweetheart. He laughed, and it helped wake him up a little. She was very attractive, obviously fond of him, and seemed to be as beautiful in spirit as she was on the outside.

Isaac remembered his first days with Emily and how logic had flown out the window then, too. When your stomach turns somersaults every time you see your love interest, when you can go without eating for half a day because you can't think of anything else, and when the sound of her voice blocks out every possible distraction each time you hear it...then logic's role becomes a very minor one. It wasn't nearly to that point with Elizabeth, but Isaac guessed it wouldn't be hard for any man to find himself falling for such a woman.

There was also the possibility of her being in danger. He didn't understand exactly what was happening to him in that house, or why. However, he felt he could safely assume that if the girl was Elizabeth Willoughby and the man he'd almost encountered was her father,
Obediah
, then there was the little matter of time to consider. These people were most likely long gone from this world. So either he was being visited by ghosts or he was witnessing events from the past, maybe even passing into that history. Of course, Isaac wasn't discounting the possibility that he was insane or lying comatose in Nashville General, this whole trip just a fun little diversion his brain had cooked up.

Whatever it was, he was here and stuck with it unless he high-tailed it out of town and forced himself to forget any of it ever happened. Though his left-brain was screaming for him to do just that, his right-brain — the one that had always dominated his life decisions — didn't see the fun in leaving the mystery unsolved. And if he were crazy, leaving town wouldn't do much good.

Isaac shook his head, turning onto
Mt.
Zion
and laughing at himself as one might laugh at someone taking a cannonball to the stomach: he understood the danger in it, but the desire to watch it happen, regardless of the participant's pain and possible death, was far stronger. In this case, he was both the spectator and the poor sap waiting to be blasted in the gut and hoping for the best.

As he neared the end of the gravel road, he spotted an old station wagon coming down Walter's driveway. It looked to be a Vista Cruiser from the mid-'60s. At first he thought it was Walter, but quickly recalled he had seen what he thought was a truck sitting on the far side of the cabin last night. It had been dark, however, so he supposed he could have been mistaken.

The answer came quickly enough as the car skidded to a stop to let him pass. When he saw that it was Harold sitting behind the wheel, he stopped his car, partially blocking the older man from pulling out. Isaac smiled and waved as he stepped from the idling Mustang and walked over to Harold's window. The old man fidgeted as he dropped the car into "park," visibly annoyed at being delayed. But Isaac thought he saw more to Harold's uneasy disposition. The fact that the man's skin was a few shades paler than he remembered was one obvious clue. Another was the nervous way in which Harold kept checking his rearview mirror as Isaac approached to tap on the window.

Harold rolled down the window less than an inch. "Yeah?"

"I tried to track you down at the diner." Isaac waited a bit, but Harold just stared at him between glances in the mirror. "I was hoping you would talk to me a little more about the
Willoughby
family."

This definitely captured his attention. Harold drew back a few inches from the window, a look of aggravation spreading across his aged features.

"What for?" The annoyance in his voice cut through the plume of steam from his open mouth.

"I just have a few questions. I'd like to know what happened to the
Willoughbys
. You said nobody's lived here for a long time. Were they the last?"

Harold was back to checking his mirror and didn't seem too concerned with answering the question.

"Harold?"

"What? Oh, yeah. As far as I know. I need to get back home." He pointed at Isaac's Mustang. "Maybe we can talk some other time."

Isaac's looked up the hill. "You know Walter?"

Contempt clouded Harold's eyes, spurring gooseflesh along Isaac's neck and arms.

"Why don't you ask Walter if I know him? As a matter of fact, why don't you ask Walter if
he
knows anything about the
Willoughbys
?"

A moment passed with Isaac just looking at Harold, not sure what to say or whether he could trust this half-crazed man in the car. It didn't take long before the other lost his patience.

"I have to go, I said! Now move your damn car or I'll do it for you." To show he was not exaggerating, Harold grabbed the stick on the steering column and put the car in gear.

Isaac took a few steps back, stunned into disbelief at the old man's erratic behavior. He considered saying something to calm Harold, but decided it would be best to just do as he wished and move the Mustang out of the way. Isaac nodded and walked back to the open door of his car, closing it behind him. He dropped the transmission into first and rolled forward a few feet. Harold's car barreled out behind him, becoming a blur in Isaac's rearview that shrunk as it sped toward the highway.

This was unexpected, indeed. Harold's recent behavior had been unnerving, even in Albert's eyes. But this display was downright suspicious. Isaac recalled how, when Harold and Albert had stopped by to check on the commotion with the emergency vehicles, Harold had reacted strangely at the mention of Walter's name. Yet neither of the men had said anything indicating they knew Walter. And last night Walter had acted as if he didn't know who Harold was.

Somebody was hiding something. That much was apparent. Albert seemed too mild-mannered and oblivious to be suspect. Harold appeared to be the obvious culprit, while Walter's position lie somewhere in the middle. Isaac felt a connection with Walter, however, especially after the time they'd spent last night and the open conversation they'd had. If Walter knew Harold, and both men knew something they were keeping from Isaac, then Walter would be the one most likely to come clean. Isaac could be wrong, but he felt that was likely his best avenue of discovery.

He rolled his car backward and turned into Walter's driveway. If he could catch Walt fresh in the mire of deception, perhaps he could get him to come clean as well.