Haunting at Remington House. Laura V. Keegan

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СКАЧАТЬ he crossed the room. Standing at the bottom of the stairs he listened, all senses fine-tuned to detect the smallest deviance of sound. Silence. The shrill ring of the telephone broke the quiet. He ran back into the living room and stared at the phone. It rang over and over before he finally picked up the receiver. He held it to his ear saying nothing.

      “Hello. Is anyone there?” It was Nate. “Tom, sorry to call so late. You told me to call no matter what time it was. Did I wake you?”

      “No, I’ve been waiting for your call. Did you call earlier?”

      “No. You sound out of breath. Is everything all right?”

      “Yeah,” Tom lied. “So what’s going on with Harold?”

      “Nothing good. Harold's been arrested. The police came while I was talking to you earlier. I got back from the police station a few minutes ago. It doesn’t look good for Harold at all. He’s in serious trouble. Worse than I ever imagined was possible. Damn him! He’s my brother, and I love him, but this time, he’s gone too far. I don’t know what to do.” Tom could hear Nate choking back tears, pushed well beyond his endurance.

      “Nate, take a deep breath and tell me what this is about,” Tom said.

      “Harold killed someone! They arrested him for murder.” Nate’s voice cracked. “I don’t know what to believe. Harold swears it was self defense, drug deal gone bad, but I don’t know.” Nate sounded as if he were on the verge of hysteria.

      Tom needed to calm him down. “Nate, stop it! Listen to me. You know Harold better than anyone. Do you really believe he’s capable of murder? From everything I know about him, I don’t think so. Get hold of yourself and calm down. You’re no good to Harold—or yourself—in the state you’re in right now. You need a clear head. Why don’t you try to get some sleep? I’ll call John Atwood first thing in the morning. We’ll get this figured out.”

      “Thanks, Tom. You’re right. I’m beyond tired. I hope you’re right about Harold, but I don’t know this time. Harold’s holding something back. He’s genuinely scared.”

      “I’m sure anyone would react that way. Now get some sleep. I’ll talk to you in the morning.” Tom, his hands absently petting the kitten, thought about what Nate was going through. Damned Harold was always getting into trouble and expecting Nate to bail him out. As much as he hated to help Harold, Tom owed it to Nate to do all he could to help. Tom fell asleep on the couch and awakened at dawn. . . .

      Chapter 17

      . . . awakened to the sound of footsteps pacing overhead in his bedroom. he sat up quickly, tried to clear the sleep from his brain. as he listened to the footsteps going back and forth above him, he fought to control the panic threatening to immobilize him. sounds of shattering glass brought him to his feet. he flew up the staircase, down the hall to his bedroom and threw the door open.

      no one there. nothing but an empty room, quiet and still. Tom looked for someone, but there was no one to find. he stood in the doorway and knew no one had been here. no one . . . except Elise. she had been here tonight, had been here all along. the wafting scent of lavender lingered. he whispered her name into the still air. it sounded like a question as it floated in the darkness. there was no answer. only the quiet, the silence just before dawn.

      the moment passed. from outside came the sound of birds chattering. the first shafts of sunlight glided into the room. it was morning again. she was gone now. he closed the door, descended the stairs, dropped onto the couch, and shut his eyes. . . .

      Chapter 18

      Tom awakened to the boisterous songs of birds welcoming the first rosy glow of dawn. The sun broke through thick clouds that hung like gray cloaks across the horizon. The ocean was angry today; huge whitecaps were visible as far as he could see. Waves broke on the shore sending spray high into the air. Tom sat in the living room by the terrace window drinking coffee, feeling small and insignificant. In the distance a group of six or seven fishing boats bobbed like toys in the choppy water.

      Still troubled about Harold, the phone calls last night and the dream about Elise, Tom sat, his cup of coffee cold and forgotten, gazing out across the sea. Mesmerized by the turbulence and violence of the ocean, he let his mind drift, tried to think of nothing at all. It worked for a while—he let the thunderous pounding of the ocean lull and distract him until he heard Joe’s car pull up and stop in front of the house. Glancing at his watch, he realized he’d been sitting there for an hour. “Morning, Joe,” he called through the open window.

      “Morning, Tom. I brought some groceries. Have you eaten yet?”

      “No. How about you?”

      “Nope.”

      Tom helped Joe with the boxes. While Joe cooked scrambled eggs and bacon, Tom fed Wiggins, put the groceries away and made toast. The two men sat in silence, Joe because he was starved and seemed unable to think of anything but food, Tom lost in thought about Harold. And more importantly, he was trying to distinguish between what was reality and what was imagined. His dream last night had seemed so real, so vivid. He swore he’d smelled the faint, lingering scent of lavender when he awoke. The task of separating the real from the imagined so disturbed him that he completely forgot about Joe sitting across the table from him. Tom replayed the late-night calls and his dream—had it been a dream?—of someone—Elise?—pacing the floor in his room.

      Joe scraped the last of the egg from his plate. The noise startled Tom. He jerked his head toward the sound, struggled to focus. He realized Joe was talking to him. “Sorry, Joe, I’m distracted this morning. Remember me telling you about Nate’s brother? I talked to Nate late last night, and Harold’s in serious trouble.”

      “Sorry to hear that. Anything I can do?”

      “No. Thanks. I told Nate I’d call my attorney for him. John should be in the office by now. I better give him a call. Back in a few minutes.” He stood up.

      “I’ll clean up in here, and then I better get started on the wiring,” Joe said, a frown on his face as he watched Tom leave the kitchen. The kitchen door swooshed as it swung closed. “I think there’s a lot more to Tom’s distant behavior than that business with Harvey—or whatever his name is,” he said under his breath.

      In the study, Tom talked with his attorney for the second time that morning. John Atwood had just called him back with some information. “Tom, I talked to Jim Wood, an associate in our office. He agreed to get in touch with Nate this morning. Good chance he’ll be willing to take Harold’s case. I’ll keep you posted. He’s a very competent criminal attorney, Tom—Harold will be in good hands. Don’t worry. Damn, my other phone’s ringing, and I have a meeting to get to. I’ll call you later. Bye.”

      Tom called Nate to tell him the news but got no answer. He left a voice mail telling Nate to call him when he could.

      “Tom!” Joe called from the front doorway.

      “What is it, Joe?”

      “There’s a van pulling up the road. You expecting any deliveries today?”

      “Damn it. What day is today?”

      “Thursday.”

      “Yeah. Must be my furniture.”

      “Looks like СКАЧАТЬ