Traces (8 page)

Fear, sharp and intense, shot through Meredith. She spun around to confront the woman, only to discover she sat alone among her tangled bedclothes, sleep a distant thought.

Thunder jarred Meredith awake, fear shooting into her soul at the terrifying sound. She jerked upright, shoving the covers to one side. Lightning flashed, bringing the room into focus in the early dawn light. Glancing at her digital watch, she groaned aloud. Not even the damn roosters would be crowing before five in the morning. Rain laced with hail beat against the panes in its own rhythm. At least the weather radio hadn’t sent out an alarm, so it was simply a thunderstorm. Nothing to fear. Her brain clicked on, automatically running through the list she’d scrawled in the little notebook downstairs. But she’d added things to her mental list in the meantime. Sleep didn’t factor into her plans during such a ferocious storm, so she may as well accomplish something.

Unplugging her laptop to guard against ground strikes by the frequent lightning, she lifted it off the rolltop desk. She looked at her options, having to choose between sitting on the straight-backed chair by the desk or the cushioned window seat. The storm raged outside the glass pane, but she walked toward it, defying her own fears. She perched on the window seat, the flash of lightning at her back, and settled the computer on her legs. Focusing on creating an actual list of people to contact in addition to the handwritten list of chores to do would help free her mind to think and provide a distraction.

With the rain and thunder providing antagonistic background music, she quickly typed a new combined list of tasks, including conducting a complete tour of the premises. She worried about only one room in the entire house. She longed to but also dreaded going into the attic. To finally discover what currently hunkered in the shadows of the large space. Fifteen minutes later she reread her list, satisfied she had a good handle on the necessities of the effort. In order to meet her work commitment back home in Maryland, she’d have to press.

Closing the lid, she put the device on the rolltop and strode into the bathroom to take a shower. Lightning flashed, followed quickly by a boom so loud she jumped, both hands flying to her throat. Better delay the shower with the storm so close. Once dressed, she pulled her hair into a ponytail and then padded down to the kitchen. Grizabella appeared from a side hallway, her whiskers trailing a cobweb remnant.

“Looks like Meg has more work to do around here.” Meredith swiped the offending gossamer string from the quivering whiskers and then scritched the cat’s back before sliding a hand from the base of her tail to its tip. Griz circled and rubbed against Meredith’s legs, her tail curling around one of Meredith’s calves. “No time like the present to begin, eh, Griz?”

After starting a pot of coffee to brew, she ate a cup of yogurt. Pulling her phone from her pocket, she found her earbuds in her purse and plugged them in. She turned on her personal mix of underground electronica and R&B so she wasn’t surrounded by silence or, worse, the memory of childhood laughter. The tunes made her feel alive and young, and best of all didn’t sound anything like the music she and Willy had enjoyed together. James Curd’s “Open Up Your Mind” had her bobbing her head in time with the beat and her hands shaking invisible maracas for a moment. Then, while the pot gurgled and coughed, she grabbed a notebook and pen and pushed through the hallway door, walking in time with the music.

She’d avoided venturing into the attic the day Meg first showed up at her door. But the day arrived nonetheless. Delaying only created larger mental obstacles to accomplishing the necessary tasks. Surmounting the ever-growing hurdles must begin with the first step, literally. Resting her hand on the newel post, she gazed up the flight of stairs, took a breath and let it out slowly, and then started to climb. Griz sashayed into the hall and sat at the bottom of the flight, gazing after her with curious eyes. Meredith turned at the first landing and began climbing the second flight to the attic door hiding in the dimly lit stairwell. She made a mental note to add a light up there, perhaps a battery-powered stick-on kind.

One step at a time she neared the closed door, her imagination spinning yarns as to what lay behind the barrier. As a child they had looked forward to the infrequent times they could play in the attic, considering it a place of mystery and adventure. Of ghosts and spirits of times past. Now she needed to keep a firm grip on her sensibilities and see whatever was in there through adult eyes. That meant no mysteries, no adventures, and of course no spirits or ghosts.

Now why did she think of ghosts just as she gathered her nerve to venture into the attic? Would she see the lady inside among the shadows and webs? Uncertainty fluttered in her chest, causing her to hesitate. Ever since she’d returned to Twin Oaks, she’d been besieged with self-doubt, a feeling she’d banished upon graduating from university with highest honors. Enough.

Gripping the doorknob, she turned it and pushed the door open before she had time to dwell on her thoughts. Nonetheless her throat tightened in anticipation. With her right hand, she searched for the light switch inside the doorjamb. Before she found it, a blur of fur raced past her, skidding to a halt in the near darkness. Reflexively she jumped and then felt foolish when she realized it was only her cat. After locating the switch, she flipped it, and light bathed the room. Griz peered up at her with wide, mirrored eyes.

“Silly kitten, you startled me.” Meredith propped the door open with the fabric-covered brick that had served as a doorstop as far back as she could remember. “Now let’s see what we have.”

Letting her gaze pan the room, Meredith saw an assortment that recalled her childhood. Grizabella flicked her tail from side to side and stalked into the depths of the room, weaving past the brown plastic rocking horse with its fading painted-on saddle, the schoolroom-sized blackboard and sticks of colored chalk in the tray, and most amazingly the large dollhouse that looked like a miniature of Twin Oaks. Tears threatened and won, seeping down her cheeks at the sight of her first architectural endeavor. Her father’s patience played in her memory as he taught her about jigsaws and gluing techniques, about angles and perspectives. She missed her father more than she could put into words. She would call him later to invite him and her mother to come see the place one last time before she destroyed it once and for all. Focusing on her mission settled her emotions. She brushed her cheeks dry and continued her exploration.

A mannequin stood to one side, its wire shape allowing indecent peeks through its interior. Meredith grimaced, and then smiled, remembering its purpose. Grandma had used the dummy to make dresses for Meredith and Paulette; ugly and misshapen ones, but made with a depth of love. One of Paulette’s hand-me-downs—a light green nightmare with one sleeve longer than the other, an uneven hem, and neon green frogs boasting bright red eyes—Meredith had flatly refused to wear.

She strode into the room to the marching beat of Crookers’s “Bust ’Em Up” and quickly searched the room for the mysterious locked trunk. Her ownership of the plantation finally gave her the right to look inside. That had been the one restriction for the girls when they played up here. They couldn’t look into or play with the trunks. The other trunks, all unlocked and secretly explored decades earlier, held old books and clothing from long-dead ancestors. The time had arrived to solve the mystery of the locked trunk. Feeling a little like Nancy Drew, she peered into the shadows and finally spotted the dark gray trunk with red leather trim. She grabbed the handles on each end and dragged the heavy box into the light.

Squatting, she fingered the padlock hanging from the latch.
Damn
. She wanted in. She looked about, finally spying a rusty tool box nearly hidden beneath an old coffee table piled with newspapers and magazines. She hurried to the metal box, pulled it from under the table and quickly lifted its lid. Empty.
Double damn
. She slammed the lid and strode back to the trunk.

She needed a key, or a crowbar, or a hammer and screwdriver. But she hadn’t brought those kinds of tools with her. Maybe the garage had something she could use. For now, her objective had been defeated by a simple padlock. The scent of fresh coffee teased her nose, creating a longing for the hot liquid. After her short night sleepwise, she needed caffeine to kick-start her day. She darted a glance around, jotted a quick list of the amount of stuff to be sorted and disposed of, and finally called to the cat. After several summons, Griz emerged with her head covered in dust and cobwebs, but Meredith could swear she wore a Cheshire cat type of grin.

“What have you been into?” Shaking her head, Meredith shooed Griz out the door and turned off the light. “We’ll come back later with the right tools to open that trunk and a broom to sweep off those webs. Right now, I need coffee.”

Griz trotted lightly down the steps ahead of her. Meredith pulled the door closed with a
thud
. She yanked out the earbuds and hung them around her neck, the quiet sound of the beat of Subb-an’s “Take You Back” playing as though from a distance. The storm outside intensified, the drum of rain on the roof echoing the musical base. Suddenly Griz hissed and growled, arching her back when she stopped on the first landing. The hair on Meredith’s neck rose along with those on Griz’s spine, sending shivers down her arms and back. Involuntarily gripping the handrail like a lifeline, she stopped, fascinated by the cat’s behavior even while afraid the Lady in Blue had returned. Meredith looked in the direction of Grizabella’s wary stare but saw nothing alarming. Griz hissed again, retreating three slow steps backward. Still her hackles remained up and her hiss became a low-throated growl reminiscent of last night’s occurrence.

“What is it, Griz?” Meredith tried to calm her with her voice, but Grizabella paid her no heed. Taking one tread at a time, Meredith eased down the stairs. “There’s nothing there, silly girl. Come on now. I want my coffee.”

The floorboard beneath Meredith’s foot creaked loudly beside the cat. Griz spun and ran into a bedroom, disappearing from view. Meredith called to her but, as she expected, received no response from the frightened cat. But frightened about what? Meredith looked again in the direction the cat had refused to go. She saw only the usual things: floor, walls, ceiling. Nothing scary or even out of the ordinary. Definitely no spectral Civil War belle.

“Look, Griz, it’s okay.” She walked on, reaching the top of the stairs leading to the main floor. “Come on, kitty. I’ll show you. You have nothing to worry about.”

Meredith stepped onto the first stair, and the hair on her neck tingled, cold air sending shivers racing down her arms and back. A door banged closed beneath her, making the risers tremble under her feet. “What the…”

She raced down the remaining steps and whirled around the newel post to hurry down the hall leading to the kitchen. Everything looked as she’d left it, so how did a door close? Obviously it must be her imagination, overwrought by the visit to the attic. Maybe it hadn’t been such a great idea to go up there after the events of the previous night. She forced her shoulders to relax as logic slowly prevailed. Perhaps the wind from the storm worked the kitchen door loose and then closed the door as the wind pressure changed. Sure, that must be it. She drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, letting the tension exit her body with the spent air. Nothing to worry about after all. The silly cat had her imagining things. She shook her head at her own foolishness.

Thunder boomed and shook the house, the rain continuing to pummel the building. She loved the smell of rain in the springtime, but the thunder was an entirely different matter. She drew in another breath, trying to calm the familiar terror the storm created, and smelled honeysuckle. Only the windows were all closed, and honeysuckle didn’t bloom until summer.

Strange. Griz eased her way down the stairs, tail sweeping jerkily left and right. Meredith listened to the rain driving against the house. Lightning flashed. Thunder crashed. She hugged herself, trying to calm the mounting terror. Despite all her efforts, she’d never quite overcome the fear demon that clawed inside when the storms raged outside.

Hammer blows sounded from deep in the house, startling her. Grizabella cocked her ears toward the back hallway and trotted off to investigate. Meredith trailed after the cat, fisting her hands at her sides as she stalked down the hall. Who was banging inside the house? The sound seemed to emanate from the dark and dank basement. Grandma had refused to allow the girls to go down the narrow, rickety steps into the damp stone-walled room. She approached the closed door, wondering if that was the door she’d heard slam shut. Griz sniffed at the gap between the door and the floor and then looked at her expectantly. At least the cat’s curiosity had replaced her caution.

The sound definitely came from behind the door. Meredith opened the door without giving herself time to reconsider her actions. The hammering continued for a few more blows, followed by silence. Griz trotted down the new wood steps, the scent of pine still lingering. Meredith followed cautiously down the solid treads. Racks of bottled wine lined the far wall. Shelves above low benches on the other walls she could see from where she stood held the necessary emergency supplies: jugs of water, canned goods, candles and matches, flashlights and batteries, and a manual can opener. Even a percolator and can of ground coffee stood at the ready. Meredith noticed the charcoal grill with a small bag of charcoal and lighter fluid tucked into one corner, a necessity for cooking outside should the power go out.

The tap of a hammer striking a nail echoed in the small cellar.

“Hello? Who’s down here?” She reached the bottom step and gripped the handrail, her longtime wariness of the basement only mildly subdued by the obvious renovations.

Sean poked his head, hair still dripping from the rain outside, around the corner of the wine-cellar wall. A large claw hammer rested easily in his massive palm. “Hey. Did you need me?”