Eve Parrish stared through the windshield of her Toyota Corolla at the two-story house her aunt had bequeathed to her in her will. A house she remembered fondly from childhood, it had been in her family for four generations, just like the old hotel in downtown Point Pleasant.
Tightening her grip on the steering wheel of the parked car, she vowed to worry about the hotel later. One problem at a time.
At twenty-seven, it was staggering to find herself the sole owner of her family’s homestead and the Parrish Hotel. She’d inherited the latter after her father died, and Eve’s mother had signed her ownership of the property over to Aunt Rosie. Not long afterward, her mother had uprooted them, determined to put the tragedy of the Silver Bridge in the past. It had always been Aunt Rosie who came to visit Eve and her mom in Pennsylvania.
But Aunt Rosie was gone.
Why couldn’t she have told them about the cancer? Eve would have done something, anything to help. Insisted she get treatment.
“She didn’t want treatment,” Adam Barnett, Rosie’s lawyer had explained as he’d passed her the keys for the hotel and the house earlier that day. “She went quickly, which is how she wanted it.”
Eve swiped a tear from her cheek. Aunt Rosie had planned to marry in the summer of ’68, but the Silver Bridge altered those plans. Shaken by the tragedy, Eve’s aunt had called off her engagement to Roger Layton and never married. Was that why she’d allowed herself to go so quickly once diagnosed with breast cancer? Did she think no one loved her?
A spasm of guilt twisted Eve’s stomach. Her small apartment was only six hours away in Harrisburg, but her mom had drilled a steady dislike of Point Pleasant into her head from the time they moved away. It was the place where her father had met his end in the icy waters of the Ohio River only weeks before Christmas and a hotspot for bizarre Mothman and UFO sightings. Was it any wonder her mother had insisted on burying the town in their past?
Right or wrong, Eve hadn’t returned in fifteen years. She barely recognized the sparse streets now, so changed from the thriving river community she remembered. She’d been glad to see the Crowne Theater still in operation, but saddened to know G. C. Murphy’s had closed its doors. How she, Maggie, and Sarah had loved their soda fountain.
Taking a deep breath, she popped the door on the Corolla and stepped onto the street. Aunt Rosie’s house—the same house in which her father and his sister had grown up—was located several miles from downtown Point Pleasant. Every bit as imposing as she remembered, the large two story was offset by a covered porch and a towering chestnut tree in the front yard. Her father had once hung a tire from the lowest branch at Aunt Rosie’s behest so Eve and her friends would have a swing when they visited.
Reluctantly, Eve glanced to the house next door. Not quite as large, the cheerful colonial looked in far better condition than the imposing structure Eve had inherited. The paint appeared fresh, the shrubs neatly trimmed. Colorful blooms had already sprouted in the flowerbeds, and a pot of pansies welcomed guests to the front porch.
She’d spent countless afternoons playing in Maggie’s home. Countless Friday night sleepovers when they’d stayed up late eating Mrs. Flynn’s peanut butter cookies and giggling about boys. She’d never told her friend about the crush she’d had on Caden, but Maggie had known. Best friends always did. Unlike his sister, Caden had survived that fatal night on the Silver Bridge.
With an inhale of determination, Eve hooked her purse onto her shoulder. She would leave her overnight bag and suitcase in the car for the time being. She’d packed light, hoping to finalize plans for the house and hotel within two weeks. Hopefully, Adam Barnett could recommend a real estate company capable of handling residential and commercial sales.
He’d warned her about the break-in. “Nothing taken, it appears. Just vandalism. It happens sometimes when a house sits empty. Probably teenagers looking for a thrill. I had all of the damaged items removed and disposed of as you requested.”
The key turned easily in the lock. According to Mr. Barnett, the vandals had gained entrance through the screened porch in the rear, and then busted the kitchen door. Both doors would require reinforcing. With any luck, the rest of the damage would be minimal.
As she stepped inside, a swarm of memories assaulted her. The house smelled stale, closed up for too long, but a trace of Aunt Rosie’s signature scent lingered beneath the mustiness. A light bouquet that whispered of spring flowers and clover. On the heels of having visited her aunt’s grave at the cemetery, the fragrance brought tears to Eve’s eyes. Hugging her arms close to her chest, she blinked them away.
Mr. Barnett had made sure all of the utilities were working, but it was stuffy in the house. She’d have to set the ceiling fans to circulate the air. At least no one had covered Aunt Rosie’s pretty furniture with those dreadful white sheets people used when closing an estate.
Her aunt had kept most of the furniture Eve remembered from childhood. The gold and crystal lamps on the end tables were new, but the heavy-footed couch and easy chairs upholstered in crimson brocade were as she remembered, if faded from time. Black walnut tables and thick butternut drapes covered with climbing grapevines accentuated the décor. Surprisingly, there was little damage to the room.