“I guess.” Kaine let out a sigh. “Anyway, it was me, Leah, and my grandpa until Danny came around. I had a ton of friends, co-workers, but Danny was—he was my foundation.” She chuckled at a memory. Grant had a way of drawing a person out. “Danny and I took a trip to Montana once. We were camping and there was this huge thunderstorm. I was sure we were going to have trees come down on us. Danny sat on top of me, put his hands up in the air, and said, ‘I’ll just sit here and catch them for you.’ He was mocking me, in a loving way, but that was Danny. Always trying to take care of me in his zany way.”
A companionable silence followed. Kaine drew in a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment. It was comforting to remember Danny as he was, not how he died. Nor how she’d distanced herself from him as her job resurrected old memories, and the weight of the abuse she daily saved women from overwhelmed her.
“Sounds like he was a stand-up guy.”
Kaine gave Grant a thankful smile. “He was.”
Grant returned her smile, understanding and compassion on his face. “So . . .” Kaine saw something flicker in Grant’s eyes. Curiosity, intrigue? She wasn’t sure until he voiced his question. “Do you know how your grandfather got Ivy’s quilt?”
Kaine cast Grant a perplexed look. “I have no idea, but I know Grandpa wouldn’t have stolen it. I mean, Grandpa was a good man.”
Grant was immediately apologetic at her fervent defense of her grandfather. “I didn’t mean to imply that he wasn’t. It’s just odd. Like one of those unsolved mysteries on the History Channel.”
“I agree.” Kaine twisted on the stairs to better face Grant. The more she thought about it, the more curious she became. Ivy’s quilt, the note from Foster Hill House, and Grant’s previous claim that Ivy had been attacked right here, on this property. “Do you know what happened to Ivy? After her attack?”
Grant set his sandwich down on the ziplock plastic bag on his lap. There were only a few bites from it. He must not like alfalfa sprouts and turkey. “This is why this stuff intrigues me. My dad and I used to study Oakwood history for fun. Weird, I know. Anyway, Oakwood Museum has a few things about Ivy Thorpe and Foster Hill. A display about the dead woman found in the old oak tree, Gabriella, and Ivy’s subsequent attack. The lack of detail keeps the legend alive because it’s like that forever story that has no end or resolution. The story says that Ivy was engaged in trying to uncover Gabriella’s murder and got too involved. As for the quilt, it was one of the main pieces of Ivy’s memorabilia, and when it was stolen, well, outside of history junkies like me, and superstitious folk like Joy, it’s all but forgotten. I don’t know that most people really cared in the long run.”
Kaine reached for the flannel shirt she’d discarded next to her on the porch so she could sit in her T-shirt and soak in the warmth of the sun. She grasped the old page from Great Expectations and pulled it out of the shirt pocket. Maybe Grant could shed some light on it. She handed it to him.
“I found this. In the house.”
Grant took the page from her and eyed the handwriting in the margins. “Where was it?”
“Behind a baseboard in the library. Read it. It’s creepy.”
Grant skimmed the words. “That is creepy.” He eyed the text of the novel. “This looks like late nineteenth century, maybe turn-of-the-century type print.”
“How do you know that?”
“My brother. Antique-store owner, remember? He collects and sells old books. I told you my family is full of history buffs. Except for Mom. She just likes to garden. Do you think this belonged to one of the occupants of Foster Hill House?”
“I’ve no clue.” Kaine watched him turn the page over to the printed text on the other side, then return to examine the handwriting.
“You know . . . it’d be freaky if the dead girl wrote it.”
“You mean the one my great-great-grandmother found? Gabriella?”
“Yeah.”
Kaine had considered that, but thought it a stretch. Now that Grant voiced it aloud, she wondered if maybe it wasn’t so farfetched after all. Kaine remembered the words, the aching plea behind them. If this Gabriella had written it, then more than one horror had occurred in this house. Now, it seemed, the horrors were following the next female over a hundred years later. Her. Kaine reached for Grant’s knee before she could stop herself.
“I want to find out. I’ve bought the house my great-great-grandmother almost lost her life in. A house that a young woman was either murdered in or nearby. And with what happened to me the other day, I—”
She caught herself and snapped her mouth shut.
Grant frowned. “What happened the other day?”
“Nothing.” Kaine jumped to her feet and wiped her hands down her jeans. Subject change needed—stat! “So, how about heading into town for some garbage pails? I’m going to need them if I’m going to start ripping out stuff. And some masks so we don’t breathe in the mold.” The forced cheer in her voice erased her initial excitement. “I want to do as much as I can myself. It’ll be cheaper that way.”
“Of course.” Grant tossed the sandwich of sprouts and turkey into the bushes. A sideways grin tipped his mouth. “And get some real food.”
She managed a smile. A hamburger did sound good, and chocolate, and carbs, and lots of sugar. Anything to mask her grief, the fear, and the door that made her slam it all into a secret place inside of her. A place that held Kaine captive.
Chapter 13
Kaine’s hips ached as she adjusted her position on the motel bed. Her laptop was heavy on her lap, and she moved the blankets away so it didn’t overheat. The TV played an old episode of Friends, and while Kaine usually related to Chandler, tonight she understood the melancholy nature of Ross. Olive moaned from her spot on the floor, stretching her hind legs out and then pulling them in closer to her body.
Kaine’s phone vibrated against her hip, and she yanked it from underneath her. It was midnight here in Wisconsin, but Leah was wide awake back home.
“Kaine, we need to talk.” The absence of warmth in Leah’s greeting heightened Kaine’s senses. She closed the lid on her laptop.
“What’s wrong?”
“Did the police call you?” Leah’s voice trembled.
Coffee. She was going to need coffee. Kaine reached for her thermal mug on the nightstand and popped open the lid. She took a long sip and shook her head even though Leah couldn’t see her. “No. They didn’t.”
“There’s been a change in Danny’s case.”
“A change?”
“Apparently they reopened it. Something about the detective who was on the case losing his job for covering up stuff and being sloppy. He’s not on the force anymore, and they’re looking into some of his past cases for accuracy.”
Leah’s words didn’t inspire celebration or relief. Kaine wasn’t sure what she felt. She bit at a chip in her fingernail.
“That’s wonderful.” Kaine couldn’t hide the sarcasm. “Because obviously Danny’s wife was insane, so it took some cop to get fired to get them to look into it more seriously?”
“Don’t be bitter, Kaine. Be thankful.” Leah’s plea reached through Kaine’s jaded thoughts. Thankful? It was hard to find reasons to thank the Lord for the past few years of her life.