“Of Ivy?” Mr. Mason raised his brows and struggled from his chair. “Darn arthritis,” he muttered. “Sure do.”
As Mr. Mason once again disappeared into the back room, Kaine turned toward Grant. She tapped the locket in her pocket. “What if the hair in this locket belonged to the baby Ivy insisted was still alive?”
Grant wrinkled his face in doubt. “That’s a stretch. There’s no record it was ever found.”
Kaine wanted to open the locket but didn’t feel like answering any questions about it if Mr. Mason returned. “I don’t understand why the locket was in Foster Hill House. If Gabriella did have a baby . . .” Her voice trailed off as a morbid thought entered her mind.
Grant frowned. “What is it?”
There it was, the familiar sense of dread that accompanied her every time she knew someone had been in her house. But this time it echoed back to decades before and touched today. “What if the baby was buried in Foster Hill House? Like in a wall, or the floor? I’ve seen that in movies. It could happen.”
Grant’s eyes widened.
Kaine pressed, “What if Ivy found it?”
“Then we would know, and it would have been buried by its mother in the Oakwood Cemetery.” Grant’s conclusion was logical. “I wouldn’t start imagining dead bodies in the walls, Kaine.”
“Okay. So maybe the baby didn’t die, but if Ivy found it, what if she couldn’t tell anyone?”
Grant shook his head. “Why wouldn’t she be able to disclose finding a child? And how would she hide it from everyone?”
Kaine drew in a breath that reached into her soul. “Because maybe the same person who killed Gabriella posed a continued danger to Ivy’s life too. And the baby’s. Remember, my family tree in the old Bible did end with Ivy Thorpe. Maybe there was a reason no one kept it current. Maybe it was to keep them safe.”
Chapter 20
Kaine shoved some empty cardboard boxes out of the way in search of a plastic tarp. She didn’t miss the look Grant shot her. He still thought she was avoiding issues by starting demolition in an unimportant upstairs bedroom. But she needed to feel in control of something, especially after their trip to the museum. There was something too familiar with Ivy’s story, and the story about the dead girl and a missing child. Kaine needed to attack something and work off some of her angst on the old, dilapidated house.
The trill of Kaine’s phone interrupted her sweep of a plastic tarp as she spread it over the floor of bedroom three. She spun, looking for her phone.
“There.” Grant pointed at the toolbox in the corner.
Kaine snatched up the glowing phone from among the tools Grant had been kind enough to bring.
“Hello?”
“So what’s it like?”
The male voice made the hairs on Kaine’s arms stand on end. She glanced at Grant as he finished stretching out the tarp. “Excuse me?”
“Being alone. What’s it like?” An unnerving chuckle echoed through the phone.
“Who are you?” Kaine withdrew the phone from her ear and looked at the screen. The caller ID was blocked.
“Do you miss him?”
“I asked you who you are!” The sharpness in Kaine’s voice caused Grant to look up. He frowned, and she pointed at the phone.
“It’s hard being alone. People thinking you’re crazy.” The pause that followed was emphasized by his long sigh.
“I’m not crazy.” Kaine’s pulse pounded.
Grant crossed the room, a scowl on his face.
The stalker? he mouthed.
Kaine nodded and tapped the speakerphone icon.
“You should know. Your life is defined by the ones you’ve lost.” The man stressed the words with an accent Kaine couldn’t place. Or perhaps it was more of a slur. The influence of alcohol maybe? Or a cloth held over the phone’s speaker to disguise the voice?
“Why are you calling me?” Kaine demanded. She fought the urge to throw her phone across the room.
“I asked if you liked being alone!” His voice rose, and Kaine clutched the phone tighter.
Grant waved his hand and shook his head. Kaine followed his cue and didn’t answer. They could hear the man breathing on the other end of the line. Short, frustrated breaths, like he was agitated.
“You know I’ll never leave you,” he growled. “I’ll make sure you are always reminded.”
“Reminded of what?” Kaine shot Grant a frantic look.
Grant passed his hand across his throat. Did he mean no more questions or did he think Kaine should hang up?
Before Kaine could get clarification, the voice continued, “I want you to know what it is to be isolated, and the only presence with you is the one you hate the most. That person who haunts you, who ruined your life, who inhabits everything around you.”
With that, Grant yanked the phone away and ended the call. He looked as if ready to jump into the phone and go all Darth Vader on the man. He swiped at the screen so that the number pad showed. Kaine grabbed the phone from him.
“No!”
“Kaine, you have to call the police.”
“Not yet. Let me think.” She stuffed the phone in her pocket and marched over to the tarp. She made a pretense of straightening it, as if it was critical to cover every square inch of the floor with the blue canvas. She finally had a witness, Grant. Going to the police would be smart, and if Detective Hanson from San Diego really had reopened her case, wouldn’t that give her credence with Detective Carter here in Oakwood? Her mind spun. Or would it all backfire somehow?
Grant tugged the tarp from her grip. “Kaine, that man is mentally disturbed. Why aren’t the police already involved?”
“The police are involved. They think I’m the one who’s unstable. And if I make a habit of making unsubstantiated reports, then I’m in trouble.” She could barely think. She steepled her fingers and pressed them to her mouth.
“But this isn’t unsubstantiated. I was here. I heard it.”
He was right. She needed to report it.
“How do people do this?” Kaine bit her lip.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve spent years helping women escape men like this. And I . . . I can’t even help myself. I sold my old car and bought the Jetta used from a private seller. I sold our condo. I pay cash for everything. My cellphone? It’s prepaid under a Jane Doe account. How did he get my number? I did everything but change my name.”
She had coached many women through this type of scenario and could hear her own voice in her head telling them what to do.
Have an emergency bag packed. Your vital documents, driver’s license, orders of protection, passport, Social Security card.
The women’s shelter helped women regain their safety, their financial independence, and their emotional security. But Kaine never wanted to be running from her own abuser. A man without a face, without a name. How did one escape a ghost?