Beyond the Divide (Fractured Legacy Book 2) Page 8

  Bracing herself against the door, Kaylyn blinked and fought to retain her equilibrium as nausea swam through her stomach. It was worse than the motion sickness she got in the spinning tunnel at the fair.

  In the next scene, a young girl ran through the room and crouched near the fall wall. She pulled back the piece of paneling and slipped something behind it before disappearing like the rest of the images.

  Kaylyn glanced sideways to where Ida had previously stood, but now, she was completely alone in the room.

  After setting up the recorder on the dresser so that it captured most of the room—including the problematic window, Kaylyn found the seam in the paneling the young girl had used. Luckily, any efforts to remodel hadn’t included the gaudy, faux-wood panels. The seam didn’t line up with a stud—probably due to efforts to save materials and money, so Kaylyn pressed against one side of the seam until she could fit her fingers under the adjoining piece. When the gap was wide enough, she spotted a small brown object at the base of the panel, about the size of a small book.

  Kaylyn slid her hand into the opening. It pinched at her forearm as she stretched to reach the object. Her fingers brushed its leathery surface, and the wood creaked and popped as she pried the opening wider. Finally, she grasped the small book and slid it free from the wall.

  Allowing the panel to snap back into place, she laid the journal across her thighs, she flipped through the pages. Now, this might be helpful, she thought until she realized that she’d somehow have to explain how she knew where to look in order to find it. She pulled her jacket tighter around herself as she settled into a corner with the journal.

  This book belongs to Miranda Hildeth.

  Keep out.

  That means you, Mom.

  Well, luckily I’m not “Mom.”

  Kaylyn flipped through the pages, most dated from the mid-sixties, about ten years after the house was moved to its current location. The entries weren’t kept regularly though, so they spanned almost eight years, and the writing improved drastically from start to finish. From the writing alone, Kaylyn would have guessed that the girl had started the journal while in elementary school, but by the end, it took on the frilly cursive of a teenage girl.

  The stairs creaked, but Kaylyn concentrated on the journal until the attic door opened.

  “I was beginning to wonder—” Cole said, but she cut off her words as soon as her eyes fell on the journal. “Where did you—?”

  “It was behind the paneling,” Kaylyn muttered, lowering her eyes to the ink blotted pages again.

  Cole sat down next to her. “Not going to even ask this time. Guess I should be thankful for new and improved Kaylyn intuition.”

  “Damn straight.” Kaylyn skimmed the page, reluctant to examine Cole’s words or expression to closely.

  December 17, 1963

  Grandma still has a fever, and Grandpa will barely leave the attic. I wonder if either of them will ever come down again.

  Dec. 22

  Grandma didn’t come down again. Not until they took her away today. I hate this place. Daddy says the bank will take us away if the farm doesn’t do well next year. I hope they do.

  “Kid definitely didn’t like it here,” Cole said, reading over Kaylyn’s shoulder. “And who makes their grandparents live in the attic?”

  Kaylyn skimmed through the next couple of pages. Most entries were about chores or school, or complaining about the farm, her siblings, and parents—as far as Kaylyn was concerned, the typical thoughts of a young girl. It seemed like the next harvest was the biggest they’d ever had on the farm, which meant they avoided losing the property, and much to the dismay of Miranda, it provided her and her siblings with even more chores. Soon the entries became more sparse, dropping down to once a month, or even a few months in between.

  In a few entries, Miranda apologized to the journal for forgetting it for so long, explaining that her parents would rather keep her out doing chores until she wanted to crawl into bed.

  Near the center of the book, Kaylyn stopped again, noticing a drawing of a barn with a man standing in front of it fighting a snake.

  May 15, 1968

  Something happened to grandpa’s foot while he was out tending to things in the barn. Doctor said it was a snake bite, but we’re not supposed to have any poisonous snakes around here. His foot swelled up, all the way to the knee. Momma says he might lose it.

  May 28, 1968

  Been at the hospital, or tending the grounds a lot. I don’t want to go near the barn, but I have to anyway. Grandpa came home today; we had to set up his bed in the living room because he can’t climb the stairs.

  On the adjoining page was a drawing of her grandpa, propped up on crutches with one leg chopped off below the knee.

  “Fuck,” Kaylyn whispered, shuddering a bit at the thought.

  Cole sat back against the wall and crossed her hands over her knees. “Wonder if they ever found the snake.”

  “Wonder if it was a snake. The kid was right; there aren’t any poisonous snakes in this area.”

  “Then what? Some kind of spider? You don’t think the leg was paranormal, do you?”

  “The paranormal stuff can’t be brand new,” not unless the new family brought it here somehow, and they probably would have noticed something before moving. And it would have followed them when they left.

  “So, what about the grandma?”

  “If she died of natural causes, it doesn’t really fit in with anything.”

  “Maybe she didn’t.”

  “Ugh,” Kaylyn banged the back of her head against the wall. “All we have is speculation and loose correlations between things that might be connected. We need one, good, solid, bit of information.”

  Cole plucked the journal from Kaylyn’s hands. “We still have a bit more to go. Let’s not discredit the journal yet.” She read the next few entries out loud. “June 10th, moved to the attic to get away from sis. I like the privacy, but the window never wants to stay open.”

  “Well, that’s familiar.”

  Cole chuckled. “Wait for it. July twelfth, heard Dad and Mom talking about some kind of offering. I guess they’re in trouble with the bank again.”

  “Offering,” Kaylyn perked up. “Yes, that’s a helpful word, though, it sounds like you’re going to win this bet if the entity is linked with the bounty of the farm.” She straightened her legs and crossed her ankles, relaxing into the room again, and hoping that she might see something else. After all, she’d still managed to catch glimpses of the past while she was with Jonah in the hospital, but not even a glimmer of a shadow appeared this time.

  Cole snapped the book closed and dropped it into her lap. “Is it me, or is this place eerily quiet compared to yesterday.”

  “Shit. Don’t jinx it.” The last thing Kaylyn wanted to do was chase around more stupid noises all night.

  “It’s still strange,” Cole mumbled.

  “And I’m freezing. Let’s head out like Leon ordered.”

  “You mean you’re not going to search the walls for more journals? Who knows what else is hidden up here.” Cole waved her arms around the room.

  “We already have a broken window to account for,” Kaylyn said, stretching her back as she climbed to her feet. “I don’t really want to explain taking down all of the walls, too. We might be able to catch up with Cassidy and Gina before they leave the office and then track down our Miranda Hildeth.”

  Chapter 10

  When the girls entered headquarters, Cassidy was filling up a coffee cup inscribed with “World’s Hottest Paperweight.” His brown tweed suit, immaculate as ever, made him look more like a man in at least his forties rather than nearly thirty. Even his hair style seemed slightly out of place and old fashioned, cut short and combed close to his head. Most days, he looked like he could have stepped off the set of Dick Van Dyke.

  Cassidy gestured toward Kaylyn and Cole. “We’ve been waiting on y’all. We have some new records and leads that might be of he
lp.”

  “Have you had a chance to review the evidence we collected last night?”

  “No.”

  Kaylyn raised her eyebrows and prepared for questioning. They’d had the tapes all day, and she was eager to learn what was on them.

  Cassidy put his hand up. “Don’t bite me. There was something up in the tech room—a crash of some kind, so we were delayed in getting any of the recordings. Rather than sit around and wait, we decided our time would be better spent out collecting information. We’ve been to the library, the courthouse, and the historical society—Mr. Edwards says hi, by the way.”

  Kaylyn cocked a smile—they’d worked with Mr. Edwards on a recent case in which he was possessed by the consciousness of a man named Gib. After falling ill, Gib had agreed to have his consciousness sealed away in a cedar box until a “suitable host” was found. The man who performed the shady ceremony apparently forgot about Gib after marrying his daughter.

  “I’m going to grab some coffee,” Kaylyn said, reserving her argument for the delay for the tech team. She elbowed Cole. “Want some?”

  Cole frowned and shook her head. “Not in a coffee mood.”

  “I’ll catch up then,” Kaylyn said, waving them on while she prepared her own coffee. From the strong smell and taste, it seemed like the current brew had been sitting around for a while. She dumped in some extra cream and headed back to find the others.

  In one of the small downstairs offices, Gina sat at the back corner of the table, twisting her curly black hair up into a loose bun and slipping a pen through to hold it up. Kaylyn hadn’t worked with Gina or Cassidy much—or ever, really. She remembered that Leon once told her that Gina became an investigator after working in the lab for a few years. Apparently, her skills in psychology as well as neuroscience made her a double threat within the organization. Their paths had crossed briefly, but as she thought more about it, she realized how little she knew about most of the people in the office. Three years and she’d barely left her own clique. Even the thought that she had a clique was disturbing.

  “Did I miss anything?” Kaylyn asked.

  “Not really,” Cole said.

  Cassidy stretched out and crossed his ankles. “A former resident did die in the house, from the dates, it seems like it was very soon after the family moved in. The rest of the family occupied the place for more than thirteen years, but afterward, it stood empty for a while, even though they still owned it—not so surprising these days, but there isn’t anything suspicious about its history. Nothing jumps out.”

  “We found a diary while we were setting up equipment today.” As soon as Kaylyn said it, she hoped no one really questioned her as to how or where. “Seems like it was written by a young girl who lived there, Miranda Hildeth. She mentioned something about her grandmother dying there.”

  “Seems to match what we’ve found as well,” Gina said, “But we also found articles indicating that the structure was moved to its current location. We haven’t managed to track down much information on where the current structure came from though.”

  That could be a problem, Kaylyn thought. Since whatever was going on could have been tied to the house’s original location. “How long ago was it moved?”

  “In the late fifties,” Gina replied. “It seems there was also another house on the property near where the current one stands, but it burned down about five years prior to the move. We found a meager newspaper article that reported the fire, but no injuries or deaths were recorded. You’ll find all the rest on the computer and in the physical files we prepared. If we can help you shed light on anything we collected, we’d be happy to, but I think you two won’t have any problems there.”

  “Two days of research,” Cassidy said, “And I wish we could give you more. We’ll keep digging, but it’s like trying to find a particular grain of salt in the ocean at this point. We don’t even know if more information exists, so we’re pouring through old newspapers hoping to get a bite.”

  “Thanks,” Kaylyn said. She knew that pouring over microfilms of newspapers wasn’t the most glamorous part of the job, but there were times when it was one of her favorite parts. It was probably the closest to “zen” she’d ever achieve. “You didn’t happen to come across any more on the family—whether any of them are still living?”

  “The only names we found in the records were Robert and Carol Hildeth. Both died years after moving out of the house. Genealogical records on the children are too recent to be publically available, so we only got last names.”

  “But using Miranda’s full name, we might be able to track down a location on her. I think I saw some other names in the journal as well.”

  “At least with someone to interview, we might be able to establish some history to the claims.”

  “If you two want to run with that, we’ll stay and work on the evidence you collected last night.”

  “Great. Thanks for the info,” Kaylyn said, waving the file at them.

  Cole grabbed the computer and they headed upstairs to try to snipe one of the work rooms to do some preliminary research on Miranda.

  “Now is when Carlisle and his numerous contacts would come in handy,” Kaylyn said. “I’m not getting any hits on Miranda Hildeth in any of our databases, but depending on when and if she got married....” She trailed off and dug the journal out of her bag, flipping through the pages. “She also mentions Aaron and Mags.”

  “Aaron,” Cole repeated the name slowly as she typed it into her computer. “Well, I got a hit—last known location; Loretta, Ohio. Deceased in 2005. And Mags, I’d assume that’s Maggie, like her sister I get no hits.”

  “Maybe Leon or Jonah have an in somewhere. They must be old enough to collect social security if they’re still alive—there has to be some record that we don’t have access to.”

  “Yeah, I want to be the one to suggest that Jonah get us confidential info.” Kaylyn tapped her pen against the table. “We could cross check birth and marriage records—see if we can find something there.”

  Within half an hour of beginning their dig through the databases and public records, Kaylyn and Cole finally tracked down Miranda’s married name—and even that of her sister, who, like their brother, was deceased. Miranda, however had remained in the outskirts of Chatham, and with a few calls, the final being to Miranda’s daughter-in-law, they managed to locate her at a local retirement home, where she lived with her husband.

  “Hopefully we don’t give the woman a heart attack by showing up and asking about the place,” Cole said, checking the batteries in the voice recorder before they headed north to find the retirement home.

  “You up to leading?” Kaylyn asked. Until the gym, Cole hadn’t been particularly talkative at all. She hoped since they’d gotten all of the info bombs out of the way.

  “Yeah, crass isn’t usually effective on old ladies, so I better be, huh?”

  “Don’t call her that to her face,” Kaylyn winked and climbed out of the car. She glanced around the area as she followed her sister through the courtyard of the complex. The housing units were garden-style apartments, with the center squared off in small gardens mixed with flowers and vegetables.

  Cole stopped at the final door and knocked.

  A woman with grey hair, accented with hints of black underneath, opened the door, leaving the thin storm door closed. “Can I help you?”

  “Miranda Hildeth?” Cole asked.

  The woman squinted. “Well, I haven’t been called that in years. Who’s asking?”

  Cole held up her business card to the window. “Cole Anderson, this is my sister Kaylyn. We work for Aicil and we’ve been investigating the farmhouse you used to live in.”

  “Investigating?” Her expression tightened, and her gaze jumped from sister to sister. “What kind of investigation.”

  “We were wondering what it was like while you were living there. We’ve had reports of a few strange things happening there, and—” Kaylyn held up the leather bound journal. />
  “Oh my.” The woman disappeared from view for a moment and then opened the front door after donning a thick padded coat. She took her old journal with both hands, cracked it open flipped through the pages. “Well, if that isn’t a rush of nostalgia. You’re here about the dog?”

  “The dog,” Kaylyn and Cole both spoke at the same time and looked at each other.

  “We didn’t read anything about the dog,” Cole said.

  “Oh, you wouldn’t have. I knew better than to even write about it.”

  “Was it what really attacked your grandfather?” Kaylyn asked.

  Miranda shook her head. “I don’t know. They told us it was a snake. But I would see the dog running through the fields during the summer. Black as the Devil’s heart—and I swear, that’s exactly what it was made of.”

  “Did you ever see it attack anyone?”

  “No, it gave me a God-awful feeling, even when I was a kid. Especially, when I was a kid,” she corrected herself. With shaky hands, she closed the journal and held it to her chest. “A lot of bad days in here—mostly because the good ones were too good to interrupt, and the bad ones were the times I wanted to vent.”

  She handed the journal back to Kaylyn. “I’m good with everything in here—,” she said, tapping her head.

  “Did anything else feel off about the house or the property?” Cole asked.

  “You mean Grandfather?” she said, with a devilish smile.

  “You mean your grandpa?” Kaylyn tripped over the words. They hadn’t found an indication that he’d also died while they were in the house, but maybe there was a chance she was correct in her original prediction.

  “Oh, no. Grandfather was there when we moved in. He liked playing with my toys—odd for a grandfather, I guess, but,” she shrugged. “It is what it is. He’d always been there. Quite the prankster.”

  “Did he ever try to hurt anyone?”