Haunted Hideout: Paranormal Suspense (The Haunted Ones Book 1) Page 4

  She left the room but her chest was tight, her heart still pounding fast. The first room she came to after the bathroom had to be the master bedroom. It was huge, kind of like they’d taken two bedrooms and made one large room. A queen-sized bed dominated the space, while a wall of mirrored doors concealed what had to be the closet area. Again the windows at the side of the house, the side where Jake had said the river was, were expansive.

  At the sound of her mother and Mark following up the stairs, she turned to continue exploring. She’d definitely stake a claim on the next biggest room before her brother had a chance. A quick glance in the following bedroom confirmed her suspicions that the master bedroom had gobbled up the space. It was little bigger than a walk-in closet!

  Her fingers trailed over the railing above the stairwell and she entered the room at the front of the house. It wasn’t as big as her room back home had been, but it was probably the best she was going to get.

  There was a double bed with a cream-colored spread and a large chest of drawers. She glanced out the window, looking down at the front driveway and the back half of the vehicle. The spindly tips of one of the trees outside whispered over the glass. Her eyes narrowed. She’d have to do something about that. If the wind picked up it would be sure to tap and she’d never be able to sleep.

  As she walked across the worn planks of the floor, the creaking of the wood shadowed her. Something else she’d have to take care of with a rug or something. But the closet was bigger than she would have expected. Even though the door was narrow, it went back on one side a few feet. Enough room for her stuff.

  At the sound of footsteps near the doorway she turned. Mark stood in the entrance, his dark eyes roaming over the room from the window to the far end.

  “No way. This room is mine, Mark. You don’t need as much space as I do.” She walked over to him and crossed her arms over her chest, defying him to object.

  He shrugged dismissively. “Mine’s closer to the bathroom anyway.” With that he turned, ceding victory.

  She ambled over to the bed, plopping down to test it. The new wood in the frame squeaked just a little in protest, but other than that, it would do.

  Her mother stepped in, gazing around before turning to her. “This is okay, right? We’ll get some carpeting and...” Her voice trailed off and she sighed. “Look, I know this is hard. I hate this too. But what choice do we have?”

  Angela rose and walked over. The wear of the day showed in her mother’s eyes and the deep lines creasing her forehead. She took her mother’s hand and squeezed it. “It’s okay, Mom. You’re right. We don’t really have a choice.”

  She looked past her mother when Jake’s footsteps sounded coming down the hallway. Everything kind of echoed when anyone moved. That was annoying.

  He held out the shopping bags. “I don’t know which is which here, ladies. You sort it out and I’ll get the pizza going.”

  Which brought up another question, since he was making himself at home there. “Where are you going to sleep?”

  He set the bags down and then his hands slipped into the back pockets of his jeans. “Downstairs. I’ll take the sofa. It’s only for a night or two. It won’t kill me.”

  Her mother’s head tilted to the side. “Do you live in Alexandria Bay? Do you have family nearby, Jake?”

  The smile fell from his face and he turned to leave. “Nope. Not anymore.”

  Angela looked at her mother, waiting for his footsteps to pound on the stairs and he was out of earshot. “Well that was awkward. Not anymore as in dead or—”

  “Not everyone is like us, kiddo. He’s probably divorced. We’ll just leave that alone, shall we?” Her mother reached for the first bag and peeked inside. “This one’s yours.”

  EIGHT

  Mark

  MARK FINISHED PUTTING HIS NEW CLOTHES IN THE DRESSER and then slumped looking around his new room. The white walls and the lacy curtains were so yucky. Even the bedspread was wussie, a baby blue with white stripes. He wandered over to the small desk and flipped the laptop open. A long sigh escaped. Until they got the internet, it was totally useless.

  The sounds of drawers banging shut as Angela and his mom sorted through the new clothes, putting them away, pulled his gaze from the computer. It was kind of like the time they’d rented the beach house on Sanibel Island, getting settled in for a week of fun. Except there were no white sand beaches here. And Dad wasn’t here either.

  This was anything but fun. He tightened his eyes, squeezing them shut as tight as he could. He wasn’t gonna cry; if he started, he’d never stop.

  It was unreal to be unpacking, to actually now live in the middle of nowhere. Not unreal. More like a nightmare that you couldn’t wake up from.

  He left the room and went downstairs. The smell of baking pizza got stronger with each step, till his mouth watered. In the hallway leading to the kitchen he discovered a door he hadn’t noticed the first time. A sliver of light shone under it. He paused, about to turn the handle to see if it was another bathroom, when the door creaked open by itself, drifting toward him. His eyes popped wider and his breath hitched in his chest.

  His hand slowly rose to pull it wider. It wasn’t a room though. There was a small area before another old set of stairs which led down to the cellar. That’s what they call it, right? A dank and musty smell wafted up and cobwebs clinging to the wooden studs fluttered as if from a breeze. The light from the bulb did little to reveal anything beyond the first few steps. Everything below was shrouded in darkness.

  “Mark.”

  He just about jumped out of his skin when the agent spoke. “That’s just the cellar with the furnace and water tank. I was going to show it to you guys tomorrow. You’ll want to know where the electrical panel is in case you blow a breaker.”

  When Mark turned to look up at him, puzzlement showed in Jake’s eyes. Mark stammered for a moment trying to shake the creepy feeling that had skittered up his spine. Why had the door opened on its own like that? He swallowed hard. “A cellar?” He’d been right about the name.

  Jake nodded and then his eyes cleared. “Yeah. Of course. You probably didn’t have them in Florida, right? They’re common up here to store stuff and it’s where the utilities usually are kept. It’s not the nicest spot in the house, that’s for sure.” He signaled for Mark to step out and then he flipped the switch before shutting the door. “C’mon, and get yourself a soda or something.”

  Mark didn’t have to be asked twice. He’d check it out tomorrow when it was daytime. A cellar, huh? He could probably creep Angela out with that.

  Mom and Angela’s footsteps sounded on the stairwell as he followed Jake into the kitchen. He grabbed a pop from the fridge and sat at the table.

  Jake took the pizza from the oven and nodded to Mom and Angela. “That was good timing. Have a seat.”

  ***

  Twenty minutes later, Lydia poured her second glass of wine and pushed the empty plate to the side. Dinner had been a quiet affair, with Jake the only one talking, giving them more information about the town. He’d probably have to repeat himself the next day as the three of them were lost in their own heads, coming to terms with all of this. Sitting at a strange table, in a strange house with a strange man cooking dinner, was mind-bending enough. Take into account the circumstances that brought them all together and it was pretty much surreal.

  Jake cleared the table of dishes and then turned to face them, “I’m going to get my sleeping bag and retire to the living room. I’ve got some calls to make and then I’ll catch up on some reading. I’ll lock up and see you guys in the morning.”

  “Thanks Jake.” What more could she say? Whatever resources she could muster had better be spent helping her kids through this. When the agent disappeared through the doorway, she placed her hand over Mark’s. He was the one who would bury the hurt rather than getting it out there to heal. “How are you doing, buddy?”

  “I’m okay, I guess.” He stared down at the table, while his
body slumped lower in the chair. He looked up at his mother for a moment. “When do we have to start at this new school?”

  “There’s no rush for that; don’t worry about it. You’ll go when you’re ready and not a minute before. Trust me on that.” Lydia forced a reassuring smile and patted his hand. The kid got good grades so if it took a week or two, so what? It was bad enough to be dealing with his father’s death let alone be overwhelmed with new kids at a new school.

  Angela picked at the tab on her can of soda. “Did you know that Dad was working for that drug outfit?” Her daughter’s blue eyes were still puffy from all the tears she’d shed.

  “No! I’d bet even your father didn’t know when he took the job. Believe me, the worst thing your father ever did was maybe speed a little. He never even cheated on his taxes and he had the smarts to do that.” She took a sip of the wine. Maybe that was the problem. Liam was clever when it came to accounting but he’d never had too many street smarts. If he had more, maybe he wouldn’t have been killed. If he’d been up front with her, she could have helped him.

  Angela was quiet for a few moments, fighting the tears before she blurted, “I hope he gave the FBI enough to nail those bastards.” She knotted her fingers together. “Cos if he did, then he wouldn’t have died for nothing.”

  Mark glanced at his sister and then mumbled, “Will we really be safe here? What if they find us?”

  She leaned forward, squeezing his hand and taking her daughter’s fingers as well. “Your Dad didn’t die for nothing. He gave the FBI enough evidence that they put us here! He trusted them to see that his family was safe and we have to believe that. That drug cartel will have their hands full dodging the authorities to even give us a thought. And that’s thanks to your father.” From the hollow feeling in her gut she wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince them, or herself.

  Mark rose to his feet. “I’m tired, Mom. I’m going to bed now.”

  She pulled him in and kissed his cheek. “Okay baby. Sleep as long as you want. There’s no rush to get up in the morning. Sleep is the best thing for you right now.” His fingers slipped from hers when he turned and walked slowly away, his head down. He was going to have a hard night.

  Angela stood up as well. “I’m going to shower and then go to bed too. I feel like a steam roller went over me and then backed up to hit me again. This sucks.” At her mother’s raised eyebrows she sighed, “I know you hate that word but it’s true.” She leaned over and hugged Lydia before slouching across the room and going through the doorway. She was going to have a hard night too. Hell, they all were.

  Lydia finished the rest of her wine and then got up to rinse the glass. Yeah. Angela was right. This totally sucked. She turned off the lights and went up the stairs to her own room and the empty bed which she’d have to get used to.

  NINE

  Jake

  THE NEXT DAY JAKE tossed the sleeping bag aside and sat up, running his fingers through his hair. Sleeping on the sofa wasn’t the most comfortable night he’d ever spent but considering his career choice, he’d been through worse. Long, freeze-the-nuts-off-in-a-jeep kind of nights on stakeouts came to mind. He needed to use the bathroom in the worst way but there was no way he wanted them up any earlier than necessary. They’d been through the wringer in the last seventy-two hours. As a kid he’d done some camping out, and standing behind a tree wasn’t all that bad.

  He got to his feet and grabbed his jacket before wandering down the hall to the back door. When he stepped outside, it was cold, but the sun’s rays caught in the frost blanketing the backyard. There was a huge lilac bush at the corner of the house that he could sneak behind to the take care of the ache in his bladder.

  An old dirt track where a tractor or wagon used led to a barn about sixty feet away. His head pulled back seeing the wide plank door in the center of the weathered building, swaying open. He could have sworn that it was closed the other day when he brought the groceries out to the house. He zipped up and then walked down the path to check it out. Without even having to think about it, he slipped his hand to his back and drew his gun.

  He stepped inside cautiously, his gaze darting from a low workbench at the far end to the stanchions once used for cattle and horses. The smell of hay and manure even years since there’d been livestock still wafted faintly. Dust motes flittered in the rays of light from a few windows high above the loft. A mouse disturbed by his footsteps darted across the floor to its hole in the corner. Other than the mouse there was no sign of life in the still and quiet space.

  He turned around and flipped the old latch into slot at the side of the door. Considering the shape it was in, a gust of wind could have easily caused the door to open.

  When he was about to leave, he paused for a moment watching a freighter lumber through the sparkling river, on its way through to Lake Ontario and probably Detroit. Whenever he saw them, that old song, Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald always popped into his head. Great. Now it would be an ear worm that he’d have to endure all day.

  Worse still were the reminders of Claire that always stirred to the surface when he heard the sad song. The folk singer at the bar had been playing it the night he met the girl who would become his wife a year later. People had given them weird looks when it was the tune of the first dance at their wedding. But that was ancient history. Their marriage had sunk the same way the old Edmund Fitz had sank.

  He shook off the memories and walked back to the house. When he entered the kitchen he was surprised to see Mark already up, sitting at the table eating cereal. He rinsed his hands under the faucet and commented, “Aren’t you the early bird. How are you doing today, buddy?”

  “Okay,” he mumbled, chewing the crunchy breakfast. In the plaid pajamas, his tangled head of curls hung over the bowl like a he was a cocker spaniel.

  Jake filled the coffeepot with water and then set about scooping the grounds into the machine. “I’ll follow up on the internet and cable today and see if they can maybe speed things up.” When that didn’t get a response he tried another tack. “There’s a rocky beach at the edge of the property. Ever play at skipping stones on the water’s surface, Mark? I could show—”

  “My dad and I did that when we rented a cabin at Four Creeks.” The boy sank lower over the table.

  Well that hadn’t gone well. Jake slipped his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “I was out to check the barn earlier. It’s kind of neat.” He poured a mug of coffee not waiting for it to finish dripping through. “Would you like some juice or a glass of milk?”

  “No thanks, I’m good.” Mark sat back and stared at him. “Think you could teach me to shoot?”

  Jake’s head jerked back. Where had that come from? “Uh...I don’t think that’s a good idea. First of all your mother would hate it and I’d have to agree with her. Guns aren’t something to play around with.”

  “When did you first shoot one?” Now the boy was all ears, leaning forward.

  “Not until I was twenty-one. Why the interest in guns? Your dad wasn’t, was he?” But he already had a pretty good idea about Liam from what he’d read. The guy was an accountant in the big city. Not someone you’d connect with a gun lover.

  The cloud once more descended over the kid’s attention. He shrugged and then got up to rinse his bowl. “I don’t know. I just thought being out here in the country, I should know how to shoot a gun.” He looked over at Jake, “Dad wasn’t into guns. But maybe he should have. Maybe he’d be alive if he’d been carrying a gun.”

  So that was what this was about. Jake sat back, setting the mug on the table. “Did you know more people are killed in gun accidents at home than ever in any shoot-out with bad guys? I know where you’re going with this, but Mark, you’re safe here. It’s a quiet town and the drug guys won’t find you.”

  He sat forward again and locked eyes with the kid. “Think about it, Mark. In all of this big country, finding you and your family is like finding a needle in a haystack. There’s no trace of Mar
k Robbins anymore. And do you have any idea how many Robertsons there are in this massive continent?”