The Waiting: A Supernatural Thriller(24)
“Reasons?”
Arnold lowered his voice and leaned forward. “His success was unnaturally quick in the industry, from what I heard, like people couldn’t buy his work fast enough. Almost like he was selling drugs instead of clocks. A friend of my father’s once told us that he heard the man came from a bloodline steeped in the occult.”
“The occult?” Evan asked. “Like witchcraft?”
Arnold shrugged, leaning back into his chair again. “I don’t know about that, but that place he lived in was always dark, in more ways than one. Outsiders tended to stay away from there, people still avoid it like the plague.”
“So he lived close by?”
“Oh sure, retired up here and died in his mansion out on Wicker Road, along with his wife.”
Evan hunched his shoulders as a gust of cool wind came across the lake and ruffled his hair. “They died together? Were they murdered?”
Wendal glanced at his brother, then shifted his eyes to Evan’s. Arnold didn’t seem to notice and shrugged.
“That isn’t entirely clear. Mostly rumors, long time ago, like I said. Anyway, the clock was from the house, and some say it stood in their bedroom. Old man Price bought it quite a while ago during an estate sale.”
“Do you know where I could find out more about this?” The excitement in Evan’s chest hadn’t relented, and he felt a sense of satisfaction at having followed his hunch about the clock.
Arnold smacked his lips, rolling his eyes toward the sky as he did so. “You could try talkin’ to Cecil Fenz. She was tied to the old place somehow or other, I can’t remember exactly now.”
“Cecil Fenz,” Evan said. “Do you think she’d mind me talking to her about it?”
Arnold barked his laugh again. “She minds everyone talkin’ to her about everything. She moved out in the sticks years back, orneriest woman I ever met, and I met a few of ’em.”
Evan smiled and reached out to shake Arnold’s and Wendal’s hands again. “Thank you, you’ve been a big help.”
“What you want with all the questions anyway?” Arnold asked.
“I’m doing a little research for an article. I thought the clock would make a good story.”
“That it would. Just don’t mention me or my brother as a source, we’re too old to get all wrapped up in gossip.”
Evan laughed and waved goodbye. He got in the van and closed the door, shutting off the bite of the wind. After scribbling down the name in his notebook, he did a quick White Pages search on his phone and found a number listed for Cecil Fenz, along with an address.
Listening to the ringing hum on the other end of the line, Evan readied his most charming voice and tried to think of the best way to bring up the subject. A moment later, the line clicked and a woman’s smoky voice answered.
“Hello?”
“Hi, is Cecil Fenz there, please?”
“Who is this?”
Evan grimaced. Right to the point. “My name is Evan Tormer. You don’t know me, but my son and I are staying on the island in the middle of Long Lake, and I came across an old grandfather clock in the basement—”
A snap came from Cecil’s end, and dead air hissed in his ear.
“Hello?”
He frowned and held the phone out, studied it. Raising his eyes, he noticed Arnold and Wendal looking at him, their expressions smug, as if they knew exactly who he’d called and what kind of reception he’d gotten.
“Yeah, okay,” Evan said, starting the van and pulling out of the parking lot.
10
After picking up Shaun from his therapy, they stopped for lunch at a small diner.
In honor of how well he did at the hospital, Evan ordered a banana split for dessert, which they shared. The occupational therapist had been extremely pleased with Shaun’s capabilities and willingness to work.
“You keep doing this good, you can get ice cream every time,” Evan said, helping him with a spoonful of sweets.
Shaun grinned, his teeth stained with chocolate.
They arrived on the island in the early afternoon, the sun making a brief appearance before sliding back into cover behind a wall of gray clouds. Shaun fell asleep on the ride across the lake and didn’t wake even when Evan carried him up to the house and laid him on his bed.
With the house quiet, his mind whispered of sleep, the early session of cleaning catching up to him, but the idea of the story behind the clock wouldn’t leave his head for more than a few minutes. Cecil’s reaction hadn’t dulled his interest in the least; quite the opposite, in fact. Hanging up on him spoke of hidden secrets buried within families and time. The prospect of uncovering them became so appealing, he wondered what was wrong with him. You’re enthused about something, he told himself, as he sat at the kitchen table. How long had it been since he’d felt like this?
Elle immediately entered his mind, and he stood from his chair, not willing to be dragged down by memories this afternoon. Noticing a little dust and a several specks of dirt on the linoleum, he decided to do some cleaning, to actually earn some of the money that Jason was paying him.
He found a broom in the closet near the entry. Starting at the sink, Evan swept in the direction of the basement door, herding a nest of dust bunnies above a layer of dirt as he went, his mind wandering to the article and its layout. When the dirt formed a small pyramid in the center of the room, he knelt and started to sweep it into a dustpan but stopped. Leaning forward, he reached into the dust pile and plucked a shining white hair from the center. It unwound from the dirt like a snake uncoiling from its lair, and he saw that it stretched at least two feet. Holding it up in the light, he brought it close to his face. It hung in a pale question mark from his fingers, mirroring his thoughts.